• Don’t worry about wordy or witty or thought-provoking posts.  Just post.
• Sew.  Sew.  Sew.   Clear the WIPs (works in progress) and churn out the planned projects.
• Bike.  Bike.  Bike.  Prepare for riding up Haleakala for my fiftieth birthday this year.
• Tip the work-life balance more toward life than work.
• Make lots of lists and bullet points and use the white boards.  Because it’s fun to check things off.

I spent several hours pleasantly over the last week reading a sewing blog written by a woman in the midwest.  What struck me was how enjoyable it was to read through someone’s online journal that touched lightly on topics, shared sewing projects, and progressed over time.  I was impressed by how many projects she finished, despite her limited (in the beginning) experience.  I’m going to try steering in that direction and see where I end up over the next year.

I have baskets with WIPs which I haven’t touched in nearly ten years.  It’s time to clear them out, one way or the other.  I have far more interesting projects I want to complete over this year.  Altering a ten-year-old t-shirt doesn’t compare with making Gordon wool riding knickers.

Over the last year, we’ve spent many a Saturday riding our bicycles.  More often than not, I commute partway by bicycle.  I enjoy climbing hills—well, not the climbing, but the having climbed.  I do better about keeping up this activity if I have a goal.  A big goal. One of the longest paved climbs is up Haleakala, the volcano on Maui, Hawaii.  I am aiming at that for my birthday this year.

Work—well, I’ve made it a rule not to post about my work.  Suffice it to say the grim economy and its associated budget cuts has had the effect of adding to my workload.  Working ten- and twelve-hour days has become routine.  I need to figure out how to scale that back while still accomplishing the necessary work. I need to figure out how to have a life rather than putting everything on hold.

This work surface will be coming out and the industrial worktable will go there, beneath the white boards.  (Visible, beyond the bookcase, is the closet in which I have temporarily stuffed all the works in progress, dress forms, and other paraphernalia.)

The cutting table has been moved from beneath the notions shelves to the other shelves.  The work space that was there has been removed, leaving the pedestals.

My plan is to put the individual machines (Singer 301, serger, Pfaff 7570) and TV setup on the pedestals, for maximum flexibility.  We’ll see what configuration works best.

I’ve been exploring the different things that make people identify someone as “classy.”  The main areas (which overlap) are appearance, demeanor, comportment, attitude, and actions.

The physical, outward markers of “class” are the simplest to achieve.  It’s not about wearing expensive clothes and accessories.  It’s about making the effort with what you have.  That effort shows respect for others.  You make sure your clothes are clean and pressed and neatly mended  (which means anything soiled or too shabby or permanently stained should be made over or discarded).  Your clothes should fit your current size and shape (not too tight, not laughably baggy), and when possible should be in shapes and styles and colors and proportions that flatter and enhance your appearance.  What you are wearing should also be appropriate to the situation, and err on the side of dressing up rather than dressing down.  Good hygiene is a must–brush and floss your teeth, wash your hair, wash yourself frequently enough that pungeant body odor is not an issue (and be restrained in using scented products).  Your nails should be clean and even, whatever their length, and adorment should be understated.

I am enjoying this aspect of “class.”  I may not have stepped over the bar, yet, but I have left the sloppy dishevelment behind me.  I am doing my part to beautify the urban landscape, rather than blight it.  There’s a huge learning curve, especially where makeup is concerned, but I’m having fun with it.

Comportment and attitude are taking a bit more effort.  It boils down to what we would hope would be “common” courtesy.  Also, self-confidence and poise, self-restraint, deference to others, good manners and politeness.  Smiling, rather than frowning.  Listening attentively, rather than impatiently.  Seeing beyond the surface and acknowledging the equal humanity of others.  Making the opportunity to allow others to shine and show their own classier side.  I have much room for growth and improvement.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m miles ahead of where I was in my twenties, but being consistently classy?  That’s the challenge.  It is so easy to go for the cheap laugh, the witty zinger, or put yourself first because, after all, you’re a special snowflake.

Lately, in each situation I ask myself which action or attitude or comportment would be classier.  In some ways, it is easier to identify the antithesis, vulgarity, and do the opposite.  For instance, in a public setting, or among friends, you can choose to pitch your voice just loud enough to carry, or you can shout to be heard over the hubbub of others shouting.  You can choose coarse words for effect, or decide which words are more refined without being prissy.  You can glory in being the center of attention, or you can find ways to shine the spotlight on others.  You can be pushy and insist on being first/getting the most/getting what you are “entitled” to, or you can pause and defer, yield to others, wait your turn, and be calm and polite when requesting your “entitled” portion.

The real challenge for me is swallowing my words rather than letting fly with sharp wit, biting retorts, or general snark.  I can get an easy laugh that way, but it’s not at all classy.  As an “advanced” skill, once I am consistently achieving this facet, I hope to meld classy with sassy, rather than brassy (too many rhymes?).

My efforts are snowballing delightfully.  Feeling put together and polished imbues me with even more self-confidence.  It is easy to maintain a smiling face when you know you are dressed appropriately for the situation.  Looking for ways to act courteously has led me to slow down and be less stressed.  I no longer need to be the first off the train so I can run down the escalator and escape the mob of people.  Equally as effective is hanging back, politely allowing others to leave first, and then strolling down the escalator after the throng has thinned.  Smilingly forcing my way off the train when others try to enter before we’ve all left is an opportunity to practice being assertive in a classy, rather than abrassive, way.  “Excuse me” with a smile, while moving forward, has a happier outcome than a snarled, “Outta my way, asshole.”  I feel calmer and overall have a more positive outlook.

I’m soliciting the opinions of others.  How do you define “classy”?

Today, I rode to work wearing everything I was going to wear at work, with the exception of the skirt.  Instead, I wore blue jeans.  I rode at a relaxed pace, enough to warm up, but not enough to break a sweat.  When I got to work, I locked my bike, went into the restroom, doffed my jeans and donned my skirt, and voila!  Contrast that to the days of arriving sweaty and out of breath, slinking through the halls in spandex and cycling cleats, having a quick sponge bath with paper towels in the handicapped stall, and completely dressing and grooming there in the bathroom at work.

So much more refined!  And that is what I am pondering.  Refinement.  Class.  Poise and polish.  More on that another time.

It takes a little more time to bicycle slowly, but it is much quicker than walking.  And it appears to end up with me at my desk, ready to work, sooner than the sweaty-sponge-dress-groom method.

(I understand some people have lengthy commutes over hills.  I understand some people can’t help themselves–they get on a bike and their “speed” gene takes over.  I merely suggest that they consider whether the five to twenty minutes they save by racing somewhere is more than lost when they have to transform their appearance at the other end of the ride.)

I’ll still use my heart-rate monitor.  I’ll still work up a sweat.  But on the trainer, not on my commute.  I am transitioning from bicycling as sport, or bicycling as recreation, to bicycling as a matter-of-fact way to get around the urban streets.

Enter the Azor Zwan:

The My Dutch Bicycle store in San Francisco carries the Azor Oma, identical to the Zwan except for the downtube.  Friday, I took a vacation day from work and donned a cotton print dress made from a 1943 pattern, a pair of high heels, and took the train into the City for a test ride.

Love at first sight deepened into lust.  The rutted and pot-holed streets were as smooth as newly paved tarmac beneath the wide tires.  The sprung Brooks saddle and the upright riding posture made for a cushiony ride.  It was so easy to handle, I was able to rest one hand casually in my lap to keep my hem from fluttering up.  A quick spin around the block convinced me.  I must own this bicycle.  The Zwan would need to be special ordered from Holland (they are built to order), entailing a three-month (minimum) wait for it to be built and shipped.  But…black?  Did I want a black bicycle?  It was funeral and somber, whereas I wanted a touch of whimsy and lightness.  I comforted myself I could apply gold pin stripes and make it less serious.  They had an Oma (straight downtube, not curved) available in cream…how much did I want the curved downtube of the Zwan?  Then the proprietor mentioned custom painting.  Any RAL color.  That sealed it.  She pulled out a sheath of sample cards and I selected RAL 3004, “Purple Red”, which was less flamboyant than the next color up.  I paid my deposit and resolved to be patient.

I got home and looked at RAL colors.  These are an industry standard used for powder coating (a method of adhering paint most firmly to metal).  I posted a message to facebook that I had selected:

A bold but still classy red. I received my email confirmation, and realized I had requested “Purple Red” (RAL 3004) originally.  The proprietor was happy to make the substitution.  I think when I saw the color card in the store, RAL 3003 was at the top of the card, and so looked quite bright.  Later, seeing the full array on a single page, I was drawn to “Ruby Red”.

Enough about the color.  I realized tonight that I want the frame-mounted front carrier, also painted Ruby Red. I have sent an email query to the patient proprietor to inquire about cost.

So…my casual spending is on hold for the next few months while I rebuild my savings. I need to purchase challis and chiffon for a flirty, fluttery, feminine dress to wear when I finally get to pick up my beautiful Zwan at the end of Spring.

My waist measured 28 inches. Refocusing myself is paying off. I’m already feeling changes from the cheesy butt-hip-thigh makeover workout. Check back in another three weeks.

Until now, I have focused on the easy side of things: eating and being more “active.” I log my food, I walk, I’ve started riding my bicycle. While I am still startled and delighted to catch a glimpse of my reduced girth in passing reflections, it is slowly becoming the new “normal.” The last couple of weeks I’ve maintained my eating and activity, but the focus has softened. I’ve spoken before of my main saboteur (complacency), and I know where this softening can lead.

So…what’s next? A new challenge! The Butt Beautification Project. It is very easy to ignore one’s own backside. Within months of puberty, my leggy lean childhood butt and thighs had transformed into a wide, thick, unshapely fat depository. Maybe it can’t be changed. Maybe I can’t have one of those heart-shaped mounds of muscle. But it can be improved. The only question is which combination of exercises will give the best results for the time invested?

Pondering what results I wanted, I Googled “sexy ass workout.” I came up with the Joey Atlas Lower Body Makeover. The web site looked like pure cheese, full of testimonials from middle-aged women whose husbands once more give them that “special look,” and screaming quotes like the cover of a woman’s magazine (“Five Critical Facts You Must Know to Turn Your Lower Body Into a Firm and Sexy Work of Art with a Few Simple Exercises…”). Despite myself, the sheer enthusiasm of the testimonials caused me to give it a deeper look. No complaints lodged with the Better Business Bureau. Unrelated sites reviewing the product and giving it high marks. Not just an e-book, but an actual published book and DVD were available, and the reviews of those at Amazon.com were also balanced, but overall favorable.

There was high entertainment value in purchasing the e-book edition of the workout. Many “extras” included, each extolled and praised, with a cash value appended so you could see what a really great deal this was–it did all but say, “How much would you pay for this package? But wait! There’s MORE!!” Pure infommercial at its best. Yes, I could put it all together on my own, but my impulse was to buy into the hype and give it a try.

I downloaded and printed out the workout. Clear photographs demonstrate the exercises, and the instructions on how to do them have a kindly encouraging voice. He includes ways to modify the exercises to accommodate bad knees (or overall weak muscles). And instead of simply saying, “Do it again now, on the right side,” he repeats the workout and includes pictures of it being done on the other side. This may be unforgivable redundancy to you, but it made following along a breeze.

I did the Level One routine last night (first week is one set of fifteen repetitions). To formalize that this is a new stage and a new focus, I took new pictures for my BodyShot app: unforgiving backside views. That will take care of complacency for the next span of time.

Except…I’m tired. All those muscles are SORE. I’m not hobbling, but I’m not dancing around, either. So what will I do to ensure I persist? Yes, of course I’ve arranged for an incentive. I have booked a private pinup photo shoot with Bombshell Betty for my birthday in October. (I enjoyed the group photoshoot last Saturday very much, and will speak of it after I’ve received my images.) With the private shoot, you get three “looks”, and I’m thinking a swimsuit look (ala Betty Grable), and perhaps a Ziegfield girl with hoop. (The third look will be chosen by my husband.) So if I catch myself thinking, “I’m too tired…it’s too much work…I’d rather sit on the couch…what’s the point?” I have the answer.

After my usual diligent research, I selected the Kinetic by Kurt Road Machine Fluid Trainer.  Being told this is the “only trainer you’ll ever need to buy” did not entice me. The hype was offputting, striking me as trash-talking blustering:

All other fluid based trainers including those made by Cycle-Ops, Trek, Blackburn and Elite use a drive shaft and rubber seals to spin the impeller in the fluid chamber. In our opinion this is an inferior design, doomed for failure. It is not a matter of “IF” the resistance unit will leak, but “WHEN” the resistance unit will leak. The more you use the trainer, the faster it will break or leak.

But the reviews in various online vending sites and multiple bicycle fora were overwhelmingly positive, so despite its repulsive fluorescent greenness, I decided to give it a try.

List price is in the $360 range, but you can find them online in the $310 range.  I opted for the middle route, and went to REI (so it will pay a dividend to Gordon at the end of the year) and paid $330, plus $20 for the riser (which is the plastic stand you put under the front wheel so your bicycle is level while on the trainer).  With tax (can you believe 9.25% sales tax and our state is still bankrupt?), that was a hefty $382.

That requires a major commitment.  Gordon was understandably concerned that this is one of my all-encompassing interests that I explore thoroughly and quickly, moving on to the next interest in short order.  I plan to use it three times a week for the duration.  To see how long the “duration” is, I quickly populated an Excel spreadsheet to break it down to a cost per use.  When I make it to the $10 per use (the cost of a spin class, I am told), it will have broken even in value.

First use (March 1, 2010), cost per use was $382.  Second use (March 3, 2010), cost per use was $191.  Awesome!  If I keep this up, and use it three times a week, I will hit the $10 mark on March 24, 2010.  Anything beyond that is gravy.

Just for the record, the projection is:

• $9 on June 2, 2010
• $8 on June 11, 2010
• $7 on June 25, 2010
• $6 on July 14, 2010
• $5 on August 9, 2010
• $4 on September 13, 2010

Now it’s spacing out a bit.

• $3 on November 10, 2010
• $2 on February 18, 2011
• $1 on August 3, 2012
• $0.75 on May 22, 2013
• $0.50 on December 29, 2014

Conceivable.  That’s under five years, barring injury, and quite a feat to aim for.  Eager to see the cost per use down in the small-coin range, I continued the spreadsheet to the conclusion.

• $0.25 on September 25, 2019
• $0.10 on May 27, 2033
• $0.05 on July 17, 2054
• $0.01 on November 6, 2172

When I read the dates, I laughed.  I’ll leave it at the $0.50 mark–within the realm of reality.

I have delayed purchasing new bras for too long.  I am at the point where I am spending most of the day being nagged by how uncomfortable the old bras have become.  Aside from wanting to postpone the cash outlay, I wanted to hold onto my double-D status for awhile longer.  As I may have mentioned, I had been astounded to learn, after years and years of wearing the wrong-sized (C cup) bra, that I was really a double-D cup.  I had to confront many subliminal stereotypes (if I am a double-D, then obviously double-D is not synonymous with blonde bimbo sexpot).  But the discomfort was too much, and tonight I went to Nordstrom to be fitted for bras, and received another surprise.

For those unfamiliar with bra sizing, let me first clarify that there are two components: the band size, and the cup size.  The cup size is relative to the band size.  Imagine a cigarette and a cigar, standing on end.  Now think of pinning two grapes to the cigar, and pinning two peas to the cigarette.  Obviously the grapes are larger than the peas.  But relative to the circumference of the body, they have the same proportion, and so they are labeled as the same cup size.

That is what has happened to me (no–I did not have fruit or veg pinned to me).  I have reduced by 30 pounds, and although my breast volume has reduced, so, too, has my circumference.  I have remained a double-D cup–a 32 double-D instead of a 36 double-D.  Actually, I was sized as 32 triple-D (which made me blush and giggle), but I am between the two cup sizes, and depending on the style, a double-D fit comfortably.  As I expect to reduce another 10 pounds over the next season, I decided to round down, choosing styles that accommodate me now, but will still flatter and fit later.

For fun and giggles tonight, though, I have been rounding up.  I’ve been laughing and making comments to Gordon: “This is how a 32 triple-D–rounding up–struts” or “You’re right, I do need to get more water–a triple-D–rounding up–needs more water to hydrate properly.”

What really has me smiling (aside from anticipating how deliciously comfortable I will be tomorrow) is I get to keep my membership card in the League of Large-Breasted Women.

When I go faster than 18 mph, I feel I’m not in control of the bike, so I ride my brake, hard, the whole way down the hill.  Other riders slice downhill, cornering fiercely, violating the posted speed limits in a joyous reclaiming of energy exerted. I have modest goals: I would like to be comfortable going 25 mph, maybe 30 mph, given dry ground, and smooth pavement.

So…analyzing further, why do I freak out when I go faster than I can pedal?  Because I am worried I’ll wipe out or go flying and land on my jaw, fracturing it or knocking out teeth.  After the multiple surgeries, the years in braces, not to mention the fillings and crowns, I am loathe to do anything that puts my bite at risk.

The solution:

 

ASTM F1952 compliant Giro Remedy downhill mountain bike racing helmet

I plan to strap it onto the bike’s back rack, and when I reach the top of the hill, swap my current helmet for this one. The unimaginative blue and white was the cheapest option (saving $30 over the matte black), and as I am probably going to cover it in reflective tape or decals, its native color is irrelevant.

The phrase “padded chin bar” is so sexy, don’t you think? I’ll let you know how this strategy works.