Upside Down Kris

  50, the new 20 50 is the new 20. I don't know how long it's been since this came about. The shift  probably began in the 1990s when I was 20 in years. It could have been earlier. In any case, I take it for fact in Western society. The other day I stopped dead in my tracks at this realization. My eyes had been following the horizon where the sky met with the sea. The sense of infinity rushed toward me on the tide but everything came to a standstill as an idea balanced like a surfer on a brain wave: "I have a whole life ahead of me." Not my life, not in my lifetime but anyone's lifetime. I mean, think of people in medieval times–they were mature by 20 if they even survived childhood. They were lucky to even reach 50. But now (thank goodness) we cringe at the idea of someone passing in their 70s as being too young (which they are!): "moving on" in their 50s is almost unthinkable.  Wow. I have half of a long life still to live. It's as if life is s

Fluffy "My brain is fluffy," I gasped through my uncontrollable giggles. It felt good to laugh-to let out the tiredness of the past four days of the Balboa festival as well as pure merriment. My brain was pretty sloshy. Its insides jiggled from the right hemisphere to the left and back again so it was hard to get hold of any thought. Have you ever felt like that?  So many happy hormones were floating around my head from dancing and the excitement of talking to new people. I knew I would miss them, although I had this feeling I would see some again. The sudden break would be weird after sharing such an intense experience with the same people for days. I had gotten used to their faces, their movements, their unique expressions... I tried to explain my sensations to the Frenchman who had said "not to keep my arms fluffy" as we were dancing. "Fluffy arms" stuck me as so funny that it was a catalyst to my irruptive laughter. He started chuckling, too, and agre

  Spring Sensations I've always had a soft spot for spring. Maybe it's because I was born toward the end of winter and I imagine my first real memory of the world must have been of breathing in spring. I could have been on a blanket in the park surrounded my daises. One of my first spring memories is the bright, all encompassing yellowness of the field of dandelions down the street. I remember loving being surrounded by so much color and the stems that gave sticky milk once picked. I carry the sensation of spring with me, even if I am far from seasons in this tropical climate. I was born in winter, which represents my reflective side, but surely spring must have been my gate into the world. Barefoot on slippery grass, newness, and green represent my connection to the Earth, to my center, to my lineage of color. And I love to explore this connection, and even more so being part of nature, being one with the beginning–the budding buds and my budding mixed in with all of it. So, b

Too little, too late Preschool teachers have all my respect and admiration. All these young souls to lead and protect who are pushing out into this mind blowing world, where words and actions are a mystery to explore. Preschool teachers have to help these small creatures first understand themselves and then comprehend a world which is hardly graspable to adults. "A case of too little, too late," said my boss. For a short while, I was part of the rank of preschool teachers. How one person can attend a group of 15 three-year-olds who all want to be unique in your eyes but also want to push your limits to the maximum is beyond me. But I was determined. After totally bombing on controlling the toddlers, I watched as many tutorials as I could and read a book on class management. And it worked...for the most part. Rules and rewards (stickers, points, and high fives) had become my mission and method. But there was still the little boy who sat against the wall and would have no part