Our Town – June 2, 2011

Guest Written, Lois Verbaan DenHerder, Our Town, Yoga

“I started Yoga last week,” Jan informed the Soupster, dipping a chunk of sourdough bread into a bowl of steaming chowder. “Thought I’d better get into shape for summer before it’s over,” she added with a chuckle.

“Manage to get yourself tied up in any knots?” the Soupster asked.

“Funny you should ask,” Jan said. “It all started when Kai, our instructor, suggested that we ‘stretch our tail bones away from our sit bones and bring our kidneys towards our ribs.’”

“What?” the Soupster asked, eyebrows raised.

“Exactly,” Jan said. “I started to panic. Everything got blurry, Kai’s smile seemed to become a smirk and his voice started to sound ‘echoey’ – you know, like that effect they use in the movies to convey altered states of consciousness.”

“Hmm. Kai’s instructions sound like a brain teaser,” the Soupster empathized.  “It reminds me of that thing where you have to pat your head and rub your stomach at the same time, which I can do. I can even switch half way and do the opposite.”

Jan laughed. “I was still trying to figure out where my kidneys were when I noticed that the others were ‘bringing their hearts towards the wall’ and ‘allowing their necks to become long and soft.’ I quickly turned to face the wall, and the paint job caught my eye. I deepened my focus, trying to figure out whether the colors consisted of blue on purple, or purple on blue, and whether the effect had been achieved by ragging or sponging.”

“Come to any conclusions?” the Soupster asked.

“Never had time. Suddenly, Kai called for Tadasana or ‘The Mountain Pose’ – apparently a great beginning yoga pose. Finally, something I thought I could do.”

“‘Stand with your feet hip-width apart,’ said Kai, ‘or think of one foot, ten toes’” Jan recalled. “So I spread my feet, relaxed my knees and let my shoulders drop down. Things were going well. Visions of myself – a yoga guru in the Himalayas with a few yaks looking on in awe – came to mind. Finally, I was in the zone.”

“Kai’s voice jolted me back to reality: ‘Let your ribs close, let your vertebrae stack one on top of the other and continue to let your shoulder blades hug your back.’ The echoey voice returned and I found myself dissociating again. My thoughts drifted back to my first driving test.”

“Suddenly, it was time for a parallel park. The cones at the front represented the back of the front car and the cones at the back represented the front of the back car. My subconscious must have figured out what the instructor meant, because I passed the test.”

The Soupster laughed.

“Before long, I found myself relaxing under a colorful Mexican blanket, sacred Hindu chants and mantras dissolving my thoughts. Kai told us to observe our breathing, I’d made it through. I was alive and well. Very well. Calm, present and accepting.”

- Submitted by Lois Verbaan Denherder

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Our Town – March 24, 2011

Guest Written, Lois Verbaan DenHerder, Our Town, Small Town Stuff

Who’s Who in Our Town?!

“One thing I really like about living in Our Town,” Marci said, “is that after a while you start knowing the people you see and seeing the people you know. A hello here and a wave there makes the place feel like one big backyard.”

“Yeah, but not everyone likes that,” the Soupster pointed out. “My cousin Dave lives in Anchorage because of the ‘anonymity’. His Saturday morning routine includes a trip to Barnes and Noble for a read and a coffee. The irony is that by now, I bet the coffee baristas and most of the regulars know everything about him, except his name… You can tell a lot about a person by what they read. But I can see his point. At least the person at the next table isn’t going to know your family tree or anything else remotely private about you”.

Marci nodded in agreement. “The worst is seeing my counselor in public,” she said. “It makes me feel kinda naked. Like, the other shoppers see this normal adult doing the normal shopping thing; meanwhile, she knows that lurking just below the surface is this crazy animal, just waiting to be unleashed. I scare myself just thinking about it!”

“Counselors are like teachers,” the Soupster reflected. “You forget that they do normal things like go shopping or go to the gym. They probably even see shrinks themselves!”

Marci laughed. “Another nice thing about living in Our Town,” she added, “are the familiar strangers that you get to know. It starts when you keep seeing someone around town. Soon, you find yourself greeting them and one day you start talking to them. Often you find out who they are, but since they’ve never officially introduced themselves, you feel obliged to pretend you don’t know, or else act as if you’ve always known! Strange really…”

“Then there are people who greet you as if they know you, but you can’t remember having met them,” the Soupster said. “In that moment of awkwardness, you’re tempted to return their greeting as a long lost friend. But if you don’t clear the air immediately, let’s say you’ve more or less missed the boat. From then on, you’re locked into pretending you know them”.

“Oh, yeah, and let’s not forget,” Marci warned, “that sometimes we’re greeted affectionately by someone who thinks they know us, when actually they don’t.  That happened to my coworker recently. She told me how she saw my brother Ben down at Crescent Harbor the other day. They were deep in conversation before she realized that he wasn’t Ben! See, it does happen. You should never assume that you’re the one with the bad memory!”

“Hey, I gotta go,” the Soupster said suddenly. “That’s the guy who I’m selling my boat to. Or is it? Anyway if he isn’t, I’m sure I can convince him he is. He sure looks like the kind of guy who needs an old Whaler,” the Soupster said with a wink.

– Submitted by Lois Verbaan DenHerder

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Our Town – August 27, 2009

Cooking, Guest Written, Lois Verbaan DenHerder, Marriage, Our Town, Relationships

“I don’t even need to leave my front door to find entertainment in Our Town,” the Soupster thought to herself, raising her eyebrows in surprise as husband waltzed into the kitchen, belting out a tune on his pretend trumpet. “Austin Powers” he proclaimed, resuming the one-line song as he turned on the Kitchen Aid.

The chocolate was melting for the second time, having hardened when husband popped out to the grocery store to get a final ingredient for the Sunday lunch he was preparing. Soon, the smooth, warm, melted chocolate was spooned into the spinning mixture of butter and sugar.

“Whoa!” husband exclaimed, staring down into the bowl in disbelief. “Sounds like you cut your finger off!” the Soupster commented. “Worse!” husband lamented, plunging his hand into the French Silk Pie mixture to fish out the plastic end of his spatula, and a handful of the buttery mixture.

Fingers licked clean, husband cracked 8 eggs into the mixing bowl. Leaving the Kitchen Aid mixing, he disappeared to check his emails.

“Check this out,” husband exclaimed with a hint of envy. “Tanja and Martin have just done a 4 day hike to Machu Picchu.” The Soupster ambled over to look at the screen. Crumbling stone ruins circumnavigated the sacred mountain. Soft, smoky clouds shrouded the surrounding Andean peaks. A road from Aguas Calientes zigzagged tirelessly up the mountain to the ruins.

“Wow!” the Soupster uttered, impressed by the reminder that life still existed beyond the sanctuary of islands and snow-capped mountains surrounding Our Town.

“Huh. Meat and desert…there’ll be a lot of that tomorrow” husband smiled, drooling at the thought of the lunch that he’d enthusiastically agreed to prepare. “Don’t worry, I’ll do some vegetables,” he reassured the heath-conscious Soupster, grabbing a bag of frozen corn from the freezer and detouring to give her a quick kiss. “No time for any more lovin’” he said. “Gotta do my roast now”.

“Honey, where’s the onion packet soup?” husband asked, wandering around the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards randomly. “Why can’t you ever find anything?” the Soupster sighed. It’s a good thing we don’t have a garage packed from floor to ceiling with Costco groceries, too. You’d be lost in it for days,” she chuckled.

“I can’t find things because you keep moving them around,” husband replied indignantly, redeeming his pride and modifying the recipe suddenly with his discovery of the bulk supply of Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom Soup.

The fake trumpet blurted out again, announcing triumphantly that the king of the kitchen was exiting, having completed his culinary delights. He had proved himself to be as skilled in the kitchen as out on the huntin’ grounds.

“Goes to show,” the Soupster thought. “You don’t have to rely on hikes to ancient Peruvian cities for entertainment. Just make sure you marry…or live with…or know… a comedian who can cook, Alaskan style.

- Submitted by Lois Verbaan

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Our Town – April 9, 2009

Airplanes, Couples, Guest Written, Lois Verbaan DenHerder, Marriage, Our Town, Relationships, Travel

Having escaped fires, snakes and sharks down under, the Soupster was glad to be heading home. After scanning the plane for familiar faces, she found her seat and settled back to enjoy the last leg of her long journey. The plane was de-iced, and took off into the night sky.

“Have a look at this,” husband urged, shoving an Aircraft Safety Instruction brochure in front of the exhausted Soupster. A woman was leaping through the aircraft doorway over an inflatable slide; an Olympic gymnast, legs straight out in front of her, modestly covered by an unruffled skirt. Husband raised his eyebrows; “You’d think she’d have taken off her high heels first,” he commented.

In the next picture, a plane was floating in the sea, an inflatable slide attached to a doorway. At the end of the slide, a man in the water was effortlessly turning the slide around, converting it into a raft. This time, the Soupster raised her eyebrows, trying in vain to picture herself performing the feat in freezing water.

Another picture showed a floating aircraft surrounded by 4 inflatable slide rafts that had been released. Each raft had 12 people floating in the water, hanging onto its edges. “You want to make sure you’re one of the 48 people who gets a spot on the raft,” husband chuckled. The Soupster shifted her attention to other pictures with warnings not to jump off the aircraft wing onto a raging fire or a pile of rocks.

Suddenly it was time to fasten seatbelts and prepare for landing. It was snowing heavily and the lights in and around our town were invisible.

The Soupster tightened her grip on the armrests as turbulence shook the plane. She checked the pouch on the seat in front of her for the sick bag, and then looked out of the window. At the speed they were moving, snow flakes rushing past horizontally created an illusion of being on the ground, or very near to it. The descent continued. Images of crashing into the sea and swimming around in dark, freezing water, trying to find a spot on a raft were disconcerting. Her life flashed before her, along with the headlines: “Soupster perishes as plane misses runway.”

Suddenly the aircraft changed direction and began to gain altitude. “The pilot was unable to see the runway lights and will make one more attempt to land,” a voice boomed from above. Thankfully, the next attempt was successful.

The air was still freezing and snow still shrouded the landscape. Spring was mostly still asleep. Thoughts of warm, sunny, foreign lands teased the Soupster momentarily. But warm welcomes, friendly faces, loving embraces and feet on solid ground made the Soupster smile. She was extremely glad to be back, safe and sound, in the wonderland of Our Town.

– Submitted by Lois Verbaan DenHerder

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