Going vertical.

After much dithering and deliberation, I've got a new direction toward fitness goals. I've been trying to make up my mind between running, doing a sprint triathlon in late summer, keeping my aerial fabric classes going...Boulder is a place with far too many interesting choices for ways to keep healthy.

I spent early spring training for a half-marathon but had to scale back due to injury to a 10K, and even after several weeks off I'm still not feeling 100% after any runs longer than 4-5 miles. I love fabric and hope to go back to those classes someday, but to move from ultra-beginner to intermediate, I need more upper-body and core strength than I've got. (I was the oldest one in my class by at least five years, and probably the only mother, which says something else about the optimal body type, but I haven't given up the idea completely just yet.) And the biggest problem with fabric is that I can only do it once a week with no practice outside class, so it's not a very practical fitness pursuit (although someday I'd like to incorporate it into theatre performance).

Then a few weeks ago I visited a local indoor climbing gym, and I was hooked. I signed up today. The gym has all the usual gymmy things--weight room, treadmills and other indoor torture machines, yoga classroom, spinning classes--plus many, many opportunities to rock-climb indoors on routes ranging from "My four-year-old finished this!" to "Um, are you sure that's physically possible?" It also has a childcare room, on the off chance that I can get to the gym during one of Matt's extended rocket absences. Plus, there are aeroyoga classes--I will blog more about them after I get to go to one but I am very excited about that too.

If you're curious, check it out at: Movement.

A typical afternoon: dialogue.

"I'm going to play a game called Be Mad at Mama."

"And how do you play?"

"You have to punish Mama for things she did that were bad."

"What did she do that was bad?"

"Things like telling me to eat my bread ALL the TIME."

"And how do you punish her?"

"By making her go outside."

"And do what?"

"Play with us."

"That doesn't sound like much of a punishment."

"Well, it's not a punishment for US. It's a punishment for you."

[Note: it is currently 69 degrees and brilliantly sunny out.]

"What do I have to play outside?"

"Whatever I want to play."

"What about Tucker? That sounds like a punishment for him."

"Then he can pick. As long as you don't get to pick. You're not getting punished anymore if you get to pick the game."

"What do you think he wants to play?"

"Tucker wants to play babies." (Tucker: "Dah!" or, roughly, "That!")

"How do we play that?"

"We sit around and scribble and drink milk and bite a lot. But not too hard."

Race report: Boulder Spring Half.

Sunday I ran a 10K at the Boulder Spring Half. Its name is perhaps not transparent to those who don't know its history. The same sponsors were in charge of the former "Boulder Backroads," now the "Boulder Marathon," which takes place each September. (That race offers marathon and half-marathon courses.) This year is the first year they've added a spring race, with three courses: a half-marathon, 10-mile, and 10K. I ran the shortest of the courses for a variety of reasons, primarily a recent injury that took me away from training for five weeks.

The transportation and parking situations were great. I cruised in and out of the race site almost without having to stop, and didn't arrive at the Boulder Reservoir until just about 45 minutes before the race start. The race course itself was quite familiar and not too muddy; the Rez is a wonderful place to run with gentle rolling hills, and the course was clearly marked. (And the course came out within .05 of a mile with my RunKeeper, which made me happy in terms of gauging my own race pace and progress.) It turned out I had several friends and acquaintances also running that day, which made it fun to see people along the course.

In terms of off-course details, though, I feel the registration cost should have been significantly lower. There were almost no vendors at the race, very little "free" stuff for participants, and the food available was not very good. (They would have been better off sticking to fresh fruit and sports drinks, which thank goodness were available and plentiful.) The plain-white bamboo technical race shirt was not attractive, and the organizers wouldn't allow me to switch shirt sizes at packet pick-up but asked me to come back the next day after the race and see if they had any of the other sizes left. I understand the issues around shirt size switching because of the necessity of ordering in advance. However, that puts the burden on organizers to do a better job of describing their shirt sizes on the registration site, including approximate measurements, so people don't end up with technical cleaning rags instead of race shirts. (My daughter now will have a new nightshirt.)

I loved running a 10K and don't have any plans to train for a longer race this year. I'm still figuring out the rest of my season but I'm thinking I'll probably do the BolderBoulder on Memorial Day, and perhaps a sprint triathlon in August or September as that will give me the summer to work on swimming and biking. Lots of fun choices ahead now that the days are getting warmer and longer!

Oh, and I managed to finish under an hour--pretty good for me pace-wise after five weeks off!--and 24th in my age group out of 270 finishers. So even though I feel like a turtle, there were plenty of other turtles out there with me, having a great day.

A church inside the church?

I've been involved in several impassioned conversations over the past few days about recent events at Sacred Heart of Jesus School here in Boulder. The school refused to re-enroll the children of a lesbian couple this week, and this decision has prompted not only major press coverage but letters from across the archdiocese (soon to be beyond, I suspect, as the story has gone national).

Many local Catholics are angry that our religion is being equated with homophobia, and it is difficult to make a case otherwise when decisions like this one come from our church leaders and are reinforced above the parish level. I do not accept Pope Benedict's statement that homosexuality is a chosen behavior that is objectively disordered, but explaining why would involve several detailed, theologically oriented posts on a blog that isn't really designed for that. In short I do not believe this teaching is consistent with Christ's path of love and acceptance. Still, this current episode goes beyond that teaching, as this parish, with the backing of the archdiocese, is now choosing to refuse education to children of lesbian parents.

First, the children have done nothing wrong (even if you buy into Pope Benedict's argument, which I don't).

Second, this seems to cause irreparable harm to a family who is actively seeking Catholic education and values for their children, supposedly because they are in opposition to one of the church's teachings. Are parish schools now refusing to admit children of adulterers? Children of divorce? Children who were conceived out of wedlock? I thus find statements that this refusal is not "political" deeply, deeply unconvincing. A child's right to an education should not be based on the parents' sexual activity.

Third, and perhaps most important, the base teaching underlying this parish decision deserves challenging on a broader theological field, but several Catholic theologians who attempt to do so have been silenced and even removed from teaching positions.

I deeply, deeply regret that practicing Catholics have no voice or authority to speak for ourselves on this and other pressing social issues of our time, and especially that we lack access to a venue where church leaders would have reason to listen. Growing up in a democratic republic has not well-suited me for unquestioning acceptance of teachings that deviate from other theological threads within my church's history.

In just the past year, I've watched families flee two area parishes, some to my own current parish, some leaving the faith behind completely, because of controversies around politics and health care (again, several posts' worth of things to discuss here). During my lifetime the church has moved from the model of "aggiornamento" to a "glowing remnant," and I am no longer sure I belong within that remnant if to remain I must be an advocate for teachings I believe to be deeply erroneous. Survey after survey demonstrates that the majority of American Catholics do not hold the Church's official positions on numerous social issues, but this dissenting "church within the church" is treated as "cafeteria Catholics" who are simply too weak to hew to the official line. Our opposition and reasoned arguments are rarely if ever seriously considered and addressed, particularly at the parish level which is the height of theological discourse most practicing Catholics reach. I'm not being a snob, just pointing out that most people I know don't read papal documents and bishops' conference statements for fun.

If people within a religion who oppose some of that religion's teachings remain in active practice, are we tacitly (and financially, and otherwise) supporting a position which our consciences say are wrong? If people who oppose some of a church's teachings leave active practice of that religion, how will that church change for the better from within, and correct its errors?

Mild state of shock.

The performance artist I wrote a dissertation chapter on, but never got to interview or meet, is coming to campus next Monday night.

I am rather in shock as the last major piece of hers I tried to write on was only performed outside the U.S. Most of her recent work seems to fall under the same category; she is truly an international artist, and I always thought it was unfortunate that it was so difficult to see her work in the U.S. since much of it critiques U.S. culture specifically. Her speaker's fees at the time I was trying to get in touch with her were beyond what I was able to fundraise on campus. I am surprised and thrilled that she's coming here.

It's been almost seven years since I've given her work serious thought and I'm not really up to date on her latest pieces, so I'll be extremely curious to hear her talk and see how it fits into the context of her earlier work, which I'm more familiar with. I know she's been doing a fair amount of work related to the War on Terror from her website, which is here.

Dispatch from the road.

Conference time is not like other forms of time.

I am sitting in the President's Club of Continental Airlines, thanks to my friend Carolyn who is a member, enjoying the free-wifi and snacks while awaiting my flight back to Denver which departs in about 90 minutes. This is a much more positive airport experience than I was expecting to have.

It has been a busy few days in Cleveland. I've been here for the Mid-America Theatre Conference, and my main function was to attend two sesssions known as the "AiP" (Articles in Progress). As general editor of the Journal of Religion and Theatre, it was a neat opportunity to come to the Midwest, stay for a few days, and work with seven scholars who are refining their work towards publication. Some of them needed content and organizational guidance while others were almost to the copyediting and proofreading stage before journal submission. It was fun to read articles so disparate from across my field, and to discuss the scholarship in depth in a way I don't usually get to do outside a writing classroom.

I've seen a few former classmates and had a chance to catch up with ladies who have dispersed across the country since dissertating, which was pleasant. Since I'm not in the classroom, though, and not on the tenure track, I'm under less pressure to publish and also have less current interest in pedagogical sessions on how to teach intro classes, so most of the other sessions at the conference were not directly pertinent either to my work or the work of the journal I edit. That said, it was actually the times I spent getting out into the city, and away from downtown, that were the most rewarding sections of the trip.

Last evening, Carolyn, another conference roommate Elizabeth, and I took a taxi to the Velvet Tango Room. I wholeheartedly recommend you visit should you ever come to Cleveland--check it out at:

http://www.velvettangoroom.com/

Unfortunately the online site doesn't reproduce their drink menu, which is incredibly detailed and full of historical anecdotes about the various drinks they serve. It was a very nice, unassuming-from-the-outside bar that specializes in Prohibition-era cocktails. I tried the Pisco Sour, made with freshly whipped egg white and homemade bitters. Other beverages my friends had were similarly fabulous--a real Ramos Gin Fizz (which tasted vaguely like a gin milkshake), and something called an Apricot Lady which also deserves future duplication. There was a live piano player, and the owner was wearing an ascot and walking through chatting with customers while carrying a walking stick. It was a charming place and one I hope to revisit with my husband one of these days. Boulder has recently opened a restaurant called "Salt" at 10th and Pearl that specializes in the same sorts of cocktails, so I welcome the trend in general.

Today, since we both had late-afternoon flights out, Carolyn and I went to the Cleveland Museum of Art and a nearby bakery recommended by a friend in Little Italy. The bakery was fabulous (light, fluffy Napoleons with both chocolate and vanilla creme layers!) and the art museum was considerably under construction. Quite by accident we arrived there on opening day of an American Indian (their term) exhibition and ran into quite a bit of outreach activity, in addition to the main gallery contents which were accessible only after going through a three-story rat maze of construction. The maze had been thoughtfully handled by the museum, however, so that visitors would still be having an art experience all the way through to the actual art (which included a heavy dose of guns and armor as well). My favorite construction moment was a series of three portholes labelled "Past-Present-Future". The "Past" porthole looked onto a period photo of the view out the museum window as it was originally in 1916. The "Present" porthole looked out onto the construction site. The "Future" porthole contained an artist's illustration of what the finished glass atrium should look like when completed in 2012. Quite a neat effect. Also saw my first Damien Hirst piece, a huge triptych of cathedral windows that close-up are composed completely of butterflies, some painted, others left with their natural coloring, all backlit to closely resemble stained glass. I wish they'd had postcards or pictures of that. Several works referred to in a play I worked on last year were also on display, including a Berthe Morisot portrait by Manet and one of Morisot's own works, a painting of her sister Edma reading. It was lovely to see them on the canvas after working with months of them as slides in a theatrical production.

Now, alas but also with some joy, I'm headed home for laundry and the new workweek. I enjoyed the trip a lot but have very much missed my family, particularly Tuck since he is the least articulate on the phone. I'm looking forward to late March when we'll be road-tripping as a family. This was a great break (although unsurprisingly not restful), but I'm looking forward to the family trip ahead after spending this many days without my youthful appendages.

Trading florid prose for money.

Not quite on the daily blogging train just yet...lots going on this week. I have a major grant due tomorrow, and then I leave for a conference on Thursday so will blog from the road.

A few thoughts on grantwriting, which I seem to be doing at just about all of my jobs this spring:

1. Begging for money is hard work. Begging for taxpayer money is far harder work. I make more per grantwriting hour than I would standing on a streetcorner with a performance troupe and a guitar case, but one of these two is more fun. Guess which one?

2. I don't mind answering questions in the least about why our projects might match your organization's goals. This seems extremely relevant, and I am happy for the chance to build a case. However, I think any questions requiring me to state why my organization is interested in receiving funding from [name of funding organization] are meant to test my ability to generate bulls**t. Come on, say it with me: You have money. We need money. This is why we are interested in receiving your money. (If you didn't have money, we wouldn't ask you for funding!)

3. Please, after I spend 20-30 hours filling out endless forms, could your organization send me any kind of evaluation at all? ANYthing that would help me do a better job if you're not funding my application? Or is it asking too much to receive some kind of meaningful feedback? You have to realize that if your funding categories appear to include our organization, we will keep applying until you either fund us or change your guidelines. I'd love to know the truth or some part of it about the reasons we're denied. "Our new board president doesn't like theatre." "We're only funding companies we've funded before that we trust this year." "Your narrative was dry and boring, and your project sounds uninspiring." "You didn't submit all the info we needed to make a decision." See, two of these reasons get me off the hook, and the other two are really important because it means I need to do my job better.

Now, I go forth to find more adjectives.