Diana's Blog: Quirky Words and Book Reviews

What does a book called Frommer's 500 Places to See Before They Disappear have to do with hanging out this evening with a bunch of writers? Simple. Writers' creative brains fire off questions, challenges, ideas which bounce off any object lying in sight. Lidia -- one of my writerly friends -- begged me to tell her about Barcelona, and I jotted off a quick story, which I will tell you in a moment. But, then there was more story to tell, and when I got home, I saw Frommer's book sitting on my desk.
Inside Frommer's book -- under Barcelona -- is La Sagrada Familia. Architect Antonio Gaudi began the church in 1882, and although he died in 1926, the church is not due to be completed until 2026. Regretably, I did not have a long enough package of time to see Gaudi's creation...but I did, serendipitously, see one of his other works.
I shadowed three students for a podcast about ESADE Business School. The two guys are married, with children.
But, Tilde is single and ready for adventure, so we go out for Tapas my last night in Barcelona. We follow every impulse -- music signals us to dive down an alley and we find street musicians and folk dancers.Then we dash into Church where Tilde shows me how to tell how popular the saints are by the number of candles on the table before them. This was one of the loveliest:
We try Tapas, enjoying the wonderful concoctions -- many unknown ingredients -- and head for coffee. At one point, I notice how Tilde's impulses and mine are completely aligned, and I say, "Tilde, are you a Leo?"
"Yes,"she replies.
"A July Leo?" I ask.
"Yes," she says, "July 27th."
"I'm July 28th!" I say. And as we open the door to the coffee shop, there are no empty tables, only two tall velvet red stuffed chairs one on each side of the front door -- looking very regal, as if for two Leo's.
But then the table right in front of the window empties, and we grab it. We sit in front of the plate glass window as if we are seated for a performance. And we get one.
A group of guys probably in their mid-twenties stand in front of the window on the alley, their backs to our window, letting the women go by, but cheerfully swinging their arms around men who walk by, and chatting them up. What's up here. We are missing something. The third time this happens, we see the fingers pull bills and a gold credit card from a man's wallet, which flies into the air and lands on the sidewalk. The guy points it out, and we think, "That's nice, he's letting him know his wallet fell out of his pocket." We think, "Did we see the wallet open? Did we see money and cards taken out?"
You know what's coming, don't you.
Two men, who had been seated near us in the coffee shop leave, and suddenly there's a bit more investment in our watching this street theatre. The guy -- with a grown-out mohawk and a striped shirt -- has to reach up to swing his arm, friendly-like, around the man's shoulder. The man is cordial, polite. But, then we see the guy swing his bent leg around the man's left leg. Our man gets what these guys are up to -- why did we not notice this before. The friendliness is an illusion. The guy flips the wallet out of the man's pocket, slick and fast slides the bills out, and drops the wallet on the ground. The man gives chase. His friend calls the policia. Suddenly, there is no one in the alley. No one at all. Tilde and I are dazzled by the pickpocket's choreography, the speed, the skill, but also the predictability -- once we got it. Policia dash by. Then our man comes back. He comes into the coffee shop.
"Girls, watch out," he says to us. "Did you see it? Could you identify the guys?"
"Yes," we say.
"I got my money back," he says. "I left all my credit cards in the hotel. Careful of your purses." And he is gone.
Tilde and I hug our purses, and get on the subway for her home and my hotel. It is windy, and I tell her I am so sorry I had to miss Gaudi's work. She smiles, and points. Just ahead is one of his architectural works:

Check out the gargoyle on the right, and the fascinating tile work on the building. It's pure confection. I still want to see La Sagrada Familiar -- and this trip has reminded me how much I dearly love to travel. I'll keep Frommer's book for reference.
Windblown and exhiliarated, Tilde and I stop by Hotel Sansi where I am staying, and accidentally wake up the night manager who snaps this photograph for us:

Tilde -- from Denmark -- on the left. Amazing original artwork behind us.

Hasta Luego, Espana de la corazon.

Labels: adventure, Barcelona, book review, FROMMER'S 500 PLACES TO SEE BEFORE THEY DISAPPEAR, Gaudi, Hotel Sansi, pickpockets, Tilde, Writers

November 23, 2008
I'm on the lookout for a cookbook filled with recipes for the Mediterranean diet. The closest I can come at this moment is COOKING LIGHT ANNUAL RECIPES 2008 and 2009. Two books. Every recipe has a caloric, carbohydrate, protein, sugar, fiber and fat breakdown, so at least you know what you're eating.
Just back from ESADE -- the MBA school in Barcelona -- I was treated there to the best-tasting food I have ever eaten. OMG, the freshness, the lightness, the purity, I was in heaven. And the evidence was apparent -- I saw more than one-hundred students and professors and administration while at the school, and not one was even five pounds overweight -- and that includes two pregnant women. My blood sugar, which I measure five times a day, was perfect the entire week. On the plane home, eating a "diebetic meal,"my blood sugar shot up to double what it is supposed to be. Crazy. Makes me want to move to Barcelona. I worked my booty off doing interviews, but the only exercise I got -- instead of my beloved dance classes -- was walking. The city is vibrant, and people walk everywhere, along with using public transportation. It's winter there now, which is good, because with the sea beckoning, had it been summer, I would have been in trouble. Winter, by the way, is temperatures around 63 degrees Fahrenheit, and lots of sunshine.
Most meals are obviously cooked in olive oil. The bread is dipped in olive oil. There is even fruit served with the dessert. I could not resist the chocolate cake, brownie and truffles. Even then, my blood sugar was perfect. Most nighttime meals feature a delicatedly cooked half-tomato with basil on top, and olive oil pooling around it. Same thing with the broccoli buds. One night at the Sansi Hotel I had sea bass, another night I enjoyed a beautiful cut of steak which I repeated at lunch the day I knew I'd miss dinner for nighttime Tapas, and another night, I had duck. All divine. At lunch one day in the professor's cafe, I had the most amazing Paella Valencia, and tuna. Another day at lunch, I dined with the students and chose fish from the buffet. I found a lot of bones in that fish, and one of the students grinned and said "Welcome to Spain!"
And breakfast featured scrambled eggs, and meats, fresh fruit, some I didn't even recognize, as well as those lucious tomatoes again.
So my education while visiting MBA classes extended into the life the students lead there, especially the diet. To prepare the fresh, simple meals I ate in Barcelona would transform my dietary concerns here. I'm beginning to learn that food -- and life -- can be simple and so delightful.
When I find that cookbook featuring the Mediterranean diet, I will let you know! In the meantime, I'll be experimenting with olive oil, and pouring through cookbooks.

Labels: Barcelona, book review ESADE, book review., COOKING LIGHT ANNUAL RECIPES 2008 and 2009, Mediterranean diet, Sansi Hotel

November 22, 2008
It has been November 22nd for about thirty-two hours for me -- left my Barcelona hotel around eight this morning, and just got home in Portland about 9pm. The bath awaits. But first!
All that time flying afforded me the opportunity to read a scientifically stunning book about the Law of Attraction. It is called THE ANSWER -- subtitle is Grow Any Business, Achieve Financial Freedom, and Live an Extraordinary Life. It's by John Assaraf and Murray Smith.
The duo begins with Copernicus and Galileo and Einstein, and rises beautifully until we come to the scientific conclusion that thoughts are indeed what constitutes reality. It is so beautifully spelled out in THE ANSWER, that anyone who has felt the Law of Attraction or THE SECRET is too airy-fairy will be able to perceive the scientific support for what appears to be magic. Make our dreams come true? Yeah, you bet! One of the key pieces is the part in your brain known as the Reticular Activating System. When you decide very specifically what you want, your unconscious brain will sort information at an unbelievably fast rate and you suddenly think of the right person to call, or the perfect situation presents itself and you recognize it!
Assaraf and Smith give you a working formula to rewire your mind -- backing up for a moment, they quote scientists who say "what fires together gets wired together." Often that relates to trauma, which takes undoing. And that can be done! You meditate, visualize and use affirmations to basically rewire the way you think. If you have a but after every dream, it'll never work. It takes thirty days to change neural reconditioning.
They talk about vision boards -- which I totally love. Here's a quick example -- on my vision board, which I assembled New Year's Eve and New Year's Day -- I pasted a picture of a passport because I hadn't traveled for years, and I love traveling. And, out of the blue comes this all-expense paid trip to Barcelona to interview MBA students at ESADE and sit in on Marketing, Branding, Economic and Spanish classes -- to create a podcast. Totally fabulous! Next time, I'll build in plenty of extra time to enjoy these places!
See your dreams as if they are true, reroute that wiring if you must, and live an exciting life. There are dozens of real-life examples in THE ANSWER, and thankfully, it is very specific, to the point of including how to create a successful business.
You will walk away from this book a winner.
And now the warm bath awaits...wherein I will dream up my next adventure!

Labels: Barcelona, book review, brain, dreams, ESADE, John Assaraf, Murray Smith, THE ANSWER, The Secret, transcending the trauma, vision board

November 21, 2008
My laptop thinks it's around five in the afternoon -- good, it's still Friday. My body is in Barcelona, and, having been playing most of the day, is in an altered time zone. My watch -- which I switched to Barcelona time -- says nearly two in the morning...with the wakeup call for the plane coming in four-and-a-half hours. I have plenty of time!
Technically, I am working all week, but to me interviewing and opening to new experiences are pure play. I have along with me -- correspondingly -- THE RED RUBBER BALL AT WORK: ELEVATE YOUR GAME THROUGH THE HIDDEN POWER OF PLAY book by Kevin Carroll. However, I had no way of knowing until I got to ESADE that the MBA school would espouse those very values.
The first sensory thought as I enter the school is that of Light -- light pours through the glass-walled building, students move light on their feet, spirits are light and joyful. And nearly every student I meet has an ageless excitement built into their demeanor. In classrooms, professors create teams with a collaborative spirit, not a combative or competitive one. Teamwork.
Remember the feel of that red rubber ball on your school's playground? There is a round swatch of it on the cover of THE RED RUBBER BALL AT WORK, drawing me into how play shows up -- delivering Results, using Teamwork, with Leadership and Curiousity. The small colorful book feels good in my hands. Inside, Carroll writes his clever, colorful bios in present tense -- in the chapter about Teamwork, he writes about advertising guru Rebecca Van Dyck. "When she is small, the girl is drawn to outdoor games like kick-the-can and made-up adventures like James Bond, and Explorer." She gets a bit older and leads her soccer team. Older still, and she uses sports to push her own boundaries. The 26 bios and how their play shows up in their "work" include author Malcolm Gladwell, to whom Play is building and creating. Gladwell's astonishing work pulls apart our society into pieces, and, like the Legos he played with as a child, he redesigns what we know and reframes it, to a greater understanding. Author Paulo Coelho -- and, yes I've interviewed both Gladwell and Coelho, to my enormous delight -- is also in the book. Coehlo says the game of marbles taught him to use instinct to knock the real book into play, the book he is meant to write instead of perhaps the book he is literally writing, which he must first kick away.
The lightness, brightness, playfulness of the book gives me the same sense as my week at ESADE. And that is topped off by a night of Tapas and wandering through downtown Barcelona with the lovely Tilde, a tall beautiful blonde Dane, as my guide. I shadow Tilde Thursday, and Friday we play, still learning.
Tilde and I are lucky in the same ways. We playfully walk along the streets, following our impulses.
We happen upon a street dance where beautiful live Spanish folk music livens up the plaza. Further along, a shopkeeper tells us that the store is closed, and then changes his mind and says to come in, we have five minutes.
We easily find seats in crowded bars, once in front of the huge picture window overlooking a street where we watch pickpockets select their prey and playfully spar with the men, slipping cash and credit cards from their empty wallets, dashing away, until Policia are notified and give chase. Street theatre.
We happen upon Gaudi architecture, which I had been seeking all week.
Finally, I say to Tilde "Are you a Leo?" She replies yes. And I follow up "Are you a July Leo?" And she says yes. She is July 27th. I am July 28th.
We love life.
We have smiles on always.
We are safe.
We learn.
We play.

Labels: Barcelona, book review ESADE, Kevin Carroll, learning, Malcolm Gladwell, Paulo Coehlo, playing, smiles, THE RED RUBBER BALL AT WORK ELEVATE YOUR GAME THROUGH THE HIDDEN POWER OF PLAY

November 18, 2008
It is night in Barcelona and I have taken three or four unexpected naps before dinner -- JetLag, I suppose, despite the homeopathic remedies. I do a few light pirouettes on the luminous cherrywood floor in the hotel - and I recall that my most recent dance teacher, Heather, and a couple of other dancers - out of the blue - commented that I danced very well -- I am doubting them - do they mean 'for my age' or that they are surprised - why do they say this - and why is it not possible for me to gratefully swallow the compliment whole.
I am reading 8: ALL TRUE: UNBELIEVABLE by Amy Fusselman - finally - I have had the book around for months, but could not crack it for fear that it might crack me - but I've already cracked the wall inside me, and memories come pouring out - I don't even need the protective hypnotic lights on the EMDR bar - they just come.
Amy writes like I do here - in chunks of memories that blend into everyday Day Things - and she explains how time is now even when it was decades ago - some things are frozen in time. So I begin reading 8 on the 737 as I head from JFK to Espana. Words meanwhile pop into my head in Spanish now that I am in Barcelona, and ask the hotel staff to ayudame. I want to pull up my high school Spanish and to speak well finally - and then, as I write, I am amused to see that I must translate the Spanish in my head back to English.
She was four, Amy was, when her pedophile - a man in his sixties - raped her - while her parents were away and entrusted the man and his wife to babysit her for a week. I was four-and-a-half when my pedophile raped me - I had on a lacy white blouse and a wool boxpleat skirt and what I called my "frilly pants" -- lacy underpants, which I tucked in the bottom of the hamper after they got all gloppy wet. During this event, I disappeared into the shirt button he was opening - and I went out of my body - I retain a yukky, tummy-turning, deeply upsetting sense any time I accidentally touch buttons. I still don't wear buttons -- not the ones with holes on top - OMG I can't tolerate those senses of deep revulsion and desperation and tears dredged down so profoundly, they are threaded in with the abused organs of my body.
On the plane, I am doing small exercises, pulling my abs in for example, and every time I pull in my abs, something inside, has to roll out of the way, first. And I wonder, asking the question out loud in my head as if for someone else to answer, "does everyone have to do this -- wait for another organ to move out of the way before their abs can tighten?" And I suddenly see another piece of the puzzle.
A few years back, after my two sons were in grade school, I had a tubal pregnancy. I had several imaging sessions and no one could see anything wrong, or even confirm the pregnancy, but tears just spontaneously rolled down my face, from the pain my body felt but I could not acknowledge - must soldier on, you know. Finally, I was refered to an expert, Dr Bair - he noticed that which no one else could -- that the tubes were completely out of normal position, and one was wrapped behind the other. This was some of the physical damage done by my pedophile - his physical presence in my body forced organs out of their natural places. It wasn't until today that I connected the dots between his evil penetration and my organs. As for the tubal pregnancy - by now, the tubes had ruptured, and my body cavity was filled with blood, so Dr Bair planned surgery for that day.
Amy finds proof in her body -- as talk therapy gives way to touch therapy.
The body does not lie - it is a sarcophagus for everything that occurs to us.
I think what happens is the walls between age four and now get knocked out, and the imagination we are allowed to have as children pops back into adulthood as a survival tool - not in making things up, but in allowing unreal things to be true.
Like - how could a grown man have sex with a four-year old girl and think that was all right - maybe he says to himself "I am teaching her to be sexy, so that she will be hot for all the men who might become her husband." That's what my pedophile said to me, believing it. And it came true - I love sex. I am a coming machine. But, I don't know love. Not yet. I will.
Amy, too, has two sons and a husband when she begins to uncover this horror in her life. Why did God not give us girls, I wonder? Would that have been too horribly difficult for us to face -- her-and-us in the same moment, both of us at four, for example.
Amy loves figure-skating - and finds joy in her body. It is the same for me when I dance. And now I think when I was a teen and won Junior Miss Western Union County - and the Poise & Appearance award - and the prize for the P&A section was figure-skating lessons, but I was so afraid - I was being raped then by several men in their late twenties and early thirties, one a lawyer. I want to skate again - to learn to figure-skate. Amy talks of the bliss in skating - that the music lets in your body - and your body explains everything. Not thinking in words. She thanks her pedophile for making her think so much that she had to be a writer - I know that awkward blessing, too! But my dance and her skating give us joy - and reading her words about her pedophile when she was four, kicks off memories - then healing - for me for when I was four and a half until I was just turned eighteen, and I left home for college. But "home" never left me - and now it is a story-without-painful-charge and it is joy and it is praying other girls - now women -and boys - now men -read my words, and open to healing, so the bloodied child is calmed of all wounds, and lives without fear - in Love.

Labels: 8 ALL TRUE UNBELIEVABLE, Amy Fusselman, Barcelona, book review, child sex abuse, children, dance, EMDR, figure-skating, the body tells the truth, therapy, transcending the trauma