Monumentist Moments!!!

Legend-wait for it-..........DARY!*

Today was a day for breaking records and diving deeper into this funny northern world. TWO never-before-seen-or-felt moments wriggled there way into my morning literary.

Primero Monumentist Moment: 

Today marks the coldest I have ever ever ever been in my entire earthly existence. You know you're in for a morning of Arctic proportions when you aren't sure if your radio station is telling you the time or the temperature. Additionally, even my iPhone sought to warn me that it was "very cold". 

Dressed in my snow jacket of many colors I de-iced my windshield in 11 degree air. On the way to my morning appointment the heat of my eyeballs fogged over my glasses. After a brisk three minute drive I arrived at a blood donation center. Before the customary finger prick I stuck my iceberg hands into the warm folds of my armpits. I did this in the waiting room. And I didn't do it under my jacket. My elbows pointed out like a sunflower leaves as I reached both hands through the collar of my shirt. 

Unfortunately my attempt to defrost my digits failed. Two medical technicians were needed to pinch and prod the frozen blood out of my ring finger. Normally their rigorous squeezing would have caused tears to well up in my eyes. But my freezer-burned epidermis enabled me to chat and laugh without a second thought to what was happening to my nerve-less finger tips. 

Eight minutes later, they collected the needed 1/16 of a teaspoon. With the sample tested and my weight taken only my temperature remained. Both technicians knitted their brows after my reading. It turns out that I was too cold to donate. Even after ten minutes in the warm-as-June heated building my internal temperature was only a chilly 95.3 degrees.  Later in the morning, I saw a man wearing a short sleeve polo and a pair of dad jeans. Perhaps I really wasn't meant for this kind of living. I feel akin to the lone Flamingo that lives at  the Moscow zoo. 

Segunda Monumentist Moment:

Yoga outside of India is always translated. Classes vary, instructors vary, terms vary.  However my East-Meets-Midwest practice today takes it to a whole new Post-Modern level. High above the Island Park's balding treeline my yoga class expectations were shattered by the Fargo YMCA. For better or for worse. 

Within a second of walking into the studio I noticed something different. Gone was the lulling buzz of didgeridoos and the splish-splashing of bubbling brooks that I had come to expect. And in its place was soundtrack worthy of a Nora Ephron movie. We did downward dog to Norah Jones and balanced on one foot as Beyonce scaled "At Last's" octaves. Every song was mellow and positive. Overall the lyrics focused on world perspective and love, in a Top 40 kind of way. 

It may come as no surprise that our instructor was the first of her kind. She did not fit the long and limber, tattooed and vegan yogi archetype. She was short and sturdy; cornfed, with thick wheat-blonde hair that could only belong to a farmer's daughter. Her voice was equal parts scratchy, monotone and mall girl. She never once mentioned her style of practice or the c.d. playing in the background. She was unapologetic for who she was. In a way that we all should aim to be. And while the class was certainly different, it wasn't bad or irreverent. Well, actually, maybe playing Jack Johnson is sacrilegious in for some ascetics. But I feel as though her aim was noble. And her mix included one my favorite songs, Adele's cover of "Make You Feel My Love".  And I think that earns some Midwest Points.

Hearing A Favorite Song on East-Meets-Midwest Yoga Mix=1 MIDWEST POINT

Having Your Blood Freeze= -7 MIDWEST POINTS

*Believe it or not Barney Stinson, but North Dakota's state motto is....LEGENDARY!