#47 - A Blasdell Girl at Canyon Ranch

The universe was having a benevolent moment towards this Blasdell gal several weeks ago.

Out of the blue, I received an invitation for a free stay at the Canyon Ranch Health Spa.

Well… not totally out of the blue.

A very influential someone caught wind of my bizarre online humor and heard one of my WBFO listener commentaries.

She thought I was worth the bother.

Well…

I wasn’t about to disagree with her…

But I will tell you something…

This Blasdell Gal went into a dead on panic upon receiving the invitation and verifying that this was the real thing.

Canyon Ranch is rated as the American version of Club Med.

You have to be in possession of mucho deniers in order to afford even stepping on the sumptuous gated grounds and complex.

I thought to myself, “How am I going to fit in to this place with my Wal-Mart special sneakers and Goodwill seconds?”

Growing up in Blasdell, the highlight of fancy was a spaghetti dinner at Ilio DiPaolo’s.

Still is as a matter of fact.

Every self-conscious neurotic thought came into play as I prepared for this trip.

I am going to be “found out” as soon as they get one look at me.

Money knows money… and I will look like a platypus in my Kaufman’s deeply discounted last season Donna Karan’s that was hastily bought a few days before our visit.

I thought of that as my camouflage… for going undercover and seeing how the other half lives… the privileged folks.

I doubt that the designer label worked.

The thing is…

when you really do have money, you don’t wear things with labels on them that shout out…

“ Look at me! See how MUCH I spent on these clothes?!”

Nope.

That is decidedly the realm of those of us who are firmly planted in the middle and lower classes.

That is the realm of the blue collar community that has populated this part of New York State for generations.

I am a Blasdell gal…

And darn tootin’ proud of that.

Most of us Blasdell gals look tough on the outside and are emotional marshmallows on the inside.

Our lives are rarely easy, but vastly complicated with the stress of reaching out to those less fortunate than us, scrabbling to keep our families afloat, and being the backbone that society needs so that the giants of society can crawl up on our shoulders to see the view of a world that probably never will be in our reach.

Blasdell gals are in the hospitals nursing the ill, working the factory line, clerking at the stores, teaching in our schools, being mother to their own… and more often than not mothering loads of other folks too.

We will cuss and have a beer with the guys,

And tenderly stroke the faces of our sweet children at day’s end.

We are prone to picking a fight with anyone who messes with said kids.

We will get up at sunrise, work hard, come home, and complain. After dinner and getting the kids to bed we watch celebrities make fools of themselves on the television, and then, gratefully, say a prayer or lay our heads down on our pillows at night and count our blessings.

Some of us Blasdell gals just lay down our heads and cry when no one is looking.

We are the daughters of immigrants.

We learned that you work hard and always be grateful for what you already have… because it could be worse.

And so there I was…

a Blasdell gal…

feeling insecure by stepping foot into a world that I have had glimpses of on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.

The veneer I tried on for this vacation lasted less than a few hours.

I was shocked to see that the most of the rich folk look like…

Well…

Blasdell gals.

Worry furrowed their brows.

The gals who were there to lose weight would shyly whisper a “Hello” to me and give a nervous smile.

Holy toot!

They were as uncomfortable as me.

Feeling insecure too.

Encased in Blasdell gal bodies.

Thick hipped, well endowed chests…

Thick legs…

Well made for working hard and tending to the kids.

Guess there isn’t room for that Botticelli figure in the world of the wealthy thin folks.

I relaxed.

I smiled.

I put my baggy secondhand clothes back on, figuring I would look eccentric instead of low class.

I held my fork as a Blasdell gal, and my elbows landed plunk on the linen covered tablecloth just as proudly as any Blasdell gal hanging out at DiPaolo’s.

Don’t really care if that was how I was perceived.

I started thinking, “Why do I need to be ashamed of my roots?”

Because many of the women at Canyon Ranch looked like me and the other Blasdell gals I grew up with…

Just in a nicer brand of clothing.

They must have their long days of hard work, dreadful boredom from routines and ruts that we all get stuck into, children to give them those extra gray hairs, and bodies that refuse to conform to impossible shapes that only grace a few celebrities here and there.

The Canyon Ranch ladies obviously crave cookies, lack the time and energy for exercise, and probably feel out of place many times too.

I went in to this health spa trip thinking that I am an outsider in the world of the privileged.

I was so very wrong.

We become outsiders by our desire to be other than what we are.

I am a Blasdell gal, not an outsider.

Why?

Because I happen to LIKE being a Blasdell gal.

I like it that we didn’t have much growing up.

I like it that my friends and family work hard at jobs that may pay the rent, but not finance an extravagance.

I LOVE my immigrant roots.

And I love it when someone who is definitely un-Blasdell gives me the funny look like, “Who does she think she is?”

Canyon Ranch taught me something completely unexpected.

I am not rich.

I probably never will be rich.

I don’t care if I’m not rich.

I don’t care if I look like an oddball in the country club scene, and I don’t care that I don’t have a cell phone or a palm pilot or fancy clothes or any of the trappings of wealth.

Because that is what those things become.

Trappings.

Trapped.

I think a lot of folks who go to Canyon Ranch are feeling trapped.

Trapped by the extreme pressure required to obtain and hold onto such wealth.

Trapped by social standards that appear to more exacting, more demanding than the Saturday night beer and bowling crowd.

Trapped by stifling routines.

Trapped by uncooperative bodies that will not conform to the way one is “supposed” to look.

Canyon Ranch was fancy.

VERY…

But, it was not the wealth that made the vacation splendid.

The quiet was healing.

The opportunities to relax and renew oneself through meditation, mindfulness, getting some solitude were plentiful.

Those are things you can get for free if you know how.

The best moments of this trip were spent in the woods, looking at a brook, the leaves of the trees dancing against the speckled sunlight, the birdsong, the whishy-wishy sound of the hammock under the huge trees.

Canyon Ranch taught this Blasdell gal to Re-create instead of Wreck-create.

And maybe that is what Blasdell gals… oh heck… ALL of us need.

Skip the amusement park whistle and stop tours of noise and confusion.

Skip the noise of crowded places where all the tourists go.

Skip the loud parties and brews for a few nights.

Get real quiet.

Sit under a tree, or hole up on the beaches of Lake Erie far away from everyone.

And Breathe.

This Blasdell gal did that at Canyon Ranch.

Before the trip my sister said “There will be no living with you when you get back from a place like that.”

She meant that I would be spoiled for the high life.

But, that is not what happened.

I found gratitude.

Gratitude for the small car, and the tiny Cozy Cottage that we call home.

Gratitude for countless things I had previously ignored.

And at Canyon Ranch I found something long missing from my life.

Gratitude for being a Blasdell Gal…

And darn tootin’ proud of that fact.