Couples Yoga? You've got to be kidding!

Shh! Don't tell my husband I am writing this.

Until now, I had stubbornly, and proudly kept one foot planted in my New England world of reticence and practicality. Ever proud to be pronouncing words like "quarter'' in the accent of the Boston Red Sox fan that I am, I hadn't quite thought of this California gig as a transformation (or of calling it a gig).

Then, I took a step, no a stride, well, actually a huge frickin leap to the Left side. I signed up my husband and myself for a Couples Yoga session. On Valentines Day. For three hours.

I had become a California cliche.

The gruff New Englander in me wishes she could tell you that only two tofu-loving couples showed up completely stoned out of their minds, and that we ran out of the incense-stinking room, and headed for the nearest greasy spoon, to devour buttermilk pancakes and Vermont maple syrup.

We did not.

The blonde wood floor of the room at Avalon Yoga in Palo Alto www.avalonyoga.com held at least 25 couples, from smooth-faced 20-year-olds to finely chiseled 60-somethings. Many of them were appropriately sheepish as they unrolled their yoga mats, and sidled up to their partners, looking as tentative as I felt as I settled in next to my husband of 14 years.

Before it was over, I would see the face of my decidedly non-yoga, basketball-with-the-boys husband go from tight and tense to looking more relaxed than I had seen it in a long time. In those three hours, we would feed each other chocolates, massage each other's weary muscles, and chuckle with the other couples when even the class leaders stumbled over exercises designed to help couples communicate lovingly during an argument when every bone in your body screams otherwise. We , too, practiced moves that drew us together and pulled us apart and then drew us together and pulled us apart again in a classic dance of intimacy. Then, we handed each other a single rose, hugged a yoga instructor we had never met before, and walked out the door.

My personal Californication was complete.

We have Fall colors this year!

Call me used to California, but when I walked out to head for the Farmer's Market this morning, I saw fall colors. Yes. I was nearly blinded by the orange and yellow hues. The trees actually look a little New Englandish these days. My friends tell me it is because we had the rare occurrence of rain before November this year (life is tough in Sunny Norcal). It ain't New England, but Norcal does have some hints of those glorious Fall days in Connecticut.

Sunshine Hurts!

Summer used to be my favorite season. It was all I could think of as I slogged through the damp cold of New England winters. Now, I am not so sure. The sun is so intense here that women wear gloves to protect their hands. I can't last a half hour at the farmer's market without a hat on, and my skin, well, it's started to look quite prunish. When a friend came to visit from the East last weekend, she was taken aback by the sun and the dry air here. "I don't know what I feel," she said. I still haven't figured out why the sun feels hotter and brighter here in the summer than in Connecticut, even as the temperature is warmer in East on many summer days. I assume it's because there's not a cloud in the sky most of the summer, and because there is no humidity to block it? I do know that you can't get away with cheap sunglasses around here!

Ants! and environmentalist's hypocrisy in California

There, of course is some hypocrisy in green-conscious Norcal, and it is caused by a single word: Ants! One night we came home and there was a line of hundreds of them, perhaps thousands, marching, marching across the floor to the cat's dish. On another night, the kitchen counter moved with waves of ants. Return home tired from work enough times to face this, and yes, it's enough to leave behind any opposition to pesticides. How quickly I left my environmentalism behind. Already, in just three years in California, I have had 10 visits from the Orkin man, and a full tenting of our condo for termites. The sad thing is I don't know anyone who has not done the same. Sadder still. We recently took care of a cat for a friend, and left out the cat food. Came home, and Yikes! The march was on. Hundreds of ants were back, despite the nasty chemicals!

Are Californians more friendly than New Englanders?

What do you think? Are people in California more friendly than people in Connecticut, or is the friendliness is the Golden State superficial? The first "Oh no what have I done moving to California" moment came for me when I was in Lake Tahoe one day away from my new California home. A couple wearing tie-dyed t-shirts came up to my husband and I in a parking lot and started talking like they had known us for years. Where I come from when a stranger talks to you that means either they are selling something or about to steal something from you. On and on they went, talking about how great it is to live in California. At the end of the conversation, the woman gave me her card. "Let me know if you need anything, like the name of a good dentist.'' I stood there stunned. In California, the fallback position when you are waiting in a grocery line or buying a movie ticket, is to talk to the person beside you. In New England, the rule is to avoid eye contact and say as little as possible. What do you think?

A tour of Facebook Headquarters- Sushi and Sake

Another reason to love California! Today I toured the new Facebook headquarters that moved into my 'hood. The chefs pampered us with sushi, wine, sake, cookies, well, you get it. Employees wearing Facebook hoodies told us about the place. Yes, they are young. Not a bad first job. I guess Facebook wants to get along with its neighbors. There's about five different wall colors, retro, Ikea-looking furniture, and a carpeted walk-in vault (presumably left over from H-P which used to live there). But never fear, Facebook workers are like the rest of us in one way- the bathrooms are standard office issue.

Cars Stop for Pedestrians in California

Cars STOP for you in California. Just today, two different cars stopped to let me pass- IN A STRIP MALL. In New England, we used to flip the bird to people for doing that!