I love when stuff just turns out the way it's supposed to be.
Like when Amber's in Illinois for the weekend and in need of the perfect dress to wear to a wedding, and we find it. And I mean perfect. The girl is a knockout in her ugly robe. In this dress, hell, I practically threw her down on the floor of the dressing room. She is gorgeous in this dress.
Or when I go to visit my dad and not only mooch an afternoon of the washer and dryer, but also get pork chops on the grill.
Dad just got back from Hawaii, and he brought back each of us girls a pair of pearl earrings. Each of us have a different color - Jenn's are blue, signifying strength; Pat's are Golden, signifying loyalty; and mine? Mine are black, chosen for me because they signify adventure. Our sister Kathie chose them for us, and all this time I thought the last thing she wanted to accept in me was that spirit of adventure.
Turns out, she's okay with it. And so is Dad. As he put it, "They didn't have a pearl color that stood for 'wild-hearted free spirit,' so I thought that was the next best thing.
And then tonight I walked in the door, and The Boys were waiting expectantly, ready to shower me with kitty love and kisses. Life is good. Unless you're in Iowa.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
The magic of a summer night
Tonight on my way home from the gym (at 8:45, because I understand the beauty of kicking my own ass) I was overcome by the simple beauty of the night. As I drove, the fireflies flickered. Couples walked hand in hand along the sidewalks of the neighborhoods on my way home. The line outside the Dairy Queen stretched beyond the parking lot. Golfers were perfecting their swing at the driving range. And me? Well, I drove with the windows down, listening to some great tunes.
It's simple, but it's perfect. Summer nights are magic.
In less than two weeks, some of my people will gather together to spend a week's worth of summer nights together. I'll get to catch fireflies with two precious one-year-old girls, and listen to their giggles and read them stories. There will be long conversations on the back porch, long walks along the beach (during which Mike has assured me he will NOT hold my hand), meals prepared with love, and peach custard pie. (Secretly, I'm hoping we'll also get a killer thunderstorm, but I might be in the minority in hoping for that.)
I'm so ready.
Six more get-ups!
It's simple, but it's perfect. Summer nights are magic.
In less than two weeks, some of my people will gather together to spend a week's worth of summer nights together. I'll get to catch fireflies with two precious one-year-old girls, and listen to their giggles and read them stories. There will be long conversations on the back porch, long walks along the beach (during which Mike has assured me he will NOT hold my hand), meals prepared with love, and peach custard pie. (Secretly, I'm hoping we'll also get a killer thunderstorm, but I might be in the minority in hoping for that.)
I'm so ready.
Six more get-ups!
Monday, June 23, 2008
Weekend at the Lake House
I truly needed to get my hair done. And do laundry. And eat one of Louie's mushroom cheeseburgers. And kidnap Kelly. So it was off to Lake Geneva for the weekend.
Picked up Kel on the way to karaoke on Friday. We danced and sang the night away, in celebration of Tim's birthday. He's funny when he's had a few too many. Wisconsin boy becomes Brooklyn tough guy in less than 15 seconds.
It was a beautiful night, so when we weren't singing, we sat out on the patio, offering ourselves up as a buffet to the mosquitoes. Flesh-eating bastards. But we made the best of it, and had a great time. Post-karaoke, I took Kelly with me back to Amber's, where we slept the sleep of angels. I didn't want to cuddle her, but she made me. She's so demanding.
Saturday was my appointment with Lea, so she could turn my tired hair into something resembling a good hair day. Mission accomplished. Then it was back to Amber's to do laundry and lay by the pool. The hungover birthday boy joined me poolside, and I have to tell you, it's most delightful to have someone to call Pablo and demand margaritas. It didn't work, mind you, but it was fun just to say it!
That night, I stayed in and went to sleep early. Girl needs her beauty sleep, you know! More laundry, mushroom burger, and more pool time.
Yes, I wore sunscreen.
This time, the Pell Lake Rathundes came along for chlorine-spiked fun, and eventually Amber came home and joined us, too. By the time Kelly arrived for her much-needed relaxation, the clouds were rolling in and it was time to head indoors. But what fun we had, snacking on everything edible in Amber's kitchen, playing games and just being family.
I was tired when I finally arrived home, but happy, too. It's always refreshing to surround yourself with love and sunshine for a couple of days.
Picked up Kel on the way to karaoke on Friday. We danced and sang the night away, in celebration of Tim's birthday. He's funny when he's had a few too many. Wisconsin boy becomes Brooklyn tough guy in less than 15 seconds.
It was a beautiful night, so when we weren't singing, we sat out on the patio, offering ourselves up as a buffet to the mosquitoes. Flesh-eating bastards. But we made the best of it, and had a great time. Post-karaoke, I took Kelly with me back to Amber's, where we slept the sleep of angels. I didn't want to cuddle her, but she made me. She's so demanding.
Saturday was my appointment with Lea, so she could turn my tired hair into something resembling a good hair day. Mission accomplished. Then it was back to Amber's to do laundry and lay by the pool. The hungover birthday boy joined me poolside, and I have to tell you, it's most delightful to have someone to call Pablo and demand margaritas. It didn't work, mind you, but it was fun just to say it!
That night, I stayed in and went to sleep early. Girl needs her beauty sleep, you know! More laundry, mushroom burger, and more pool time.
Yes, I wore sunscreen.
This time, the Pell Lake Rathundes came along for chlorine-spiked fun, and eventually Amber came home and joined us, too. By the time Kelly arrived for her much-needed relaxation, the clouds were rolling in and it was time to head indoors. But what fun we had, snacking on everything edible in Amber's kitchen, playing games and just being family.
I was tired when I finally arrived home, but happy, too. It's always refreshing to surround yourself with love and sunshine for a couple of days.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
It only hurts when I move
I'm willing to admit that, perhaps, I've bitten off more than I can chew this week.
There was spinning on Monday. Then kickboxing and strength training on Tuesday. Hip-hop on Wednesday. Salsa on Thursday. And my knees are really pissed at me right now.
Maybe I need to work out a schedule that doesn't include four days in a row of sweat- and soreness-inducing, calorie-burning workouts.
Or maybe the old body will eventually get used to it.
At any rate, tonight someone I've never talked to before came up to me and told me I dance really well. I almost cried! She's this tiny woman with a beautiful accent who dances like she owns the joint, and she thinks I can dance! Every dance tonight was my happy one.
Everything was perfect and happy until John decided it was time to edit my wardrobe. Okay, so the t-shirt I was wearing is threadbare and holey. It's old, white, cotton ... it's kind of a security blanket. "It does nothing for you," he said, delivering fashion advice in a way only a gay man can. (Honestly, I think if he didn't say stuff like that to me, he'd have to turn in his membership card.) But too bad, John - I love my tired old shirt, and I don't care how much you sweat on it, I'm gonna wear it until it disintegrates in the wash!
Anyhoo, tonight's schedule is going to include a loooooong, hhhhhot bath. I deserve a happy soak. And maybe even a glass of wine.
Yeah, that sounds just about perfect.
There was spinning on Monday. Then kickboxing and strength training on Tuesday. Hip-hop on Wednesday. Salsa on Thursday. And my knees are really pissed at me right now.
Maybe I need to work out a schedule that doesn't include four days in a row of sweat- and soreness-inducing, calorie-burning workouts.
Or maybe the old body will eventually get used to it.
At any rate, tonight someone I've never talked to before came up to me and told me I dance really well. I almost cried! She's this tiny woman with a beautiful accent who dances like she owns the joint, and she thinks I can dance! Every dance tonight was my happy one.
Everything was perfect and happy until John decided it was time to edit my wardrobe. Okay, so the t-shirt I was wearing is threadbare and holey. It's old, white, cotton ... it's kind of a security blanket. "It does nothing for you," he said, delivering fashion advice in a way only a gay man can. (Honestly, I think if he didn't say stuff like that to me, he'd have to turn in his membership card.) But too bad, John - I love my tired old shirt, and I don't care how much you sweat on it, I'm gonna wear it until it disintegrates in the wash!
Anyhoo, tonight's schedule is going to include a loooooong, hhhhhot bath. I deserve a happy soak. And maybe even a glass of wine.
Yeah, that sounds just about perfect.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Sitting hurts
Tonight, I took my very first ever spinning class. Good friends, good music, teacher with beautiful arms ... okay, I'll bike my ass off for a hour.
What they forgot to tell me was that 15 minutes into the workout, my butt bones were going to hurt. 30 minutes into the workout I was going to want to kill people. 45 minutes into the workout I was going to want to kill myself. And 60 minutes after the workout - when we were done and stretching - I was going to feel so blissfully in charge of my body, I could do anything.
It's a great addition to my workout routine, really good for the legs (which really do have muscle in 'em, it's just buried beneath the "other stuff,") and honestly a blast. One more thing I was holding off trying until I became thin.
Gentle reader, don't wait for some future time to do the stuff you really want to do. Why wait when now works just as well? Life is too short to put off the good times for when you think you finally deserve it.
You deserve it now.
What they forgot to tell me was that 15 minutes into the workout, my butt bones were going to hurt. 30 minutes into the workout I was going to want to kill people. 45 minutes into the workout I was going to want to kill myself. And 60 minutes after the workout - when we were done and stretching - I was going to feel so blissfully in charge of my body, I could do anything.
It's a great addition to my workout routine, really good for the legs (which really do have muscle in 'em, it's just buried beneath the "other stuff,") and honestly a blast. One more thing I was holding off trying until I became thin.
Gentle reader, don't wait for some future time to do the stuff you really want to do. Why wait when now works just as well? Life is too short to put off the good times for when you think you finally deserve it.
You deserve it now.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Tony who?
I can't begin to describe the feeling of watching a friend, someone who honed his early theater chops with me, perform on the Tony Awards.
This is the second time I've seen Victor Hawks perform as part of a nominated ensemble, and once again I have this crazy combination of goosebumps, tears, and uncontrollable giddyness. Congratulations, Vic. You make me proud.
This is the second time I've seen Victor Hawks perform as part of a nominated ensemble, and once again I have this crazy combination of goosebumps, tears, and uncontrollable giddyness. Congratulations, Vic. You make me proud.
Happy Blogversary!
One year ago today, Maggie's World found a home here at blogspot.com
It's been quite a year, one of growth and adventure, peppered with occasional bad judgment and pancakes.
Makes me wonder what the next year will bring me. I'm hoping that on June 15, 2009, I look back and see progress. Or at least good times, with good friends, and more smiles than tears.
A toast to the coming year!
It's been quite a year, one of growth and adventure, peppered with occasional bad judgment and pancakes.
Makes me wonder what the next year will bring me. I'm hoping that on June 15, 2009, I look back and see progress. Or at least good times, with good friends, and more smiles than tears.
A toast to the coming year!
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Best monologue from the best movie, ever
I belong to the Church of Baseball. I was baptized at the feet of my mother, with whom I watched countless games on television, and a number of them at Wrigley Field. Walking in to Wrigley truly feels like walking in to church ... there's something that speaks to my soul. I can't explain it, but James Earl Jones can. His line, from my favorite movie, Field of Dreams:
People will come Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom. They'll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. ... And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come Ray. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh, people will come Ray. People will most definitely come.
A woman of ever-changing maintenance needs
Harry Burns: There are two kinds of women: high maintenance and low maintenance.
Sally Albright: Which one am I?
Harry Burns: You're the worst kind. You're high maintenance but you think you're low maintenance.
The scene is a classic, from a movie that's a classic. But I find myself in the unfortunate position of disagreeing with Harry, because I don't think I fall into either category. I am a blissful combination plate.
Like this morning, in a fit of total spontaneity, I went to the gym and then went home to cook breakfast for a hot guy. (Yes, it was Brian. We spooned in the kitchen; true story.) A super-quick shower was all that was required to make me Saturday-cute. It's a low-maintenance kinda day. Rolling with the punches, not needing much, just content to lay on a blanket in the park and enjoy the blue sky, coffee, and the company of a good friend (who also just happens to have killer arms.)
But sometimes ... sometimes, I can be that needy girl who just can't pull herself together without a little help from her friends. And, thankfully, they come through. Not always instantly - after all, I have to acknowledge that it really isn't all about me - but eventually, they come through. And sometimes I'm that girl who takes two hours to get ready. Sometimes I like to look like an actual girl, and that can take a bit of effort.
Hopefully, the people who matter (and if you're reading this, you're one of them!) think it's a worthwhile endeavor to figure out which Maggie they're getting on any given day. So far, you've never let me down.
Edited to say: No, Brian did not wake up there. And the spoons were standing. Sheesh, why must everything be kinky with you?
Sally Albright: Which one am I?
Harry Burns: You're the worst kind. You're high maintenance but you think you're low maintenance.
The scene is a classic, from a movie that's a classic. But I find myself in the unfortunate position of disagreeing with Harry, because I don't think I fall into either category. I am a blissful combination plate.
Like this morning, in a fit of total spontaneity, I went to the gym and then went home to cook breakfast for a hot guy. (Yes, it was Brian. We spooned in the kitchen; true story.) A super-quick shower was all that was required to make me Saturday-cute. It's a low-maintenance kinda day. Rolling with the punches, not needing much, just content to lay on a blanket in the park and enjoy the blue sky, coffee, and the company of a good friend (who also just happens to have killer arms.)
But sometimes ... sometimes, I can be that needy girl who just can't pull herself together without a little help from her friends. And, thankfully, they come through. Not always instantly - after all, I have to acknowledge that it really isn't all about me - but eventually, they come through. And sometimes I'm that girl who takes two hours to get ready. Sometimes I like to look like an actual girl, and that can take a bit of effort.
Hopefully, the people who matter (and if you're reading this, you're one of them!) think it's a worthwhile endeavor to figure out which Maggie they're getting on any given day. So far, you've never let me down.
Edited to say: No, Brian did not wake up there. And the spoons were standing. Sheesh, why must everything be kinky with you?
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Truth and stuff
It's no secret that sometimes the loss of my marriage still haunts me. This is one of those times.
And yet, in truth, I'm not sure what it is that troubles me. Is it the fact that my husband wasn't who I thought he was, or was it me? Was I simply not who I thought I was, or not who he thought I was, or not who I needed to be?
In all likelihood, it's probably a combination of all those things, and more. But the last couple of years have really drawn into sharp focus a few things that I know for sure. Such as:
This is me. Take me or leave me, I'm not going to change who that is for anyone. I have eclectic musical tastes, I hog the covers, I sing in the shower, I like to watch television, I am a perfectionist, I do not like a messy house.
I have expectations, and while they are not extraordinarily high, they are not to be trifled with. Should I ever find myself sharing living quarters with a loved one again, I expect that when I walk in the door, he will stop what he's doing (unless it's something biological, or a miracle has occurred and a man has learned to run a vacuum,) stand up, hug me and say hello. (The occasional sweep-me-off-my-feet kiss would be nice, too.) I can't tell you how many times I came home to find my ex glued to the computer screen. In the later days of our marriage, he was likely corresponding with his paramour, but I sincerely hope that early on I was a little more important than whatever computer game he was playing. Just hug me, then get back to it. But give me a few minutes to feel special. Like maybe, just maybe, you missed me.
I like dairy. The lactose intolerant portion of the population can just stay the hell out of my fridge.
I camp. In a tent. You don't have to like it. You don't even have to go. You just have to encourage me to do it without you. Sissy.
I do not like to be pawed in the grocery store. I think he thought I was a cold, anti-affectionate ice cube, when in fact I simply didn't like him touching my lady parts in the cereal aisle. Some things should be private, dammit, and that's one of 'em.
I need to have activities that are all my own. I willingly gave up so much of this during my time with Christopher, and it took me so long to re-discover the fact that I like karaoke, I love to dance, writing is a true passion, knitting relaxes me in a way little else can, and sometimes I need time alone with my friends.
Finally, I require that teeth be brushed at least twice a day, showers be taken daily unless we're camping, and clothing be ironed. Not by me.
It's not a lot, really. I'm not saying "hey, gimme a kidney" here. And I'm sure there's more; these are just the examples of things that immediately spring to mind when I think about how I settled, and how much more I deserve.
And yet, in truth, I'm not sure what it is that troubles me. Is it the fact that my husband wasn't who I thought he was, or was it me? Was I simply not who I thought I was, or not who he thought I was, or not who I needed to be?
In all likelihood, it's probably a combination of all those things, and more. But the last couple of years have really drawn into sharp focus a few things that I know for sure. Such as:
This is me. Take me or leave me, I'm not going to change who that is for anyone. I have eclectic musical tastes, I hog the covers, I sing in the shower, I like to watch television, I am a perfectionist, I do not like a messy house.
I have expectations, and while they are not extraordinarily high, they are not to be trifled with. Should I ever find myself sharing living quarters with a loved one again, I expect that when I walk in the door, he will stop what he's doing (unless it's something biological, or a miracle has occurred and a man has learned to run a vacuum,) stand up, hug me and say hello. (The occasional sweep-me-off-my-feet kiss would be nice, too.) I can't tell you how many times I came home to find my ex glued to the computer screen. In the later days of our marriage, he was likely corresponding with his paramour, but I sincerely hope that early on I was a little more important than whatever computer game he was playing. Just hug me, then get back to it. But give me a few minutes to feel special. Like maybe, just maybe, you missed me.
I like dairy. The lactose intolerant portion of the population can just stay the hell out of my fridge.
I camp. In a tent. You don't have to like it. You don't even have to go. You just have to encourage me to do it without you. Sissy.
I do not like to be pawed in the grocery store. I think he thought I was a cold, anti-affectionate ice cube, when in fact I simply didn't like him touching my lady parts in the cereal aisle. Some things should be private, dammit, and that's one of 'em.
I need to have activities that are all my own. I willingly gave up so much of this during my time with Christopher, and it took me so long to re-discover the fact that I like karaoke, I love to dance, writing is a true passion, knitting relaxes me in a way little else can, and sometimes I need time alone with my friends.
Finally, I require that teeth be brushed at least twice a day, showers be taken daily unless we're camping, and clothing be ironed. Not by me.
It's not a lot, really. I'm not saying "hey, gimme a kidney" here. And I'm sure there's more; these are just the examples of things that immediately spring to mind when I think about how I settled, and how much more I deserve.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Panini
My sister Jenn gave me a panini grill.
Ergo, anything that can be stuffed between two slices of bread and grilled to perfection has been.
Egg bread, cheese, turkey, artichoke hearts and fire-roasted peppers.
Wheat tortilla and cheese. (It was midnight. I was hungry.)
Seven-grain bread, Muenster cheese, avocado, tomato (the non-salmonella kind) and mushroom.
White bread and leftover sloppy Joe meat.
Every experiment so far has turned into a culinary delight. My tastebuds are so damn happy.
My ass, on the other hand, hurts. Kickboxing is good for the soul, and good for the ass, but hurts a little while in the aftermath.
Ergo, anything that can be stuffed between two slices of bread and grilled to perfection has been.
Egg bread, cheese, turkey, artichoke hearts and fire-roasted peppers.
Wheat tortilla and cheese. (It was midnight. I was hungry.)
Seven-grain bread, Muenster cheese, avocado, tomato (the non-salmonella kind) and mushroom.
White bread and leftover sloppy Joe meat.
Every experiment so far has turned into a culinary delight. My tastebuds are so damn happy.
My ass, on the other hand, hurts. Kickboxing is good for the soul, and good for the ass, but hurts a little while in the aftermath.
Monday, June 9, 2008
How do you like me now?
Damn that Toby Keith.
Much as I hate to admit it, I love country music. I stayed away from it for a long time, cringing with every strum of the steel guitar, every twangy phrase.
And then, it started making sense to me, describing how I was feeling. Faith Hill's "Cry" spoke exactly of my emotion when Christopher moved out. Carrie Underwood's "Before He Cheats" made me feel better about my deep desire to commit a crime against his car. But probably more than anything, the song that became my theme is Toby Keith's "How Do You Like Me Now?"
At first, I didn't know who sang the song. It was Nemo's song, karaoke'd by my favorite bartender. As far as I was concerned, Nemo was the only artist who sang it, and it was written just for me. And over the last couple of years, it has stuck with me.
Lately, I've been hearing it a lot on the radio. Maybe that's because I find myself tuning in to the country station more these days, or maybe it's just the universe's way of reminding me that I am becoming someone worth liking.
And yes, sometimes I do wonder ...
How do you like me now,
now that I'm on my way?
Much as I hate to admit it, I love country music. I stayed away from it for a long time, cringing with every strum of the steel guitar, every twangy phrase.
And then, it started making sense to me, describing how I was feeling. Faith Hill's "Cry" spoke exactly of my emotion when Christopher moved out. Carrie Underwood's "Before He Cheats" made me feel better about my deep desire to commit a crime against his car. But probably more than anything, the song that became my theme is Toby Keith's "How Do You Like Me Now?"
At first, I didn't know who sang the song. It was Nemo's song, karaoke'd by my favorite bartender. As far as I was concerned, Nemo was the only artist who sang it, and it was written just for me. And over the last couple of years, it has stuck with me.
Lately, I've been hearing it a lot on the radio. Maybe that's because I find myself tuning in to the country station more these days, or maybe it's just the universe's way of reminding me that I am becoming someone worth liking.
And yes, sometimes I do wonder ...
How do you like me now,
now that I'm on my way?
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Noche con Sabor a Oaxaca
A night of Oaxacan flavor ... no kidding!
Last night, I took Cute Birthday Brian to Fuego, my favorite restaurant, for the monthly pairing dinner. This month, it featured Del Maguey Single Village Mezcal, which is a nice way to say "you will be very full, and very drunk, at the end of the night."
The first course: Tamales de Pato. Duck carnitas tamales. So incredibly good. Served with the Del Maguey Margarita, fresh, delish and authencally simple.
Second course: Enchiladas de Pollo en Coloradito. Chicken enchiladas in one of their many moles, with roasted plantain. Plus, Margarita de Pepino, made with cucumber-infused mezcal and garnished with salt and chile powder. A savory margarita that made my senses tingle.
Entree: Medallones de Cerdo en Dos Moles. Perfect pork medallions in yet another pair of moles. Pardon me while I die and go to heaven. Served with La Colorada - Mezcal, orange liquor, lime and red grapefruit juice. Big wow. I could have it for breakfast.
Dessert: Nieve de Petalos de Rosa. Rose petal and champagne sorbet, drizzled with Crema de Mezcal. This delight to the palette was served with Crema de Oaxaca, an unbelievable mix of Crema de Mezcal, white chocolate and vanilla liquors, and strawberry puree ... garnished with a chocolate-dipped strawberry.
Factor in the shot of each mezcal we tasted before each course, and you'll have some idea as to why I woke with cobwebs in my head. But consider the delicious food and wonderful company I enjoyed and you'll have some idea as to why I'm eager to do it all again.
Last night, I took Cute Birthday Brian to Fuego, my favorite restaurant, for the monthly pairing dinner. This month, it featured Del Maguey Single Village Mezcal, which is a nice way to say "you will be very full, and very drunk, at the end of the night."
The first course: Tamales de Pato. Duck carnitas tamales. So incredibly good. Served with the Del Maguey Margarita, fresh, delish and authencally simple.
Second course: Enchiladas de Pollo en Coloradito. Chicken enchiladas in one of their many moles, with roasted plantain. Plus, Margarita de Pepino, made with cucumber-infused mezcal and garnished with salt and chile powder. A savory margarita that made my senses tingle.
Entree: Medallones de Cerdo en Dos Moles. Perfect pork medallions in yet another pair of moles. Pardon me while I die and go to heaven. Served with La Colorada - Mezcal, orange liquor, lime and red grapefruit juice. Big wow. I could have it for breakfast.
Dessert: Nieve de Petalos de Rosa. Rose petal and champagne sorbet, drizzled with Crema de Mezcal. This delight to the palette was served with Crema de Oaxaca, an unbelievable mix of Crema de Mezcal, white chocolate and vanilla liquors, and strawberry puree ... garnished with a chocolate-dipped strawberry.
Factor in the shot of each mezcal we tasted before each course, and you'll have some idea as to why I woke with cobwebs in my head. But consider the delicious food and wonderful company I enjoyed and you'll have some idea as to why I'm eager to do it all again.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Birthdays, art, and the condition of my scalp
I spent hours outside yesterday. The weather was perfect - sunny, just a few clouds, about 70 degrees. A great day to spend wandering around the Promenade of Art with Amber. We browsed to our hearts' content, enjoying beautifully crafted jewelry, paintings, photography ... you name it, the 150 artists participating in our little show had it. This is one of my favorite events in Arlington Heights. I love spending the day there.
So imagine how tickled I was to learn, about halfway through the day, that it was Amber's birthday! How fortunate was I to be able to spend it with her? We looked at everything, made a few purchases (ask Amber to wear that gorgeous necklace - it's stunning!), lingered over lunch at my favorite restaurant, sat by the fountain (and even put our feet in!) and just enjoyed the day. So much so that my scalp is a bit sunburned this morning. The curse of thin hair, I suppose.
Today is my Dad's birthday. There's 79 years of wisdom, humor and unconditional love wrapped up in the man. I don't care what anyone else believes - my daddy hung the moon just for me. So this is turning out to be one of those weeks when I'm just happy to be alive, and surrounded by people with whom I can celebrate. I'm so glad y'all got born!
So imagine how tickled I was to learn, about halfway through the day, that it was Amber's birthday! How fortunate was I to be able to spend it with her? We looked at everything, made a few purchases (ask Amber to wear that gorgeous necklace - it's stunning!), lingered over lunch at my favorite restaurant, sat by the fountain (and even put our feet in!) and just enjoyed the day. So much so that my scalp is a bit sunburned this morning. The curse of thin hair, I suppose.
Today is my Dad's birthday. There's 79 years of wisdom, humor and unconditional love wrapped up in the man. I don't care what anyone else believes - my daddy hung the moon just for me. So this is turning out to be one of those weeks when I'm just happy to be alive, and surrounded by people with whom I can celebrate. I'm so glad y'all got born!
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