Ten on Tuesday

This is my last post for 2009, so I'm doing a bit of "year in review." It was a year of growth, which pretty much means it wasn't an easy one, but I'm glad to have had it, because the future looks pretty good from where I sit.

1. I went through the process of filing bankruptcy. It's not something I'm terribly proud of; in fact, I've carried my share of shame over it. But I discovered, the more I was just willing to accept it and move on, the more I was able to respect myself.
2. The people who have been by my side through the ordeal of filing have been wonderful. From Emily who stayed with me overnight when my electricity was shut off to Shakespeare who reminded me that it sucks and it's scary but I have a choice in how my life goes, from Eric who listened to me cry over the phone and offered me every penny he had (which was roughly $7.83) to my dad who gave me great advice and encouragement, from friends near to friends far, I've known I'm not in this alone. Thank you.
3. My friends Jessica and Adam, along with yours truly, founded a not-for-profit organization this year. Choose Awesome is dedicated to reminding people that they have a say in how life goes ... and we might as well choose awesome. If you haven't already, check out our Web site or our Facebook page. We'd love to count you among our fans.
4. I took a week's vacation this year to have my gallbladder removed. Worst. Vacation. Ever. I'm glad it's gone, but I hated the process. And the scars are still ugly.
5. I had my share of out-of-town guests this year. Chris, Janie and Liam Early stayed with me during the Chicago portion of their vacation from the Pacific Northwest, and Mike and Racheal were here the week before Thanksgiving. And for a few months, I had a semi-permanent houseguest while my friend Em looked for the perfect place to call home in Chicago. Every time someone I love comes into this place and makes him or herself at home, it becomes even more of a home to me, too. Y'all come back, now, ya hear?
6. I've discovered some of life's greatest simple pleasures, not the least of which is enjoying the smell of bread baking. No, I don't do it by hand, but the bread that's baking in my bread machine right now is enough to put a smile on anyone's face. I make bread almost every week, because it's delicious, and because it's so much cheaper than the crap you can buy at the store.
7. I sold my car. I'm still looking for a replacement, but in the meanwhile, I'm grateful to my sister Kathie for allowing me to drive her Jeep. I really don't want to give it back!
8. I discovered Millennium Park. I can't believe how simple it is to get there; you get off the train, you walk a mile, and you're there. It's heavenly. I can hardly wait for summer, so I can get back to my lawn, my stream, my bean ...
9. Even more today than when this year began, I believe my father is the finest man in the world. While it's true that I am fortunate to have many amazing men in my life, my dad is just the best. He can be gruff and frank, but he's also got the kindest heart in the universe. Glenn Bieritz doesn't give up on anybody, and I'm fortunate to call him Dad.
10. As for 2010, I have a few dreams and goals. I'm hopeful that once I get back on my gym regimen (this bronchitis has kept me to a very understated schedule) I'll be able to focus again on my health, and continue the trend toward taking care of myself. I need to buy a car - hopefully one that I'll be happy in for at least a couple of years while I save for the car I really want. And I'd like to travel a bit. Summer may find me in France, thanks to a dear friend having family there, and I'll surely spend a few weekends in Wisconsin and I'd really like to get back to Arizona. You can trust that, wherever you are, I'd like to be there, too. I can't do everything, but if France pans out, I'll send you a postcard.

Here's to the year we leave behind, and here's to the year ahead. Much love as we move ever forward, toward the best year yet.

Ten on Tuesday

1. It's almost Christmas. This year has been very different. No baking, no shopping, and very little knitting. I haven't felt up to much, but it has been very enjoyable. Things do seem to work out the way they're supposed to.
2. I'm beyond ready to start not feeling like crap. Unfortunately, my body disagrees. I went to the gym last night for an hour of cardio and wound up feeling like crap on a cracker. Taking it very slowly from here on in.
3. Over the weekend, I made chicken enchiladas in pumpkin sauce. Probably the best thing to come out of my kitchen, ever. I'm quite proud. And hungry.
4. Spending Christmas this year at my friend Linda's, because my family isn't getting together until Sunday and I'm just not up to much travel. I'm honestly looking forward to life slowing down a bit and just taking it easy. Although I do have to bake some cookies.
5. One of my co-workers brought me homemade raspberry jam that his wife made from berries she picked herself. I can hardly wait to go home and eat some! And may I say, with rare exception, I am incredibly lucky to work with such an amazing group of talented people. And no, they do not have access to the blog, so I'm not sucking up.
6. 2009 was not a good year to be a celebrity. Man, they were droppin' like flies! Further proof that you just don't know what the future holds, and life is too damn short to live with fear, resentment or worry. Just live.
7. Snow. We have it. I'm determined to go sledding this year.
8. I believe in Santa Claus.
9. The office is closed on Christmas Eve. I like this, because Christmas Eve is my favorite day of the entire year. Ever since I was a kid, I've found Christmas Eve to be more magical than any other day. I'll be having breakfast with my friend Di, a tradition we started back in 1997. We agreed back then that each year, Christmas Eve would bring us together for a meal. It's one of those days that usually isn't full of plans. Even when she lived in Boston, we still got together for Christmas Eve. It's one of those things I can count on, no matter what.
10. I feel like I'm circling back to the beginning of this list, but really ... this year is different. Some of the change is good, and some difficult. Perhaps I'll always miss going to church with my family at 11 p.m. Christmas Eve, and getting out at midnight, knowing Christmas was here. Perhaps I'll always miss my mom, frosting the coffee cake at well past the last minute for Christmas breakfast. And perhaps I'll always miss the little things - our green felt stockings, decorating the big tree in the front yard, and buying presents for the dog. This year is different. This year is taking a little effort to enjoy. But this is Christmas, and I'm determined to celebrate ... differently, but with all I've got.

Ten on Tuesday

1. I have bronchitis. I've never had bronchitis. I don't much like it. I started feeling fatigued on December 2. Felt like I was coming down with a sore throat on December 4. Finally went to the doctor on December 14. I'm beyond ready to be feeling better, but I need to give the drugs a few days to work their magic.
2. I'm glad I got my Christmas decorations up before I got sick, otherwise I might not have put them up at all. I have gotten zero baking done (except for the two batches I did on December 3, which were for an open house) and not a lot of knitting, either. But at least while I'm laying on the couch feeling like poop, there are twinkly lights to make me smile.
3. General Foods International Coffees now makes a Chai Latte, and it's really good. I can't bear to spend $4.50 at Starbucks when I can an entire tin of something this tasty for less than that. Delish!
4. I hate Celine Dion. Her whiney voice ruins my favorite Christmas songs.
5. That being said, I don't think anything could possibly be better than "A Charlie Brown Christmas" by Vince Guaraldi. Christmas perfection!
6. I haven't been to the gym in a week and I'm feeling very sloth-like. I'm hoping to feel up to a good workout by the end of the week.
7. I love the biscuits from Red Lobster. However, I have learned to make a reasonable equivalent at home. Use the Drop Biscuit recipe on the side of a box of Bisquick. Add to it a handful of shredded cheddar cheese when you mix the dough, and drop them onto your baking sheet in heaping spoonfuls. Then, before baking, glaze them with a mixture of melted butter and garlic. I've used fresh garlic (chopped really finely) and garlic powder, and both taste delicious. Bake according to the directions and enjoy. If you're like me, you'll enjoy an entire batch in a single evening.
8. I'm beginning to get the hang of this whole budgeting thing. It isn't easy, and sometimes I fall off the wagon. Sometimes I can't remember where I put the wagon. Sometimes I just want to buy a new wagon. But most of the time, I feel like I've got a handle on it and I trust myself with money again. It's a good feeling.
9. Still on my quest to find the perfect car at the perfect price. Hope to have this project finished before Christmas, because I think my sister will appreciate the gift of her car back!
10. Flannel sheets are still one of my greatest winter pleasures. Now factor in a cup of hot apple cider laced with cinnamon schnapps while cuddled under those same sheets and you have a perfect night ... even though it's just me and the cat!

Ten on Tuesday

It's been awhile since I posted one of these. Actually, I've been a little lax on the blogging of late, and if I don't start getting back to the routine, people are going to start referring to me as "Becky." So I figure one of my goals for 2010 will be to update - really update - weekly. But why wait?

1. The bankruptcy was discharged. I have been cleared of all my debt, with the exception of my student loan and one year of Illinois taxes that the Ex was supposed to have "taken care of." I think his idea of "taken care of" meant filing and forgetting. I'm hoping to get him to pay for at least half of it. It's the least he can do after I cashed in about $10k in investments when he moved up here and had no job and needed a car and money to live on. Not that I'm bitter, mind you, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna pony up 100 percent of an expense he was supposed to take care of. I look a lot less like a doormat these days, don't you think?
2. Hot apple cider and a shot of Captain Morgan really makes me happy. I have this nasty cough, but the Apple Captain makes me feel all better.
3. I think I found a car. It's a 2001 Cherokee - not grand, just a Cherokee, and not my soft-top Wrangler, either. Now is not the time to have my dream car. Now is the time to buy what I can afford and get used to the idea of owing someone a little bit of money for a car I will enjoy driving. I hope it's still at the dealer when I get the time to go visit it. Cross your fingers!
4. It's becoming much more of a reflex for me to decide to be happy, and focus on the good instead of the things that make me want to poke myself in the eye with my knitting needles. So many of the people I run into in my daily life are hell to live with during the snowy season, and today I just kept thinking, "You live in Chicago, one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Snow does not come as a surprise. Snow comes with the territory. If you don't like it, move." From my window right now, the snow is heavy in the branches of the tree right outside and a blanket of white covers everything as far as I can see. It is beautiful and perfect and I wouldn't have it any other way.
5. Cancer sucks. My friend Jon's partner Steven just discovered cancer of the esophagus just a month or so after they got back from their honeymoon. (And let me tell you, the gay boys know how to throw a wedding!) My sister is hoping for good news after the bone marrow biopsy last week; please let the leukemia be in complete remission! And I know there are more that I just don't know about. For anyone who has battled this horrible disease, or loves someone who has, I salute your strength.
6. Speaking of strength, I've been weight training more. Maybe that explains why the weight isn't dropping off on the scale ... or maybe that's because I've also been baking cookies. Either way, I'm starting to find my muscles. I like it. There's a six pack in there; it's just behind the keg.
7. A few weeks ago, my Tucson family was here. After they left, I went through the process of decorating for Christmas. It made me miss them more and drew them closer to me, all at the same time. When I'm on the phone with them and I hear Kaylee's voice, it just fills me with glee. So many babies have come into my life since that time four years ago when Christopher drifted away ... so many signs that there is life after love ... so many little beings who call me Auntie. I am the luckiest person I know.
8. Sometimes members of my actual family make me want to bang my head against a very large brick wall.
9. Have you seen those candles with the wood wick? They sound like a fire when you burn them. It's a little disconcerting, until you get used to it, but it's really cool!
10. I'm not shopping this year. At all. I'm knitting a few tiny projects, but I'm not buying anything for anyone. This is not the year for Maggie to be spendy; if I've learned anything in 2010 it's that the people who love me don't want stuff - they want me, whole and healthy, in their lives. So, you've got me! Do not shake before opening!
    

So This is Christmas

This year, I refrained from listening to Christmas until after Thanksgiving. It's started to really get on my nerves the way businesses seem to want to push us right past back-to-school and into Christmas. (Target, by the way, has signage that reads "Merry Christmas," in addition to other greetings. Whatever you celebrate, I hope yours is happy!) I waged a one-woman crusade against losing Thanksgiving in the shuffle, and it feels so good now to be in December and have Christmas be fresh.

And so here I am, poised for another Christmas. I'm not shopping this year; the budget simply won't have it. I'm doing a little baking, a little knitting, and a lot of enjoying. It's a nice change. Last night, after the lights were all hung, I just sat there, cup of nog in hand, and let it all was over me. The music, the lights, the spirit. I looked down from my third-floor window and saw a couple walking their dog look up at my window; they smiled and waved in that way that makes you realize no one is a stranger at Christmas.

And so it's different, but then it's not. My focus isn't on purchases at all, because I'm just not making any (except for a few pounds of butter for the cookies.) It's on surrounding myself with the people I love and letting the season unfold.

As I write this, the first snowflakes of the year are dancing outside my window, as if to say, "Hey, it's December in Chicago. I'm here! Love me!" And I'm smiling because this year, I'm going to enjoy it. Every moment, even the chilly ones, carries with it infinite possibilities.

May your December be filled with light and hope. May your Christmas bring you joy beyond measure. May you know that you are loved.

Son of Haiku

Christmastime is here
I need to put up my tree
Effing tangled lights

Return of the Haiku

Not much time to blog these days, but who can't come up with 17 syllables?

Thanksgiving is done
I have a turkey coma
Please pass the Rolaids

The art of practicing medicine

Over the last few weeks, I've been given examples of the amazing work being done by doctors. My sister Jenn has finished five rough rounds of chemotherapy for leukemia, and so far has refused to lose her hair. (It's true, they don't make 'em much more stubborn than my sister Jenn.) Cancer can be such a scary thing, what with the body seeming to turn on itself. But with the help of physicians and treatments, it can be held back or halted altogether. This to me is nothing short of miraculous.

Then there's my niece, Isabel. Born with a hole in her heart (and if she took after me, it would've been in her head,) she had surgery last Thursday to repair it. By Saturday night, she was home. By Monday afternoon, she was holding court like the perfect giggly princess, ready to see visitors. She's not out of the woods yet, but it did my heart good to be able to hold her and squish her and see with my own eyes that her healing has begun.

And so I feel confident that my friend Jon's partner Steve will kick his own cancer to the curb, and that I am faithful Janie's mom's doctors will figure out what's going on with her eye and fix that, too. Because medicine is an art, and good art is something to be appreciated.

The medical answers aren't always what we want. Sometimes we have to say goodbye too soon, sometimes we have to give our cat stool softeners to keep him from getting backed up, and sometimes the old parts need to be replaced. But we keep trying. We keep moving forward, looking for answers and believing anything is possible.

And isn't that the best outlook to have, no matter what?

Solitude

This weekend was the first weekend in a few months with no plans and no company. It was utter bliss, and it caused me to realize something about myself:

I like living alone.

I like waking up when the sun tickles my nose. I like bringing my coffee back to bed. I like lounging around in a flannel shirt all day long. I like heading out to the gym when the mood strikes and coming home whenever I damn well feel like it. I like eating frozen pizza and drinking apple cider and watching DVDs in bed and doing whatever I damn well please whenever I damn well want. I like heading out to a chocolate-tasting party and making future plans, knowing that no one else will be weighing in on what I can/should/will be doing at any given time.

Not that, if the right prince turned up, I wouldn't be flexible ... but it certainly would take a prince.

Am I getting too set in my ways? I don't know, but it works for me.

TGITWE

Back in the days when Ellen Degeneres had a sitcom called Ellen, there was an episode when she introduced the idea of TGITWE. Let's not just thank God for Friday ... thank God it's the weekend!

And this week has been one of those I will gladly put behind me. An entire issue of the monthly magazine (really a fancy newsletter) I edit got blown up and had to be re-written. In less than 24 hours. I DO NOT LIKE TO TAKE WORK HOME, but it had to be done. It's behind me now, and I'm trying not to be bitter, but now I'm behind on every other project on my plate. All that, plus I'm still having issues adjusting to the glasses. Eye strain is not my friend.

I'm just a little complain-y right now, but that's all gonna be over as soon as 4:30 rolls around and it's officially The Weekend.

Tonight, I'm going to a friend's book signing. Tomorrow, scrapbooking with my sister. Sunday, lounging around and spending some time with an old friend. It's the weekend, my friends, and it can't come soon enough.

Update - 10 on Thursday

Yes, Michael, I got your comment. And shame on me for not updating the blog. If I keep this up, you'll have to call me Becky.

Life's been pretty crazy in Maggie's World lately. Here's a little update of what's shakin' in my little corner of the universe:

1. I wear glasses. Not just glasses, mind you; bifocals. It's a huge adjustment, and really not one I'm making with a whole lot of grace, but I think eventually it will be a good thing.
2. I have a roommate, at least for another week. In mid-September, the ex-girlfriend of an old friend from college moved in with me. Emily was working at U of I, and got a job at Northwestern. Rather than hurry up and find a place to live, she's been crashing on my sofabed since then. She moves in to her place on November 6, and my home will be mine again. This is the only time I've ever shared my home with anyone except my family or my ex. It's been nice. Not something I'd want a steady diet of, but quite comforting to come home and have company.
3. I need to make chili, but I don't know when I'll have the time.
4. My sister Jenn finished her last round of chemo, and we're hoping leukemia has had the good sense to move on. Jenn's sense of humor and stubbornness have served her well as she's gone through therapy; I'm so proud of her. She has a bone marrow biopsy in November, so please pray for the "all-clear."
5. I spent last Sunday at Dad's house. Kathie and I frosted cut-out cookies in the shapes of leaves, and dusted them with fall-colored sugar. It reminded me of long-ago times when we'd help Mom put the finishing touches on cookies. There's something about being home that takes me back, and I kinda like it.
6. I sold the Jeep. My friend Amber's boyfriend bought it (and I hope he can keep it running!) so I'm now officially automobile-less. But not really; my sister Kathie generously offered to let me driver her car until sometime in January when I'm ready to buy. I love driving Kathie's car! I don't know if I can go back to something less luxurious, but I'd really like my next car to be my Wrangler. Time will tell.
7. I have decided on a Halloween costume. Twice. I think I've finally settled on it, and I hope it works. I have two parties on Halloween, one for a child and one for not a child ... it's hard to dress appropriately for both!
8. A few days ago, I went to dinner with a bunch of old friends. For sushi. Never was there a better evening; I'd forgotten how much I enjoy the stuff ... and the entire experience. The warm sake, the atmosphere, the sharing from plate to plate. The only thing more delicious than the meal was the company. Old friends really are the best.
9. It's almost time for Christmas music! Just sayin'.
10. There are Godiva truffles in a box on my desk. I eat one each day. Jut one. It took me 43 years to get this willpower, and I'm a little proud.

Along the Trail

I'm not really one to get into the whole historical reenactment thing. (Sorry, Charlie.) It was just never my thing. So while I enjoyed spending time at the Lincoln Log Cabin while in college, or delighted in the occasional trip to Blackberry as a kid, it wasn't something that I relished.

So when Shakespeare (aka Jessica) asked me to come with her and her boyfriend to Trail of History over the weekend, I said yes not because I was eager to go, but because it was important to her. And I had a historically fantastic time.

The property of Glacial Park in Richmond, IL is truly beautiful. The three of us spent the day wandering through history and meeting up with Jessica's old friends. You see, Jess' Aunt Mary has a long history (pun intended) with Trail, and she is the reason Jessica got involved in the first place. So each time we ran into another friend, they wanted to know how Aunt Mary was doing. And Jess would have to explain that she was not doing well, that ALS was running its course and if they wanted to talk with Aunt Mary, it would be best to call sooner rather than later. "Right now, she's just waiting on a miracle," Jess would say. And tears would fall and hugs would comfort and support would be offered.

And so it was on this perfect autumn day that Jess' boyfriend and I got to know Aunt Mary, or the history of her, at least. It brought both of us closer to Jess, and all of us closer as friends. It introduced me to some wonderful new people and gave me a new appreciation for history, and the people who offer up its lessons, live and in person.

It was a beautiful day full of heart and humor, and I'm profoundly glad to have shared in it.

The lovely Shakespeare, aka Jessica Keith.

Isn't it beautiful?

Puffy clouds and history ... the perfect day.

The scrapping experience

So off I went to Scrapbookland over the weekend. I thought it might be a little difficult, because the first album I was going to work on was the half-done book of my last trip with Christopher. But it wasn't tough at all. It was remarkably simple, and quite matter-of-fact, like turning the final page of one book, eager to get on with the next. Awesome.

And on to the EIU book. Before going to the hotel where the weekend was to take place, I stopped by my dad's house, and my sister Jenn was there. We all talked about the scrapbooking, and what I was working on, and Jenn says I have to go to her house to look through the letters I sent to here while I was at school. Holy crap, I was funny! Those letters will definitely get integrated into the album.

The album itself is a total labor of love. Most of the pictures are from my last semester, although I have none from spring break. But the memories absolutely crack me up on every page. I'm probably only a third of the way done, because there are a lot of photos of graduation, but that's okay. I'm taking it slowly, enjoying the process, and just really having a blast.

As the weekend was drawing to a close, a woman I had just met on Friday night held up a few sheets of scrapbook paper and asked me if I would use them. They had words all over them, phrases about joy and loving life and stuff like that. "It reminded me of you," she said, "so if you'll use it, I'd like you to have it."

Wow. I made that kind of impression in just two days? That's pretty amazing. Made me feel pretty good, that someone I hardly know thinks of me as someone who loves life.

So I returned home with renewed energy for working on my albums. I love my photographs so much, it would be a shame to let them sit in a box, waiting for someday. I'll be carving out a space at Chez Mags to serve as my craft spot. And why not? I deserve a space to do the things I love.

Scrap that!

I used to be an avid scrapbooker. My photographs came together in beautiful albums to tell a story. And then, I stopped liking the story.

The happy ending disappeared along with my husband and at least half of everything I owned, and I stopped creating books that told the story of my life. Then, a few weeks ago, a friend invited me to spend the weekend scrapping with her. I didn't even think about it; I just said "yes." If I'd taken the time to think it through, I probably would've backed out. I'm so glad I didn't think.

I'll be spending this weekend at the Sweet Scrappin' Escape with my friend Di. So last night, I had to go through photos and supplies to see what project I should work on. Realizing where my scrapping efforts ended hit me like a blow to the gut. The last album I worked on - which is now only half done - was the last trip to Disney I took with Christopher. The trip he admits was the last time he was ever truly happy with me. The trip during which my mother went through her first round of chemo. The trip before life began to unravel.

I'm going to finish that album this weekend. It's a story that deserves a place. And then I'll move on to either our trip to the Pacific Northwest in 2002, or my years at EIU. I haven't decided which, but I'll have all weekend to figure it out and work on it. And you know what? I'm excited. There's been enough time that I can look back and remember the good times. I can accept that it was a blast, even if it wasn't meant to last. And I'll create albums that tell the stories, knowing that there are more stories to tell every day. I can't wait to get my weekend started!

A few of my favorite things

Interestingly enough, "The Sound of Music" is not one of my favorite things. These, however, make the list every time:

• Pumpkin pancakes. Even better when someone else makes them. Yes, the cook at iHop counts as "someone else."
• Trader Joe's Sea Salt Brownies. I promise this list won't only be food.
• All the people who call me their Aunt. There's only one blood nephew out there, but I'm Aunt Maggie, Margaret or Margot to a ton of kids (does Scoop count as a kid any more?) and I wouldn't have it any other way.
• Billy Joel's greatest hits.
• My ankles.
• My car. I sold it - it's time - but I'm going to miss it. I'll be driving my sister's Jeep for a few months and then buying new (used) wheels.
• Talented friends. Come to think of it, I don't think I have a single friend who isn't talented. That's pretty awesome.
• Yoga. It's new to me, or should I say re-new. I've just begun a solid practice, and I have a wonderful teacher who continually reminds me that yoga is something we're always moving in the direction of ... we never completely reach it, or there is no more practice. I like that. And I think it applies to everything in life.
• Apple cider. The real stuff. The kind you can't see through. Anything else is just juice.
• My bed. It's like a little nest for sleeping, complete with fat fuzzy cat.
• Poetry. I can't write it very well, but reading it puts me in a very happy place.
• Squishy babies.
• Office supplies.
• The new shampoo Shakespeare gave my in my festive birthday bag. My hair smells delicious!
• My gym. Even if they are replacing the tile with more tile that looks just like the old tile.
• Weddings. When they're good, they're awesome, and there's something about weddings and babies that just shouts optimism.
• Steak, medium rare.
• Harvest Moon Pumpkin Ale.
• You

Bliss

Yesterday I did something I've never done before: I attended my first gay wedding. My darling friend John and his partner Stephen were taking the plunge, publicly, to dedicate their lives to one another. Shakespeare came as my guest (because why not have a girl as my date to my first gay wedding?) and may I say, the two of us were among the top five prettiest women in attendance. No lie.

We didn't know what to expect. Who would walk whom down the aisle? Would they be pronounced man and man? What side should we sit on?

It was different, and yet not. It was just two people vowing to support and encourage each other through whatever the future brings. The only difference was that neither one was wearing a dress. And thank God for that!

The ceremony was beautiful. John's sister Jodi sang, and the John and Stephen walked down the aisle together. The minister spoke of their longstanding relationship - they've been a couple for nine years - and what it means to marry when there are no legal benefits. It was an honor to observe these two gentlemen as they declared their intentions for their lives together.

In true stereotypical fashion, both John and Stephen looked dashing. Their tuxes did not match, but they did coordinate, John wearing a bit more color than Stephen ... how fitting. But the shoes ... I'm still amazed by Stephen's shoes. These fellas have style, for sure.

The reception ... my heavens. If you want a great meal and good music for dancing, be sure and have a gay man plan the day. Starters, salad, chicken and steak, cake to die for and a full sweets table with coffee. I'm still full. We danced the afternoon away (shamelessly pulling out steps from Salsa/Funk class) and revelled in our belief in true love.

Wait a second ... really? Do I really still believe? Has the sappy side taken over my cold, black and loveless heart?

I guess I have to say yes, because there are so many great examples of very real love in my life. There's Mike and Rae, who have perhaps the greatest partnership I've ever witnessed, and a true affection for each other that just doesn't quit. There's Cindy and Charlie, who so clearly demonstrate the possibilities life offers if we're wise enough to notice. There's Justin and Di and their house full of little ones, laughing every step of the way. There's Chris and Janie who have enough love to share with the world, Ken and Melis who laugh their way through life ... I can't even begin to remember everyone. There are more, many more, who prove that it does happen.

In my life? I'm not counting on it. But knowing it exists, even if just for those I love, is enough.

Time out!

I was a child before the days of "time out." In kindergarten, we had the naughty box, which was really just a little stool in the coat closet. No, I never had to sit there. And I've never been given a time out.

But sometimes, I think it's okay to give ourselves one. Not because we're misbehaving, but because we just need to unhook. I spend so much of my day tuned in to something other than myself. It can be my work, the computer, the people I'm around, the chores that need to be done ... the list goes on and on, and sometimes, we deserve a break.

Last Friday I took the day off, not meaning to unhook, but because I had a really tough chore that needed to get finished. It was my Meeting of Creditors, the final step required of me before the bankruptcy is done. The meeting was not traumatic; none of my creditors attended, probably due to the obvious lack of funds in my possession with which to pay them. It was just a series of questions regarding the case, all with yes or no answers. No, I am not currently married. Yes, I once was. No, I have not recently (or any other time) received an inheritance. Yes, my budget remains as it was in the original documents. Stuff like that; pretty simple, really. But when it was over, it was pretty emotional. I needed to have a bit of a cry, so I walked to Millennium Park.

I can't explain what it is about this place that makes me feel so completely at home. A beautiful garden, in the middle of a beautiful city ... it's breathtaking. So I went and sat with my feet in the water (sorry, Bex) and just let all the stress wash away. I sat, read my book and relaxed for hours. Long enough to get a little sunburn on my shoulders.

After awhile my friend Shakespeare and her boyfriend joined me, and the three of us sat and talked and soaked our feet. And it struck me, just how meaningful my time out was. I gave myself permission to feel all of it ... and then let it go. Isn't that what giving a child a time out is all about? Sit there, think about it, and move on. Don't pretend it never happened, but learn from it. Time out can be a good thing.

Within 60 to 90 days, I should receive word that the bankruptcy is final and my included debts have been discharged. Meanwhile, I'll be sticking to my budget, learning when I fail and consistently looking for ways to be wiser with my money. And along the way, I'm pretty sure I'll be giving myself a few time outs.

Eight years

So much has happened in the last eight years. I lost my mom (to cancer, not because her homing device stopped working,) re-started my career not once but twice, got myself a shiny divorce, moved into a place that truly feels like home, made new friends, lost 70 pounds, learned to love Indian food, re-connected with old friends, became an aunt more times than I can honestly count, watched friends bury loved ones, said goodbye to a beloved dog and a somewhat beloved cat.

All of those are vivid memories, but none as vivid as the morning of 9/11.

It was my first day back at work after the honeymoon. I was filled with joy after spending a week and a half surrounded by love ... and then the news reports started coming in. "A plane hit the World Trade Center," my boss said, and I laughed. I had this picture in my head of a little Cessna, pilot error and foolish New York tourists. I was wrong.

The reports kept coming. Another plane struck another tower. The Pentagon was hit. And a fourth plane crashed in a Pennsylvania field. No one got any more work done that day. We could do nothing but watch and pray.

I called Patrick, who tried to reach Victor, our only New York connection, to make sure he was okay. It took us about a week to get word. And the pictures kept coming, the video kept rolling ... destruction at the hands of lunatics.

My mother remembered Pearl Harbor, and could describe the moment news reached the Midwest with such crystal clarity, you'd think it happened yesterday. I think it will be that way with 9/11 for me. When Michael Jackson died, some crackpot news announcer called it a "tragedy." And I thought, no, you tool, the death of one man by his own stupidity is not a tragedy. 9/11 was a tragedy. Hurricane Katrina was a tragedy. The 2008 Indian Ocean tsunami was a tragedy. These are events that touch us all, change us in one way or another.

And if nothing else, they serve as a reminder that you never really know. You can plan all day long for what your future will be, but none of us is guaranteed to live it. And so today, as I remember, I also look forward to spending time with the people I love. At the gym tomorrow, I will hug my friends. At my dad's house on Sunday, I will hug my family. Back home Sunday night, I will welcome my new temporary roomie and relish her company. Because life is short, love is amazing, and people have an uncanny way of making my life awesome.

Post birthday post

By now, we're well into September, which everyone knows is also My Birthday Month. The actual birthday was last Saturday, but one day simply isn't enough. I require an entire month to celebrate.

Kicking of the Birthday Month with Labor Day weekend is generally perfect, and this year was no exception. We were allowed to leave work a little early on Friday, so rather than wait for my train I drove up to Lake Geneva, and it was grand! Amber and I went to our favorite dive bar on Friday for karaoke, and it was a small, wonderful gathering. I think everyone in the rotation was a friend! There was a lot of love and a little beer, and by the end of the night we were all tired and content.

Saturday morning, I woke up hungry. Somehow, cereal tastes better at Amber's house. She was such a good sport, never once telling me to shut the hell up when I raised my hands above my head and shouted "IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!!" We spent it lounging out by the pool, with Tim (the handsomest poolboy ever) and Laura, when she finally got moving. Pizza for lunch (Amber really knows how to order!) rounded out the perfect afternoon. Eventually Tim had to leave us to go to work, and Amber had to go out to dinner with someone who wasn't me, but Laura stayed and we enjoyed my favorite meal: grilled cheese and tomato bisque. So delicious!

We watched two movies - The Secret Life of Bees (wonderful) and Keeping Mum (freaking AWESOME). You should see them. By the time our movies were over I was tired, so Laura hit the road and I hit the hay, even though I had an invitation to bar hop a bit with Tim after he got done with work. You know I'm tired when I turn down the opportunity to have a drink with a cute boy!

Sunday would have been very romantic, had it not been just me and Amber. We went to Pop More Corks for a wine tasting (I bought a bottle of a lovely Rioja) and then ate our way through the gourmet shop. We bought some bread and then sat in the park noshing, watching the water, reading and relaxing. Up until Tim called and invited us to come for coffee. Mmmm, coffee.

That night, the three of us met up with Tom at the Walworth County Fair. If it was fried, we ate it. I'm still not recovered, but it was delicious. We listened to Styx until we got tired of them playing just a few of their hits, and then it was back for more fried food.

By the time Monday rolled around, I was ready to head home. Even though Dale had promised delicious seafood, I got in the car and pointed it toward Arlington Heights. It was good to be home, to sleep in my own bed and be with my extremely demanding cat. As for the rest of the month, there will be trips to Millennium Park, dinner with Patrick, a day with my dad, my first gay wedding (yeah, John & Steven!) and will have my official Meeting of Creditors to finalize my bankruptcy. It's a big month - a month of celebrations and important stuff. And if you haven't discovered it yet, this month a few friends of mine and I launched chooseawesome.org, a non-profit organization dedicated to the global spread of Awesome and Choices. Pardon my shameless plug, but we think it's Awesome. Check it out!

So that's it, the recap of my Birthday Weekend and the stuff that's shakin' in my world. Now if only Becky would update her blog ...

Reflection

I do believe I've officially reached middle age; tomorrow I'll turn 43. The gray hair is becoming more prominent, and I'm using anti-aging moisturizers. I am not as young as I once was, but I don't think I'd go back.

The past year has presented some unique challenges, and with the support of my family and friends, I've faced them, head on. Still, it's impossible to look at the past year without taking a moment or two for reflection.

During year 42, old friends found me again. Through the magic of Facebook, Eric, Kathleen and Tony are back in my life, offering reminders of the Maggie that Was, and showing me all too plainly that she's not that different from the Maggie that Is. I absolutely adore you guys, and I am grateful for your ceaseless love, humor and inspiration.

During year 42, I was part of two special celebrations with the Carlson Rice family - Christmas and Ryan's commissioning into the United States Marine Corps. Being included and loved by this family is such a privilege. I hope you dole out extra Maggie hugs to each other this weekend!

During year 42, I've watched my sister battle Leukemia while simultaneously running a home, working full time and helping to take care of our brother. Refusing to give even one strand of her hair over the chemo, the woman keeps going. She has amazed her doctor, as she has amazed me. If anyone can kick cancer's ass, it's my sister Jenn.

During year 42, I hosted one of my favorite families during their vacation. Janie, Chris and Liam Early spent several days at the Bieritz B&B last June, and it stuns me how my little apartment seems to expand to fit loved ones. They left a little love behind, and a couple pads of paper, and helped my place feel even more like home.

During year 42, my dad turned 80. Moreover, I started really talking with my dad. The brutal honesty that comes from finally accepting that this man is really going to love me, no matter what, opens doors I didn't even know were closed. My life is full of wise and wonderful people, but this man is the finest of them all.

During year 42, I started writing again. There's no novel - yet - but I spend a decent amount of time with pen to paper, and one of these days something will be finished. Stick around and I'll let you read it!

During year 42, I stood by while friends grieved over the loss of a parent. It changes you, and I think in a way only someone who has been there can truly comprehend how it feels. I hope I was able to offer a shoulder and an ear to help them through the dark times.

During year 42, lots of stuff happened. I can't possibly include all of it here; besides, it would take a year to get through it all. But suffice it to say that during year 42, I learned a lot. There were tears, and there was an abundance of laughter. There was a beautiful balance of fear and anticipation, joy and sadness.

So what's gonna happen during year 43? I have no clue, but if I've learned anything over the years, it's that the unknown can be a whole lot of fun. So, here goes; care to join me?

Ch ch ch changes

I'm a month into the "following a budget" thing, and life is different. I no longer wake up in a panic - will I be able to pay the rent, the electric bill, my student loan? Yes, I will. I know that because I know where my money is going, and I know there's enough.


As I grow a little more confident in my abilities, I'm noticing other changes. My bank statement is really short - there are no unplanned purchases on it. No quick trips to Target or "emergency" meals out. I have enough for the things I need, and a few of the things I want. Like right now, I'm munching on a snack of roasted almonds at my desk. I keep a big container of them in my desk now, so when I need an afternoon snack I'm not running to the vending machine for an 80-cent Milky Way bar. Although that does sound delicious ...


Anyhoo, the almonds are my choice. I planned ahead, I bought a vat of almonds, and I've got snacks for several weeks. Less spendy, and better for me. Funny how that stuff works out.


Little by little, I'm learning ... becoming who I'm supposed to be.

In other news, evidently I'm also supposed to be strong. I went to the gym on Saturday (Di came along - blast!) and we did strength training and cardio classes. I don't have a single muscle that isn't crying today. Not complaining, mind you, just a little ouchie and desperately in need of a massage. Volunteers?

So it's another week in Maggie's World, with a three-day fantastic vacation at the end. I'm thinkin' this is gonna be a good week.

Lists and plans

I love making lists and I love making plans. I love planning vacations almost as much as I love taking vacations, and vacations mean lists! Things to do, things to pack, things to eat ... I love it all.

So I'm taking a vacation. It's not the island getaway I wish I could have, but it's a little something lovely in the midst of a crazy year. There isn't enough money to whisk myself away to somewhere beautiful, and I've used up all my vacation time between surgery and other required appointments, so my vacation for 2009 is happening over Labor Day Weekend.

As soon as I get done with work on Friday, September 4, I'm getting in the car and pointing it North to Wisconsin. I'm torn about my destination, for sure. It would be wonderful to head South to Jacksonville and see the Rices and the Carlsons - including my favorite Marine - but I'm feeling the need to be selfish with my time, and spend most of it with just little old me. I need to unhook a little bit from the craziness in the world and ... just ... be.

So I'm heading to Lake Geneva. I'll be staying with my friend Amber, who has a great condo in the woods. If the weather cooperates, I'll spend my days lounging by the pool. If it doesn't, I'll spend them curled up inside with a good book. My plan is to turn off the phone, and tune in to me. I'll take walks, practice yoga, cuddle the dogs, visit the lake, swim, go to karaoke, eat some delicious food and take a long bath. Maybe I'll write, maybe I'll eat a mushroom burger, maybe I'll skip stones.

But no matter what I do, here's what I promise not to do: make a list. I'm not doing it. I really am unhooking, relinquishing my grip on plans and letting things happen as they will. If I forget to pack something, oh well. I can go a few days without underwear. If I forget to do something, it won't matter. It's just me and Amber, anyway ... no big deal. So, a week from today, off I'll go on my three-day vacation. I will miss you. I will really miss Ryan, who is only in from Quantico for a quick weekend visit, and Cindy, who will celebrate her birthday on September 7. I'll miss my biological family and my friends and my cat, but I think I'm gonna have a blast, anyway.

It's only a week away. I'm gonna try not to count the days.

The eye of the beholder

I struggle every day with body image. It goes back ages and ages, to when the earth's crust cooled and I was born. I've never felt comfortable in my skin. I've always been embarrassed by my looks - the whole of me, big head, big butt, jiggly thighs, abundance of chins, round shoulders, the loaf of French bread that sits atop my waist band, the face only a mother could love - and sometimes she had trouble. But it's me, and I've grown to accept it. I'm never going to be the stereotypical beauty, and over time I've found gratitude for that.

Sometimes it's a battle, though. A few weeks ago, I saw myself in the window while I was out to lunch with some of my co-workers. I had to change seats; I kept catching glimpses of myself out of the corner of my eye, and I just couldn't stand to look at myself. Then last week I went with Shakespeare while she tried on dresses for a wedding she's going to be in. Have you ever been to the wedding dress store? Mirrors and mirrors and mirrors. I had to focus on my friend, because every now and then I'd see me, and I just couldn't look. I feel prettier than the girl I see, and when faced with my own reflection, I'm shocked and sad. I'd rather not look.

And then, sometimes, there are moments of true appreciation, moments when I shock myself with acceptance and even (gasp!) love. Last night, after an hour of Ninja class (I'm back to using weights for the first time after surgery, and it felt awesome!) and an hour of salsa, I stayed for yoga. I was stretching over my left leg, grasping my ankle with my right hand, and I thought to myself, "That is a pretty foot." Now I've always liked my feet, and my ankles. There's a delicate beauty to them, and maybe there's something in the way that they carry me through every day that makes me appreciate them. But there I was, in yoga class, with my brain all open and mushy as often happens when I've stretched myself both physically and mentally, and the one thought that enters my head is that my foot is pretty.

I know it's just a foot. I know I'm a far cry from feeling as whole, complete and perfect as I intellectually believe I am. But in those moments, I am so grateful to see even the tiniest part of myself as beautiful. It's a small step, but isn't that what feet are for?

Downward dog

I went back to yoga last night. It was the third hour of my Monday night workout. Amazing.

When I left the office, I didn't think I was up to a rigorous workout ... or any workout, for that matter. I just didn't feel like making any effort. Then I realized Alisa wasn't teaching Strike (the cool kickboxing class with weighted bars that makes me feel all ninja) so I went to hip-hop instead. In case you didn't know, I am a part of the rhythm nation. It was a tough dance that made me really really think, but I felt great dancing.

Followed that up with an hour of salsa/funk, which is always awesome. Donna is just amazing; her spirit fills the room. It just always feels amazing spend that hour moving and celebrating our ability to move.

And then there was yoga. It's been a really long time! In fact, I think the last time I practiced was when Racheal and I went to class on July 4, 2008, and then followed it up with a DVD up at the lake house last summer. I'm way out of practice, but I've gotta start somewhere ... and this was the class to do it. I attended with my dear friend Linda and her sister Lorna, and the three of us had a wonderful time. I left feeling relaxed and a little emotional, and really good that I'd done it. All weird cramps and lack of flexibility aside, it will be the perfect addition to my workout routine, and one I've been trying to do since January. Sometimes, it just takes me awhile.

Like our instructor said last night, it's not about being perfect. It's about being better. So every day, I'll try to do a little bit better. Not much more we can ask, now, is there?

Hugs and accountability

So I'm two weeks into working within an actual budget. So far, it's worked out pretty well. It's not perfect, but it's a framework. Everybody's gotta start somewhere, right?

My friend Diane and I have agreed to look over each other's finances each month, to keep each other accountable and true to our goals. Our financial pictures are vastly different - Diane is a married mother of three (four if you count Justin). Diane and Justin own their home and manage all the financial responsibilities of being parents and homeowners. I'm a single renter managing to stay afloat. And yet, our goals are remarkably similar: build savings, create opportunities to travel, and cut unnecessary spending.

It can be a little scary to lay all the cards on the table, but Di and I have zero judgement of each other. We've given each other assignments and will reconvene in about a month to see how we're doing. I've begun to realize that this is pretty powerful stuff. It's been so long since I've even allowed myself to think of how I can make money work for me, I hadn't even considered that I could set goals and eventually achieve them. Sounds foolish, but there you have it.

I have to be honest, though. The best part of my day at Chez Rand was not working through the finances. It was either squishing Koen, the newest member of Clan Rand, or the Thin Mint blizzard Meat brought for dessert. Actually, the man went out for a Blizzard buffet - a Thin Mint for me and another for Di, plus a French Silk (holy crap it's good) and Tagalong for himself and for the rest of us to sneak bites of when he wasn't looking. But that baby! He let me hold him and squish him and chew on him all day. It's hard to take yourself too seriously, or get depressed about finances, when there's an endless supply of baby giggles.

So it was quite a day, both tough and refreshing. I feel strong, capable and loved. And I have an intense craving for another blizzard.

Red freakin' flags

The past week has been full of introspection. And yes, it's the same old song - how could I marry such a dolt? He's moved on to Wife #3 (yes, that's three, for those of you playing the at-home version of our game) and will likely repeat the same pattern of love and destruction with this one. The man is a creature of habit the likes of which I've never seen.

So what's a girl to do when faced with the removal of that final veil? Look back in gratitude, and wonder how she missed so many obvious red flags. Let's take a look.

Oral hygiene. He doesn't brush his teeth. Ever. Doesn't own a toothbrush, or at least he didn't. Made his gums bleed, he said. See the dentist, I said. It hurts, he said. After awhile, you get tired of trying. And, frankly, of kissing the bodily equivalent of a garbage disposal.

Roughing it. He didn't like camping. I love camping. I do it in a luxurious way - I have to have my pillow, and my air mattress, and showers and real toilets and an iHop within a drivable distance, but I love camping. I love listening to nature as I fall asleep. I love the sound of rain against the tent. I love the way the air smells. I simply love it. His idea of roughing it was a hotel without room service. Definitely not a good combination.

'til death. He never had anything nice to say about his first wife. Now I understand that he's not gonna be her biggest fan. Nor will he be mine, for sure. But he married her, for heaven's sake. There has to be some redeeming quality, some reason for making that commitment. I guess not, for him.

A girl's best friend. He didn't care that I didn't want a diamond. I hate diamonds. They're not rare. They do nothing but line the pockets of the DeBeers family. But he insisted, telling me his first wife never let him forget that he never gave her one. (She didn't, btw.) And what's worse, he insisted I have one, but he was more than willing to let me pay for it. What a charmer. (I wanted a sapphire. I will eventually buy one for myself.)

Pickiest eater ever. Okay, he was lactose intolerant. But he also didn't eat beef or pork. Do you realize how difficult it is to find food that has none of the above in it? How do you make dumplings without milk? Mac & Cheese? Turkey burgers only go so far, and don't even get me started on how lacking in flavor pulled chicken barbecue is. (Epilogue: Near "the end", he went to White Castle with Rice and I, and ate one of my sliders. I should've stabbed him in the eye with my plastic fork. And I hope he had the shits for a week.)

The Late Chris Rathunde. He couldn't ever get his act together to be out the door at a reasonable time. It's simple, really: figure out what time you have to be somewhere, how long it takes you to get there, and back it up by that amount of time. That's when you have to leave the house, unless you happen to run on CMR time. Oy. I run late sometimes, but it's not a habit. I respect my friends and family too much to keep them waiting.

Mouth breather. He can't breathe through his nose, and won't have a doctor look at it. Which means he breathes loudly, through his mouth, all the time. Sometimes he clicked, like an 8-track tape switching tracks. It kept me up at night until I started wearing earplugs. That offended him; I couldn't win.

It was just jewelry. I love my wedding ring. Yes, I said that in the present tense; it is a thing of beauty. Engraved on it in Hebrew is the verse from Song of Solomon: "I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine." It is a beautiful symbol of a love I thought would last a lifetime. However, to me, it is still only a piece of jewelry. There were times I would take it off and forget to put it back on. I never felt any less married when I didn't have it on. I get where he was coming from, but I can't be convinced that this was a punishable offense. It's one of the first things he complained about to the latest Mrs. Chris Rathunde, in the 300 pages of instant messages I procured from his computer when he wasn't looking. And let's face it, at least I didn't destroy mine by slamming in in the door. Twice. Mine is at least still round.

I should've left him there. I bailed him out of jail. Twice. Once, in fact, I had to call a friend's mother to borrow the money because I didn't have access to enough cash to spring him. Traffic violations had piled up because he was living in Arkansas (hell, that should've been a red flag, too) and it wasn't like the Illinois cops were gonna come find him. So yeah, I bailed his sorry ass out and got the car out of impound twice before that SOB cleaned up his record. Not to mention the fact that I bought the damn car to begin with because he moved into my apartment with nothing but bad taste and wrinkled clothes. Shit, now I'm pissed at myself.

16 candles. Only once in the eight years we were together did he make my birthday special. And that includes the fact that we got married on my birthday. He rarely even got me a card. My first birthday with him, though, he was creative and sweet. There were cards everywhere. In my lunch bag; in my briefcase; in the bathroom; on the coffee maker; in my car at the end of my workday. It was a simple gesture, and it made me feel like a million bucks. I was hooked. I was also a dumbass.

Temper, temper. He didn't lose his temper a lot, but it was enough. He once barked at his mother, because evidently she asked for one too many favors. Well pardon me, I guess I'll move her furniture myself, then. And then there was the time when he grabbed my nephew by the collar and told him to stop complaining. "Knock it off," I believe, were his exact words. Alex looked petrified. The jackass messed with one of my chickens, and I never looked at him the same way again.

All that being said, there were good things about him. Probably still are. Up until now, at least, he had great taste in women. (Except for the young redhead at the Roosevelt U bookstore I'm pretty sure he banged. That's another pattern - boinking the help.) He made great bread. He never once questioned my intensely close relationships with other men. He laughed at my jokes and wasn't afraid to be silly. He made an effort to enjoy spending time with my friends. He was sometimes incredibly sweet. His first gift to me, the weekend we met, was a beautiful copy of Kahlil Gibran's "The Prophet." Right away, he knew how to wow me. Over time, he forgot. I can remember praying that his heart would one day turn back to me.

But that's not what happened, and that's probably a good thing. As my friend Chris Early told me during a recent visit, "Some people belong together. You guys just ... didn't." I think it was hard for him to say, but no less true. We just didn't. And if I'd paid any attention along the way, I would have figured that out long before his old friend from high school popped back into his life, walking away with his heart.

For the record, she can have it.

News from Updateland

My, how time flies. As of last Thursday, August 6, I've been divorced for one year. That also, coincidentally, seems to be the date my ex chose to marry his latest wife. The man has a whole lot of class. Unfortunately, it's all low.

I knew it was coming. I've asked those who know him well if he was planning wedding three, and nothing pointed to it, but it is his pattern, so it had to be in the works. Turns out, it was pretty much a secret from everyone. Most of his near and dear found out because his status on Facebook changed from "in a relationship" to "married," and his paramour's name changed from Cindy Deering to Cindy Deering-Rathunde. (Never fear; she will always be Judy the Ho to me.)

I thought I'd be more emotional when I heard the news, but what I felt was a sweet sense of relief. He is now well and truly gone from my life. He's someone else's problem now. And hopefully he's found the person who can bring him true happiness, someone who will never change from this moment on, because heaven forbid that life change a person. I'm reminded of the lyrics from Nickel Creek's song "Somebody More Like You," which seems to be what he's been looking for all along - someone more like him. My favorite passage goes like this:

I hope you meet someone your height
so you can see eye to eye
with someone as small as you

That's my wish for the man I once loved. Really ... I wish him all the happiness he deserves.

The care and feeding of the North American Maggie. Nail down the delicious food, folks, because if it's within my reach, I'm eating it. Swear to heaven, over the last three weeks I've been eating all the food that made me sick before I had the gallbladder out. If it comes dredged in butter, or in a cream sauce, or smothered in cheese or all three, I would like it, please. If it tastes good with hot fudge and whipped cream, I'll take a double scoop. So it's a damn good thing I'm back at the gym!

Hard to believe how quickly the body loses it's memory. After two weeks away, returning for the simplest cardio HURT! But it's not painful, really. It's just my body talking to me, telling me it's good to be moving again. And really, it is so good to have myself back. Now I need to lose the four pounds I've gained and get back on track!

Budgetary constraints. There's a certain amount of freedom that comes from knowing what's coming in, what's going out, and what I'm doing with what's left. I don't have an abundance of money, but I have enough. I will be able to meet my needs, and even some of my wants. I won't be buying any new fun stuff for awhile - I'll be knitting from my overflowing stash of yarn (but only after I finally finish Izzy's sweater!) and scrapbooking from my bottomless supply closet and mending or taking in the clothes that are already hanging in my closet.

I've pretty much resigned myself to a tough year, financially speaking. Just 12 months of very strict monitoring. 12 months to build good habits and become confident in my ability to manage my money. 12 months to begin anew. I'll keep you posted on my progress, in case you're interested or curious, and I look forward to seeing my financial health improve, much like my physical health has over the past two years.

That's about it from Maggie's World. Nothing else new or exciting, just the day-to-day ramblings of a girl who learns a little more every day, struggles sometimes and values her friends and family above all else. Except maybe a giant slab of cheesecake ...

The heavy stuff

Life generally doesn't turn out according to plan. Sometimes it turns out better, sometimes worse, but it rarely turns out exactly the way we pictured it. It's easy when it turns out better. When loaning someone my car turns into a lifelong friendship, a week at the lake creates a family, gallbladder surgery allows for (occasional) decadent indulgence, vacations become lifetime memories and that unmarked packet of seeds turns out the most delicious tomatoes ever. The unexpected can be awesome.

It can also feel devastating. It can feel like more than you can handle. And after a few months of that, I think it's important to let you in on my big stupid secret.

The emotional fallout of my divorce was horrible. But once I healed (mostly) from that, the financial mess was even worse. After careful counsel with people I respect and admire, and after weighing all my options, I've filed for bankruptcy. I feel a little bit like General Motors, and probably just as hopeful.

I'm not proud of it. I've spent a large portion of the last few months ashamed. I have always believed that we should take responsibility for our actions, and paying our debts is part of that. I still believe that ... but there is just too much there and too little coming in to bridge the gap. I tried. I failed. And at this point, I can either chip away at the mountain well into my 80s, or I can bite the bullet, accept the consequences, and begin with a new, albeit tarnished, slate.

My fatal financial error came in trying to be a good ex-wife. I recognize that my ex can't hold all the blame, but when we parted ways, there were things I didn't consider - that I'd be essentially out of work for more than a year, and that when I found a job I would be earning considerably less than I once did. And so, in an effort to finally get something right in my relationship with this man, I accepted the lion's share of our debt. Huge mistake. One I never should have made, and one he never should have allowed me to. But what's done is done and I can't go back.

So this is the way I've chosen to move forward. I hope you can still respect me; I know it's taken me awhile to earn back my own self respect. This is not a decision I've taken lightly. I struggled, considered all my options, and chose the path that was the right move for me.

All that being said, my budget will remain tight, at least for a little while. I have to plan for life's indulgences. I'm working from a budget that has very little wiggle room, but is doable. I hope to replace my car (with something a little newer with fewer miles, but similar to what I currently drive) before the end of the year and am beginning to save for that. I'm a little frightened, because it's "do or die" time. I can't afford to screw this up, which is part of why I'm choosing to share this with all of y'all. The time to be secretive is in the past. This is where I'm at, and I have to acknowledge and accept it before I can move past it.

So anyway, that's the heavy news from my world. If you're reading this, there have likely been several times I've wanted to tell you, but it's just not the sort of thing that comes up in polite conversation. Pass the potatoes and oh, by the way, when I say I have no money, I mean I actually have less than no money. Oy.

It's a new start for me. I pulled my head out of the sand in March and began to face the music, and here I am. Whether you know it or not, your generosity of spirit and your faith in me has helped me to smile in those moments when the numbers say I'm worth more dead than alive. It's going to be tough, but I've done tough before.

Thanks for reading. Thanks for being there. Thanks for believing in me. I hope this doesn't cause you to think less of me, but I'm not going to hide the truth from people I care about. Well, anymore.

Ever forward ... tomorrow's a new day.

As my world turns

Life's been crazy lately, what with trying to bounce back from surgery and trying to get back to "normal" life. Here's what's been happening lately:

I started back to work last Thursday, July 23. Office politics may kill me, and were made even worse by the fact that I really didn't feel quite ready to be back yet. I have a new mantra: "Do your job and keep quiet." Not easy for me, but necessary.

My Mac crapped out. I need to take it to the Genius Bar and see if they can pull anything off of it, so everything isn't lost. It's six years old and has worked pretty much non-stop in that time, so I'm not going to complain too loudly. Mike and Rae are graciously supplying me with a loaner to get me through until I can afford to replace it. I'll be going with an iMac next time, and I'll start squirreling money away for that as soon as the car is replaced.

As for the car, it's running fine, but we turned the 200,000 mile mark last week. I don't want to drive it through another winter; that would just be too much to ask of it. So sometime between the end of September and Thanksgiving, I'll be car shopping. I hope to replace the Jeep of Love with a similar, but newer, vehicle. I want something with the same engine, because that reliable little baby has run like a dream. I'm thinking 2003 or newer Cherokee or Wrangler, 4.0 liter inline six-cylinder, not yellow. Other than that, I'm easy.

I get nauseated really easy since the surgery. If I don't have a little food in my tummy, walking to the bathroom gives me motion sickness. It's weird.

I love Indian food. I'm new to it, and I don't think I like the super-spicey stuff, but I am really enjoying every bite. Trader Joe's has some terrific simmer sauces I can make at home, and their frozen naan is food of the gods. And yes, I think of James with every bite.

I spent all day yesterday at my dad's house. It was a beautiful day. I lounged in the backyard to get a little sun, something I haven't done in about 20 years. Dad is recovering pretty well from his knee surgery (he had the second one replaced about three weeks ago) and he's at the point now where he's ready to be running around but his knee isn't ready for that. Impatience, thy name is Glenn. We celebrated my sister Jenn's birthday, and her husband made lasagna. Wow ... just delicious. Is there anything that layers of pasta and cheese with a side of garlic bread can't cure?

Doctor says I can't go back to the gym for another week. I miss it, and my friends there, terribly. I think this weekend I will at least spend some time on a lounge chair at the pool. It's not exactly a workout, but it will at least get me back in the door!

That's it from me for the time being. What's new with you?

Alone?

So the gallbladder is gone. To say its removal was a bit more intense than expected would be an understatement, although I am incredibly grateful that Bex went through all the wacky stuff so I didn't have to. When my primary care physician first suggested the surgery, she said I'd go in on a Friday and be back at work on Monday, so I figured ... three days of badness, then normal life. No worries.

This is not how it worked out.

Now, don't panic. I'm fine. It just wasn't the walk in the park I thought it would be.

So Patrick picks me up on Thursday morning. There is truly no better way to go to the hospital on a warm summer day than in a convertible Mustang. Seriously ... it was a great trip. We walk in and are practically whisked away to my little private room. We sit and talk and get caught up for several hours ... they're running behind. No big deal, Patrick's mom will come later and drive me home if need be.

Eventually, it's time to head to the OR. I'm a little petrified, and then the drugs start coming. Oh, blissful narcotics, how lovely you are. I left the room around 2:30, and was back by 4. By 5, they were ready for me to leave. Ma Farbo would drive me to my dad's house, because Doctor didn't want me alone overnight. Doc also didn't want me driving for a week. This was news to me, since I'd been planning to be back at work on Monday. Aging divorcee learns new skills.

I get to Dad's and can barely move at more than a slow shuffle. I think Dad thought I was falling apart. He and Kathie were incredibly sweet to me, Kathie running off to fill my prescription for painkillers and Dad fixing me ice cream. The man truly knows his daughter! I was in bed by 9:30.

And up about every half hour. Damn, they must've pumped me full of fluids at the hospital, because I could not stop with the peeing.

Friday morning I woke up and had breakfast with Dad, Kathie and Mike. I played tough, but I felt like doody. I sat, read magazines, tried not to fall asleep, and waited for Eric to pick me up. Finally I couldn't stand myself anymore and took a shower. It was good to be clean.

Eric arrived and I was on my way, after hugs from Dad and air-kisses from Kathie. When we finally got to Chez Mags, it took forever to get me up the stairs. Lord, everything hurt. Eventually, I made it, and headed straight for bed. Eric went shopping, made me snacks and dinner and watched TV with me and let me nap. By far, this was the toughest day. I was not one with my noggin, what with the Vicodin being more powerful than my own logic. I would start talking and then completely forget why. Getting up from bed hurt. Sitting on the couch hurt. Talking louder than a whisper hurt. And my poor friend stayed until midnight, until he was sure I was out of the woods.

Saturday morning, I woke up with only a little pain, and a strong sense of my head on my shoulders. This was new. So I only took Extra-Strength Tylenol and got through the entire day that way. It was wonderful to feel one with my own thoughts again! There were moments on Friday when I wasn't sure I would ever get my brain back. Anyhoo, I was visited by Di bearing food (and lots of it) and Shakespeare bearing my errands from Target, and it turned out to be a pretty stellar day. Nap a little, eat a little, think a little, heal a lot.

Sunday was more of the same. A visit from Cute Brian followed by Linda from the Gym made for zero boredom and a ton of happiness. Brian brought waffles (who can resist a boy who brings waffles?) and Linda showered me with delicious and beautiful things, including sunflowers and Trader Joe's Sea Salt Brownies. Seriously, do not knock them until you try them; they are ambrosia.

And today I've been on my own. Curled up watching television, doing a little writing, doing a little knitting, and doing a lot of napping. It's been a good day, and I've been thinking about something Eric said to me at one of those moments when, evidently, my head was working on Friday. "This is it," he said. "This is the first big thing post-Christopher. The thing that makes you realize that you're not alone. The thing that makes you realize you don't need him to make it through." And he's right. Throughout all of this craziness, I have not for one moment felt alone. Whether it was a visit or a phone call or a Facebook comment or a happy thought you've sent my way, I know you're out there, loving me. I know I'm not alone. In fact, I'm so much better than simply not alone; I am full of life and love and people who just won't let me forget that.

So even though for the moment I have boo-boos on my belly (and blisters surrounding them because I'm pretty much allergic to everything in the world) and am missing an organ, I'm still whole, complete and perfect, just as I am. In no small part because you're along for the ride.

The unmitigated gall!

Sometimes, it seems nothing goes smoothly. This is one of those times.

As you already know, since about last November my gallbladder and I haven't been getting along. I had scheduled surgery to have the sucker removed this Friday. I was nervous - hey, anesthesia is a scary thing - but I was pretty sure I'd be fine. It's a common operation, zip in, zip out, done. All was rosey in my world.

Until last Friday when the surgeon's office called. He's not available on the July 17; we can either make it July 16 or 24.

Great. Making arrangements wasn't easy in the first place. I have people taking off of work to take care of me, and now I have to re-arrange their schedules and my own. Thankfully, I have wonderfully flexible friends. But that's not where the headaches end. While I was on the phone with the surgeon, I asked them (for the second time) if I would need any pre-op testing to be done, and I was told the hospital would contact me but any testing would likely be done the day of surgery. It didn't seem right, but it's not like I was going to convince them otherwise.

Then I got the call from the hospital yesterday, confirming my surgery for Friday. No, I said, it's been rescheduled for Thursday. Well that will be fine, the OR is free, and as long as you've already had your blood work done ....

Wait, what?

Yeah, it should've been done last week or at the latest yesterday, in order for the results to come back in time for the re-scheduled procedure. And to top it all off, the referral I have from my primary doc is good for the admission date of 7/17 ... so before I let anyone cut into me, I figure I'd better get an updated copy, otherwise I really don't have a leg to stand on if the insurance questions anything.

Needless to say, I headed to Aurora this morning to have blood drawn and pick up a copy of the referral. Sounds like a simple thing, and it should've been, but the freakin' vampire who took my blood didn't believe me when I told her my veins can sometimes be challenging. Only after three tries and literal weeping (me, not her) was she able to get enough blood for the tests they need to run.

I am now out of patience. I look like a human pincushion, or a really messy addict. But my sister has assured me that on the day of surgery I'll get good drugs that will put me in a happy place.

As long as they can get the damn IV in, that is!

Paralysis

It happens, sometimes. That "stuck-in-a-rut" feeling that feels impossible to shake, when doing the things you know will make it better seem far too difficult to even try.

I've been that way with money. I used to manage it really well, and then I turned it over to my ex. When he left, it was like I just didn't know how any more.

I've been that way with people. When it's been awhile (years, sometimes) it can be hard to make that phone call, no matter how much I want to hear Julianne's voice at the end of the line.

And I've been that way with my health, and that's what petrifies me the most. It is so easy to slip back into my old habits, to let the comfort of a sedentary life lead me to time on the couch. It feels like paralysis, like I just can't do it. I can know beyond a shadow of doubt how much better I'll feel if I just get to the gym, or walk around town, or even vacuum really fast, but there I sit.

Yesterday was my first time back at the gym since June 30. That's almost two weeks, and for someone like me, that is not okay. I had my reasons, believe me. Last week the gallbladder spoke to me pretty loudly. I had a couple of days when only the Vicodin kept me from performing surgery myself. Never missed work (although I'm real happy I didn't get picked for a random drug test) but it was tough to get to the gym. Then it was 4th of July weekend, and I had lots of good food to eat and sleep to catch up on and fun to have. And then Monday, work came at me like crazy. Deadlines and blamestorming was the theme of the week, and I got caught in the crossfire. Un-fun. So I worked late Monday, which stretched into Tuesday, and by Wednesday I just wanted to go home and eat an entire pizza.

I could've done so many things differently. I could've tried taking a little walk when the gallbladder hurt, just to see if moving around helped at all. Hey, circulation is a good thing, right? I could've gone to the gym after work, regardless of how late I was stuck at the office. I could've shaken my groove thing on the elliptical or the treadmill instead of in class, since class and I couldn't coordinate our schedules. I could've done a lot of things, but instead I let myself wallow a little. I went home, ate delicious food, spent a lot of time in the bath. See, it's not like I spent my nights with my good friends Ben and Jerry; on the contrary, I still ate rather healthfully and deliciously. It was the moving my body that was missing.

So last night, I hit the gym again. Thursday night Salsa/Funk, surrounded by friends. In the middle of the last song (which incidentally helps us all tap into our inner pole dancer) it began to wash over me ... it's as much about working my soul as it is about working my body. I come here to sweat, and to get fed. So many good people, standing at the ready to shower one another with inspiration and encouragement, how could you not move? How could you not want to just let your body go and dance the hour away?

I'm not foolish enough to think that one night has put me back on track. And I'm a little nervous, because next weekend I have the whole surgery thing and that will require me to take things a little easier, at least for a few days. But I reminded myself of some important stuff last night: my connection to my friends (I love my John and Linda and Donna!) matters more than calories burned. The post-workout shower feels better than any other clean routine. And my body is meant to move.

So you have my word that I'm not gonna let paralysis take me over again. And when I feel it coming on, I'll call ya, or text ya, or e-mail ya. I'll let you kick me in the tail so one night doesn't turn into two weeks, because I know I'm worth it. And I know you think so, too.

Policies

So yesterday at the office, we were provided with our Social Networking Policy. In it, we learn ...

"Employees are prohibited from using the name ... in any online social networking and blogging activities without express permission" from the undisclosed company for which I work.

Additionally, even while we are forbidden to name said company, we are prohibited from posting material that is "obscene, vulgar, defamatory, threatening, discriminatory, harassing, abusive, hateful or embarrassing to another person or entity."

So let me get this straight: I can't tell anyone where I work (which, incidentally, is not the CIA) but I also can't make fun of anyone or use the eff word? Seriously?

In an effort to comply, I have removed the name of the undisclosed company for which I work from this here blog and my social networking activities. But yikes, it seems a wee bit Big Brother-ish to me. Here's my favorite line in the policy:

"Employees have no right to absolute privacy when they post on a social networking site, regardless of where the employee accesses the Internet."

Except when they wrote it, it wasn't punctuated quite as well.

Not meaning to complain too much here. I still love my job. But isn't it enough that I occasionally pee in a cup for them? Doesn't my pride in my company preclude their fear that I might say "company name" and "did you see the way she tucked her skirt into her panties?" in the same body of work? These are the questions that keep me up at night. Those, and "Why is the cat standing on my chest?"

Hope my undisclosed company has an answer for that, too.

Holiday week

This is one of my favorite weeks of the entire year. It ranks right up there with Christmas, and My Birthday Week. Independence Day, Fourth of July, the halfway point of summer ... good times, for sure.

It dates back to my childhood, when the neighbors would host a huge block party and everyone would come together for potato salad, relishes, deviled eggs and Toots' famous fruit salad. We'd graze all day long, play games on the grass and as the sun dipped into the horizon we'd light sparklers and shoot off fireworks while Mom played vinyl recordings of Sousa marches on the stereo, the speakers propped up in the windows so we could all hear.

As I got older, it became a time of road trips with friends or vacations with family. It was always different, but it was always wonderful. There is magic to this time of year, if you ask me. There was the time Kelly, Patrick, Kristi and I piled into Patrick's two-door Escort and followed a battery in the area surrounding Black Earth, Wisconsin. There was the weekend I met my ex, which was a great weekend even though it resulted in heart-shattering love. There was the blistering sunburn from a canoe trip that wouldn't end, Disney World with the family, and South Haven, Michigan with my family who isn't my family.

This year I'm staying home, curling up with friends, taking the train into Chicago and letting the magic happen. With each year, I get a little further away from the fragile girl who once loved an unworthy boy and get a little closer to the strong woman who can kickbox with the best of 'em and still cries at that one Folger's commercial where the older brother comes home from college at Christmas.

Last year at this time, Chris was filing the divorce papers. This year, I'm a happy divorcee, with so much love in my life I can't even begin to measure it. It's a holiday week, stretching out before me, waiting for me to dive in.

Sploosh.

Life in the tropics

Ahh, summer. Sometimes it seems to come overnight. Sometimes, it actually does come overnight.

See, a week ago, it was in the 60s. We had what felt like three months of April. Rain, chilly temps, and only an occasional bout of sunshine to lull us into a false sense of security. Then last week the mercury started to rise and BAM, summer slammed into us like the ball hits the fat kid in dodgeball. Our forecast? High 80s, low-to-mid 90s for two weeks straight. Don't know when it will break, because we can't forecast out that far. But I'm not complaining, seriously. I complain all winter long, and give up my bitching rights during the summer. I'm reveling in it.

Sure, I have no A/C in the car, but I can undo the duct tape and get some wind blowing while I drive. Sure, I can cool my apartment with one window air conditioner, even though I have a second one, because plugging both of them means I blow a circuit. Love me, love my wiring.

Anyway, so it's hot. Big deal, it's summer in Chicago - the perfect time to just shut up and enjoy it! And that's exactly what I'm doing.

Last weekend, I had a house full of love. Chris and Janie Early and their little spud Liam stayed with me for a few nights, and we had a blast. Didn't do much, honestly. Went out to breakfast, sat, talked, ate good food, sat and talked some more. My favorite activity with them is just the three of us adults and coffee. On their last morning with me, Janie got up, started the coffee, and brought me a cup. Such a simple, beautiful luxury - receiving coffee in bed from someone who loves me. I'm still smiling about it now.

I wasn't prepared for how empty my home would feel when they left. No more baby giggles, or stories to read, or conversations that flow into the night. They left a little love behind, though - scratch paper so I wouldn't need to write notes on coffee filters, ink for my printer because I was out, a rug to go by the litter box and an array of things that smell pretty. Maggie treats, really - things I wouldn't buy myself but make me smile every time I use, smell or see them. Good friends know that it's the little things that keep you smiling weeks after they leave.

Speaking of people I love, there's a lake house in North Carolina full of them! Clan Rice/Carlson/Bathje's annual beach sojourn landed in NC this year, to dovetail off of Mike and Rae's GeekCon and spend time with Grandma. Yes, I'm jealous. Yes, I miss them. Knowing they are all there, except for me, Chunk and Ryan makes me sad for me but happy that they're all there. And I know they'll keep posting photos and fun stuff as the week wears on, right? RIGHT!

And things continue to bump along in my life. I have a disgusting summer cold so I sound like I smoke three packs a day and ought to be at the senior center playing canasta. Still hitting the gym regularly, although I slowed down a little this week with the feeling like crap thing and all. My deal with myself, though, is that if i go on Saturday mornings and I do my strength training and cardio, I get as much time by the pool as I want. Hard work followed by luxury is a very good idea!

Long story short, life is grand, summer is wonderful and the only thing between here and perfection is being able to breathe clearly. But I'm sure that'll happen soon.

Random accidents of kindness

I'm crazy.

But then, you already knew that.

It's been a little bit of a freak-out day, but I made myself take a step back and chill. There's lots of good stuff, too, in addition to the freaking, so let's learn to take the good with the not-so, okay

Okay.

The not-so: my gallbladder. But it's coming out, so no big, right? Well, one would think, but it's a bit of a logistical nightmare. See, my Patrick was going to pick me up and run me home afterward, but the surgery is scheduled for July 17 ... which just happens to also be the day he opens Guys and Dolls at the Paramount Arts Centre in Aurora. Very slim chance that he'll be able to get me home and get back to the theater in time for curtain.

So I've called in reinforcements - which I hate to do because I totally suck at asking for help - and a couple awesome people agreed to take the second shift on the Maggie Surgery Shuttle Schedule (not to be confused with the Space Shuttle Schedule; please don't send me that far away.) But here's where I got caught up in the vicious circle of dread (which is vicious and dreadful and, somehow, circular): I was never supposed to be here. I was never supposed to be weak or fragile or in need of someone's help. I'm the one who helps, not the one who needs.

This is one of those times when I curse the comfort I felt when I was married. I'd never have to worry about this stuff, because someone promised to care for me when I couldn't care for myself. And now I'm in a position where I feel like a burden to people who didn't sign on for this. When you go ice skating at age 16, or stay up talking until the sun comes up, you don't look at the person you're with and think, "hey, in 20 or 30 years, I'll be watching someone wheel her into surgery."

But that's where we are. We're in a place where things just aren't working out the way I thought they would, back when I used to play this movie in my head. Aging divorcee learns flexibility, right? Instead, I'm going to do my level best to just be grateful that I have friends who are so willing to help out, who don't even blink when I have a need that they can fill.

So you're on notice. On July 18 and 19, I'll be home. I might need something. I might just want you to check on me. I might need pancakes. So, you should feel free to stop by.

Now, on to the good: people. You amaze me. On Saturday at the gym, after the 8:15 class of Pam Hates Us and the 9:30 Salsa/Funk, Linda and I spent a little time talking to Donna. Donna is a bundle of energy. She's beautiful in every sense of the word. She personifies confidence. She's singularly ... Donna. So when she stopped me to tell me I remind her of her sister, because we have similar energy, enthusiasm and spirit, I was overcome. I'm just me, and most of the time I don't think that's anything to write home about. Turns out, there are people who don't agree. There are people who think I remind them of some of their favorite people.

Then, there are those to whom I am one of their favorite people. Take, for example, when my Wicked Step Mother emailed me earlier this week in a last-ditch effort to wrangle my ass to North Carolina. "Take the train to Springfield and we'll pick you up there," she said. "I'll even spring for the ticket." I cried like a baby when I emailed her back that I couldn't, work wouldn't let me off the hook, but I love that she wanted me there. I love that everyone in Clan Rice/Carlson/Bathje would move mountains if it would mean having me join them for Lake House II: the sequel. I also love that, unless it's planned for the week of my work's national conference next year, I will be there.

There are also those who have been there all along, save for a long-ish hiatus. My friend Eric and I were as close as two peas in a pod back in the early 90s, before my Second Act. But then I went back to school and built this new life and left a lot of the old behind. Some of it was easy to recapture - it's tough to stay clear of Kelly and Patrick for long - but others required Facebook to realign us as we're meant to be. And it became clear last Friday, sitting on the stage at the Geneva Underground Playhouse, following a hysterical night of sketch comedy ... we are still the people we've always been. Eric held court, surrounded by lovely artists (and me) and the snappy patter flowed. His little sister (and biggest fan) and I laughed and joked until our sides hurt. His wife and I traded barbs as if we've known each other for years. His friends treat me like one of their own. They share their peanut M&Ms and their leftover Chinese food with me. What could be better than that?

There are simple phrases people use with me, like "You've gotta cut that shit out," and "Stop apologizing for my choice to be your friend," and "Are you gonna eat that?" It all means "I love you" in the language of my friends. There are those who meet me for a night of theater or a morning of breakfast, who know it's fine to drop by and eat my food, who grill chicken and vegetables so I can eat and enjoy without worry, who let the wine flow freely, who sit with me in the dark, who call when the rescue a turtle from certain death, or for no reason at all ... and there are those who share their chocolate. They have no idea the profound effect they have on my life ... or at least they didn't until they read this.

It really is no accident, the manner in which your kindness has changed my life. My life is better because you are in it, and in the dark moments - both literal and metaphoric - you carry me through.