Not what we planned, part one
I went to Champaign over the weekend to see Matt Fear's most recent theatrical event, "The Great American Trailer Park Musical", and to visit Ryan. I woke up feeling not quite myself, so I slept in a little longer and got a later start ... which screwed up my visit with Ry, because he needed family time so he was going to see Dad and Cindy. See? The whole thing didn't even start out according to plan, but it worked out awesome. I arrived in Champaign, crashed at Matt & Em's for a few hours and then headed for the theater. Ryan would meet up with us after for a drink or two.
The show was phenomenal. I don't care what the show is; if it's at the Station Theater in Urbana, you should go. I was seated next to a Really Cool Dude, who happened to be a professor at U of I. I know this because I was in my seat when Fear texted me. Yeah, we're dorks. Anyway, after the standing ovation at the close of the show, it was time for me to go sit outside and look pretty and the cast and crew to strike set. And as the night wore on, my tired set in. It didn't look like there would be cocktails in my future.
Not what we planned, part two
I was planning to hit the couch at Fear's for the night, but strike was going remarkably slowly and I was on a bench outside doing the head-bob-thing. So I called Ryan, who graciously agreed to give me his couch for the night. Ya gotta love family; he tells me honestly that the couch is mine any time I want it, and I believe him. Note to the family, however: the boy eats peanut butter on a spoon out of the jar. You may want to send him food.
It was awesome to see Ryan. I tried not to let on that I was a bit nostalgic ... this is the last time I'd see my baby "brother" as a college student. Next time, he would be the same guy, but with a degree and a career in the Marines. Crazy, really. We watched a bit of a movie and got caught up and he gave me a bit of the third degree, because that's what brothers do. And the next morning he was off to work as silently as if he weren't there at all. And Cindy? His apartment was pretty damn clean, especially considering he was not expecting me. Ya taught the boy well.
Nice to see you again, Mr. President
The owner and president of my company has been in the building this week. He was over by my cubicle today telling some of our board members what happens in our group, the communications creative team. "This is where the good stuff comes from," I heard him say, introducing us to the Suits. Which, of course, prompted me to introduce myself as Maggie Bieritz, Vice President of Good Stuff. I think they'll remember me.
Theatrical pursuits
My trip to Champaign kicked off a veritable plethora of theater-going. This weekend I'll be seeing "The Best Man" in Geneva; next weekend it's "Peter Pan" at West High and "Rocky Horror" in Wisconsin. Secretly, I'm loving it. It will be awesome to see so many friends in what I hope are fantastic shows. So guys? Don't screw up.
We put the "fun" in "funeral"
My Aunt Shirley died over the weekend. Visitation is tomorrow and wake on Thursday. She's the last of my mom's generation to kick it, and this soon after the five-year anniversary of Mom's hasty exit makes it feel a little more melancholy than maybe it ordinarily would. Aunt Shirley was crazy, funny, and really just an awesome lady. She was a nurse, a mother of six children, and always drank Pepsi. I can't help but wonder if she's hanging out with Mom and Uncle Perry now, wondering what all the fuss is about. I'll miss you, Aunt Shirl.
Pima County unFair
Mike went to the fair down in AZ on Sunday, and he couldn't resist calling me so I could hear my favorite band in the universe in the background. Kinda makes me wish I had Wilco tickets.
Well OUCH!
I have something wrong with my left foot. Don't know if it's a heel spur or an arch problem, but I have this burning sensation on the bottom of my foot. It's not pretty, and it's worse when I wear heels. But heels are pretty, and they make my legs look longer, so I wear them. Don't tell my doctor.
Itty bitty delicious things
I made a meatloaf, but I cooked it in muffin tins. Tiny, single-serving meatloaves; they're perfect! You should try it.
That's it for tonight. Sorry it's been more than a week, and sorry there aren't ten this Tuesday. But I love you. That counts for something, right?
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Weekends, renewal and schizophrenic weather
It's 3:30 on a Friday afternoon. A dear friend calls to ask if you have any plans for the evening. No, you say, because ... well, you have no plans. And the next thing you know, you're headed to Michigan.
Shakespeare was celebrating full-time permanent status at her job. I was celebrating the spirit of spontaneity. Off we went, past the Schaumburg plow barn (won't be needing you tonight, boys!) and through the traffic, into the place Tim Allen taunts me with on a regular basis.
First stop: the Oasis. No, I don't remember which one, but it's the one that used to have a photo booth; it doesn't anymore, so we made our own.
Shakespeare was celebrating full-time permanent status at her job. I was celebrating the spirit of spontaneity. Off we went, past the Schaumburg plow barn (won't be needing you tonight, boys!) and through the traffic, into the place Tim Allen taunts me with on a regular basis.
First stop: the Oasis. No, I don't remember which one, but it's the one that used to have a photo booth; it doesn't anymore, so we made our own.
Me and Shakespeare in the loo. 
She claimed to be the Queen of Toilet Town.We gave a cheer crossing into Indiana, and again when we crossed into Michigan. Soon we would be at our destination - Camp Sokol, the Bohemian beach club where Shakes goes every summer. Completely deserted on this April night, it was peaceful and perfect.
The inimitable Jessica Keith, aka Shakespeare,
with the Lake Michigan sunset in the background.
Me, in the same spot. This is how I picture myself when I picture myself. Do I actually look like this, or do I look more like the yucky pictures I usually see of me?
The sunset. So intensely beautiful, it made me nostalgic for family time on a private beach just north of here. I miss you guys!
Shakespeare shows off her fire-building survival skills. I did gather some of the wood, but mostly
I was the relaxing half of the dynamic duo.
The rustling in the grasses creeped us out
until the firelight showed a trio of cats
and not a leprechaun axe murderer.
It was a little disconcerting how much this one
looked like my dead cat, Josie Lou.
Except this one was alive.
Other than that, she was a dead ringer.
Or a live ringer. Or whatever.
Simply put, we had a wonderful time. Although during the day it was very warm, the evening was very cold, but the fire was warm and the company was awesome. Sometimes ya just gotta give in to the spontaneity. Ya gotta go with the flow, feel the wanderlust and walk in the cold sand on a chilly April night. Because I'd rather huddle by the fire until midnight than wonder if it would've been fun from the warmth of my apartment.
Saturday brought baby hugs and squishes - I'm in love with Isabel Rose! (A rose, Izzy Rose, Izzy Rose!) My picture came out pretty blurry, but Matt took one so maybe I'm cute in it. Suffice to say that she has a perfect nose and yawns like a champ. Spent a bit of time driving around and enjoying the weather, visiting friends and shopping for groceries before a relaxing night at home. There's something about lounging around with the windows open and good music playing that just feels luxurious. Add to that the flavor of good bread, delicious cheese, fresh fruit and dark heavenly chocolate and you have a near-perfect night.
Fell asleep with the windows open so I woke up f-f-freezing! I can't manage in this ever-changing weather. It was 70 on Saturday, and about 40 yesterday. Don't even get me started about today. I'm moving somewhere warm.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Clever juxtaposition
I find it really rather beautiful that Isabel Rose Bathje, my newest niece, was born this morning at 4:45 ... the day after the fifth anniversary of losing Mom. (Again, she didn't wander off while shopping at Target; she's really most sincerely dead.)
Just another ride on this crazy roller-coaster we call life. One moment you're grieving over moments you'll never have with someone who left. The next, you're reminded that life goes on. That the universe is forever presenting to you people to love, opportunities to embrace and yes, babies to squish.
It's a little overwhelming sometimes, this love that comes at me from all directions. Sometimes I just have to stop and think about it, and remember to be smart enough to take it all in. Because it's a crazy ride, and I really don't want to miss a moment of it.
Just another ride on this crazy roller-coaster we call life. One moment you're grieving over moments you'll never have with someone who left. The next, you're reminded that life goes on. That the universe is forever presenting to you people to love, opportunities to embrace and yes, babies to squish.
It's a little overwhelming sometimes, this love that comes at me from all directions. Sometimes I just have to stop and think about it, and remember to be smart enough to take it all in. Because it's a crazy ride, and I really don't want to miss a moment of it.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
A journey of five years
Five years ago today, I awoke to a ringing telephone. In the wee hours I learned that my mom had been taken to the hospital by ambulance, with a terrible headache that just wouldn't let her go. You'd have a headache, too, if you had a tumor in your noggin.
By sunrise, she'd lost consciousness. By 9 a.m., she was gone.
I didn't rush to the hospital to get there before she went off the air. No, instead I took my time. I did my hair; she didn't like it when I looked unkempt. I chose my outfit carefully, and yes, I remember what I wore. I arrived in her room with the family already there, and mom appearing to be peacefully asleep, wearing the snowflake hat I'd purchased for her to keep her bald head warm. We gathered as a family - my sisters, my dad, uncle Walt, aunt Judy, nephew Alex and I - and said our prayers, shared hugs, and gave our final "I love you's" to Mom.
When I look back over the past five years, at the breakneck pace with which my life has changed, it's hard to believe I'm the same person. Sometimes, life throws us a curveball. How we choose to field it is up to us.
Consider, if you will, what has transpired in the past five years:
So here's to five years of growth and change. I think Mom would be proud.
By sunrise, she'd lost consciousness. By 9 a.m., she was gone.
I didn't rush to the hospital to get there before she went off the air. No, instead I took my time. I did my hair; she didn't like it when I looked unkempt. I chose my outfit carefully, and yes, I remember what I wore. I arrived in her room with the family already there, and mom appearing to be peacefully asleep, wearing the snowflake hat I'd purchased for her to keep her bald head warm. We gathered as a family - my sisters, my dad, uncle Walt, aunt Judy, nephew Alex and I - and said our prayers, shared hugs, and gave our final "I love you's" to Mom.
When I look back over the past five years, at the breakneck pace with which my life has changed, it's hard to believe I'm the same person. Sometimes, life throws us a curveball. How we choose to field it is up to us.
Consider, if you will, what has transpired in the past five years:
- I went from jobless to career back to jobless, worked a part-time gig that was more like a hands-on Master's program, and finally found a full-time job that I love which nets me a fantastic discount on jewelry.
- My husband left and I didn't think I could survive, but when people like you kept reminding me of how strong you think I am, I couldn't really let you down, could I? So I bounced back, foolishly sometimes, but always bouncing back.
- I've hit the road - not extensively, but I certainly hit it. I've been to Tucson twice, Disney World twice (hey, Margaret, you're divorced; what are you gonna do? "I'm going to Disney World!"), taken a few awesome road trips and spent a week at the beach with a family that has adopted me as its own.
- I can knit! I taught myself how because I wanted to make really soft hats for Mom to wear; she's just not the wig type. I didn't learn quickly enough - she was gone before I finished my first one - but I still consider my knitting to be her legacy. Sitting down with fiber I love and needles that feel good in my hands is like sitting down and having a chat with Mom. But not as noisy.
- I have a home that is all mine in downtown Arlington Heights, and I really love it. I'd forgotten how much I enjoy having my time and space to myself, not having to clean up after anyone, and being able to decorate however I want. My home is not a showplace, but it is definitely my home.
- Most importantly, I've reconnected with people who reflect my best self back to me. If there's one thing I've learned over the past five years, it's that your people are the foundation of who you are. You can tell a lot about people by the company they keep, and I hope that when you look at my network of lunatics and loved ones, you see deep love, uproarious laughter, intense devotion, family that transcends the bonds of traditional relatives, delicious food, tenderness and gentle encouragement.
So here's to five years of growth and change. I think Mom would be proud.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Eight on Tuesday
When You Wake Up Feeling Old
It's tough to be ninja. Had my third class this week, and I can honestly say I love it ... and it hurts. Rolled over in bed when the alarm went off this morning and it took me about 20 minutes to get upright. Ow ow ow ow ow ... but so worth it. It's a good feeling to move, and to realize that I would never have attempted this class a year ago. Wonder what next April will bring?
As You Cry
This Thursday marks five years since we lost Mom. Know, not "lost" in the traditional sense; she died, she didn't wander off at Target. I think of her often, and I grieve still for the unanswered questions and why she hasn't been able to coax the Cubs toward the World Series, but hey, maybe this is their year.
Love and Memories
Okay, Cute Brian, if you're reading this ... extract your head from your hindquarter and pick up the damn phone. I love you. You have been my friend through some of the toughest times of my life. Let's not toss that aside now. And if you can't call me ... call Abby.
Celebrate Me Home
I had an amazing Easter weekend in Lake Geneva and at my Dad's house. Took the train up, spent Thursday and Friday night at Amber's swanky condo, went to karaoke, let Dale cook for me, caught up with friends and just relaxed in my home away from home. Saturday night I met a friend for coffee, stayed up too late, and then on Easter I went to Dad's for more food, basketball with the nephew, and a family visit (plus free laundry, yay!) and a just plain perfect end to a fantastic weekend. I love that home really is wherever I happen to be ... because let's face it, it ain't about geography. Home is where your people are.
Broken Glass
So last night, I came home from the gym and I was over-hungry. The kind of hungry that makes the cat food look good. Anyway, I make myself a ham and cheese and tomato grilled wrap thing. I'm excited to eat the damn thing, it looked so good. I put it on a plat, start to cut it and SHATTER ... dropped the plate and the food on my beautiful tile floor, which means it broke all over the place. So now I'm starving and surrounded by a mess which I cannot eat. This only gets worse when you realize I haven't been to the grocery in about two weeks, so that was pretty much the end of the food I have in the house. Dinner was a bowl of cereal. Of course I put it off another day by having pasta tonight ... tomorrow, I have to hit the Jewel, or I really will eat the cat's food! And for the record, it's the plate, not the food that makes me sad. It was one of the antique plates the old ladies at church used to serve their special dinners on. Hopefully, I'll be able to replace it. But if not, well ... how many times do I serve more than seven people here, anyway?
Better Beautiful Than Perfect
There are days when I don't feel like either, but most of the time I consider myself a work in progress, and a work in progress (to me, anyway) is inherently beautiful. So as much as I'm a perfectionist, as much as I would really like to get things right pretty much all the time, I've come to the conclusion that perfect is a lofty goal, and beautiful is simply a state of being. Let's just hang out and be beautiful together, okay?
Wash Away
The weekend was cold. The last few days have been even colder, and rainy. I hope with all my heart that the rain has washed winter away for good and we can sink into something in the 60's for a little while now. That would be heavenly. Please?
Already Gone
Ten seems like too much lately, so eight's gonna have to do. It's almost 10:30, and I need my beauty sleep. (Those who have experienced Morning Maggie know this to be true!) So I'll say goodnight and I love you, until we meet back here again.
It's tough to be ninja. Had my third class this week, and I can honestly say I love it ... and it hurts. Rolled over in bed when the alarm went off this morning and it took me about 20 minutes to get upright. Ow ow ow ow ow ... but so worth it. It's a good feeling to move, and to realize that I would never have attempted this class a year ago. Wonder what next April will bring?
As You Cry
This Thursday marks five years since we lost Mom. Know, not "lost" in the traditional sense; she died, she didn't wander off at Target. I think of her often, and I grieve still for the unanswered questions and why she hasn't been able to coax the Cubs toward the World Series, but hey, maybe this is their year.
Love and Memories
Okay, Cute Brian, if you're reading this ... extract your head from your hindquarter and pick up the damn phone. I love you. You have been my friend through some of the toughest times of my life. Let's not toss that aside now. And if you can't call me ... call Abby.
Celebrate Me Home
I had an amazing Easter weekend in Lake Geneva and at my Dad's house. Took the train up, spent Thursday and Friday night at Amber's swanky condo, went to karaoke, let Dale cook for me, caught up with friends and just relaxed in my home away from home. Saturday night I met a friend for coffee, stayed up too late, and then on Easter I went to Dad's for more food, basketball with the nephew, and a family visit (plus free laundry, yay!) and a just plain perfect end to a fantastic weekend. I love that home really is wherever I happen to be ... because let's face it, it ain't about geography. Home is where your people are.
Broken Glass
So last night, I came home from the gym and I was over-hungry. The kind of hungry that makes the cat food look good. Anyway, I make myself a ham and cheese and tomato grilled wrap thing. I'm excited to eat the damn thing, it looked so good. I put it on a plat, start to cut it and SHATTER ... dropped the plate and the food on my beautiful tile floor, which means it broke all over the place. So now I'm starving and surrounded by a mess which I cannot eat. This only gets worse when you realize I haven't been to the grocery in about two weeks, so that was pretty much the end of the food I have in the house. Dinner was a bowl of cereal. Of course I put it off another day by having pasta tonight ... tomorrow, I have to hit the Jewel, or I really will eat the cat's food! And for the record, it's the plate, not the food that makes me sad. It was one of the antique plates the old ladies at church used to serve their special dinners on. Hopefully, I'll be able to replace it. But if not, well ... how many times do I serve more than seven people here, anyway?
Better Beautiful Than Perfect
There are days when I don't feel like either, but most of the time I consider myself a work in progress, and a work in progress (to me, anyway) is inherently beautiful. So as much as I'm a perfectionist, as much as I would really like to get things right pretty much all the time, I've come to the conclusion that perfect is a lofty goal, and beautiful is simply a state of being. Let's just hang out and be beautiful together, okay?
Wash Away
The weekend was cold. The last few days have been even colder, and rainy. I hope with all my heart that the rain has washed winter away for good and we can sink into something in the 60's for a little while now. That would be heavenly. Please?
Already Gone
Ten seems like too much lately, so eight's gonna have to do. It's almost 10:30, and I need my beauty sleep. (Those who have experienced Morning Maggie know this to be true!) So I'll say goodnight and I love you, until we meet back here again.
Monday, April 13, 2009
If the peg fits ...
Growing up in my family was ... shall we say ... challenging. I never quite fit in. Four years younger than the sister closest to me in age, the half of the twins who walked, the little girl who gravitated toward Dad because Mom was often occupied by my brother Mike ... those things combined created quite a unique human. You know her as Maggie.
I wanted to wear the dress and climb the tree, play football and dance, sculpt and break things. There wasn't anything I didn't want to try, not much that scared me, and very little I kept my mouth shut about. (Yeah, I know ... some things never change.) I was constantly in trouble, either at home or at school or (more often than not) both. I was Mr. and Mrs. Bieritz's lovely little handful.
Needless to say, there were times when my relationship with my sisters suffered. I wasn't like them. Sure, I wanted to borrow their clothes and talk about boys, but that's really where the similarities ended. Politically they lean to the right (and in some cases, so far to the right they're in another building.) They think I'm a hopeless tree-hugger. They all live within a few miles (and some, within a few steps) of the house we grew up in, while I was a true maverick, moving some 40 miles away. Their strongest relationships are with each other or with folks who are also close to the family, while I have strong and solid family ties with people who aren't related to me. They are princesses; I am ... not.
Family gatherings can be a painful reminder of just how different I am. Usually, my nephew Alex and I end up outside under the basketball hoop (for the record, I kicked his ass in three out of four games of HORSE yesterday) in an effort to just stay out of the way. My participation in dinner conversation is limited - usually I get my talking in after everyone else leaves and it's just me and Dad, who seems to "get" me even though he and I rarely see eye to eye. And I share this not out of self-pity; no, I accepted my position in the family a long time ago. Instead, I wanted to paint a picture so you could understand how much my sister Jenn's actions yesterday shook the very foundation upon which I've built my impression of my family.
As I was getting ready to leave Dad's last night, the phone rang. It was Jenn, wanting to know if I could pop over to her house before I headed home. Well that's easy enough to do, since she lives on acreage that sits directly behind my father's house. So I walked through the woods to my sister's house, thinking she had a recipe or some hotel soap or a pair of shoes she thought I would like. Instead, it was a little plaque that took my breath away.
Now I realize it's goofy; that's our humor. But I've always thought my sisters thought I was crazy for the way I believe in my dreams. I always thought they considered me a bit of a nut because I'm not like them. I thought I was in the way, a necessary evil on holidays. But this simple gesture - a little something to hang on my wall - says to me, "yes, you're different; no, I don't much mind."
I wanted to wear the dress and climb the tree, play football and dance, sculpt and break things. There wasn't anything I didn't want to try, not much that scared me, and very little I kept my mouth shut about. (Yeah, I know ... some things never change.) I was constantly in trouble, either at home or at school or (more often than not) both. I was Mr. and Mrs. Bieritz's lovely little handful.
Needless to say, there were times when my relationship with my sisters suffered. I wasn't like them. Sure, I wanted to borrow their clothes and talk about boys, but that's really where the similarities ended. Politically they lean to the right (and in some cases, so far to the right they're in another building.) They think I'm a hopeless tree-hugger. They all live within a few miles (and some, within a few steps) of the house we grew up in, while I was a true maverick, moving some 40 miles away. Their strongest relationships are with each other or with folks who are also close to the family, while I have strong and solid family ties with people who aren't related to me. They are princesses; I am ... not.
Family gatherings can be a painful reminder of just how different I am. Usually, my nephew Alex and I end up outside under the basketball hoop (for the record, I kicked his ass in three out of four games of HORSE yesterday) in an effort to just stay out of the way. My participation in dinner conversation is limited - usually I get my talking in after everyone else leaves and it's just me and Dad, who seems to "get" me even though he and I rarely see eye to eye. And I share this not out of self-pity; no, I accepted my position in the family a long time ago. Instead, I wanted to paint a picture so you could understand how much my sister Jenn's actions yesterday shook the very foundation upon which I've built my impression of my family.
As I was getting ready to leave Dad's last night, the phone rang. It was Jenn, wanting to know if I could pop over to her house before I headed home. Well that's easy enough to do, since she lives on acreage that sits directly behind my father's house. So I walked through the woods to my sister's house, thinking she had a recipe or some hotel soap or a pair of shoes she thought I would like. Instead, it was a little plaque that took my breath away.
Now I realize it's goofy; that's our humor. But I've always thought my sisters thought I was crazy for the way I believe in my dreams. I always thought they considered me a bit of a nut because I'm not like them. I thought I was in the way, a necessary evil on holidays. But this simple gesture - a little something to hang on my wall - says to me, "yes, you're different; no, I don't much mind." It touches my heart in a way I never expected. While I may never make sense to them, it seems that's okay.
Ya know, as long as I don't try the flying thing.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
However many I write, whenever I write 'em
If the bra fits ...
Yeah, so, I've lost a few more pounds. And I realize this is way more information than you want, but I tried a smaller bra this week ... fits perfectly! Very exciting.
I think I can ...
I love taking the train, and I get to do it tonight! I'm hopping the train to Harvard, and I'm gonna relax and watch the world go by, maybe knit, maybe read ... who knows. I'm just pretty certain I'll have a blast. Then Amber will pick me up and I'll be in Lake Geneva until Saturday afternoon or evening (whenever Amber gets sick of me.) I'm so excited to have this awesome mini vacation!
All I need is the air that I breathe ...
I slept with the window open last night, nestled under quilts, cozy as can be. I love this time of year, when fresh air soothes the soul. It was a long winter, but this makes it all worth it.
Life, with a side of poverty ...
I've had to re-evaluate some of my plans as far as travel and summer fun. The new rule is pretty simple: stick close to home, take the train whenever possible, and spend only when necessary. Had to toss a bit more money at the car last week (Frank assures me we can keep it running, thank God!) and am working hard to keep ahead of my finances. It's actually going okay, because I've remembered this important bit of math: The train costs $12 round-trip either to Chicago or Harvard. The train to round-trip to Champaign is about $28, so I can still go see Matt Fear's show and catch up with Ryan. And the love? That's free. Doesn't cost me a penny to be with the people I love, and who love me back with such startling perfection it shocks and stuns me.
The most important meal ...
I've learned to love breakfast. Most of the time, it's either fresh fruit with vanilla yogurt and a sprinkling of granola, or oatmeal with fresh fruit mixed in. Delicious! Pretty soon, the farmer's market will be open, and fresh, local food will be in my kitchen every week. I can't wait!
About those mad ninja skills ...
I've survived two Strike! classes, and I can't wait for the third. The instructor, Alisa, is hysterical and awesome, and she encourages me every step of the way. Who knew muscle fatigue could feel this good?
My future's so bright ...
I bought sunglasses this week. Yes, I had to do it without Mike Rice's help. Tragedy! Actually, I think I chose pretty well. And for $9.99 at Target, I think I got a pretty stellar pair that make me look like I'm famous. If you disagree, just leave me to my delusions, okay?
Not much else to say ...
It's been a pretty quiet week in my life, actually. Just waiting for the weather to be consistently warm, for Cute Brian to return my calls, and to win the lottery. Other than that, life is good. It's fair to say that I miss you, I love you, and I hope to see you soon.
Yeah, so, I've lost a few more pounds. And I realize this is way more information than you want, but I tried a smaller bra this week ... fits perfectly! Very exciting.
I think I can ...
I love taking the train, and I get to do it tonight! I'm hopping the train to Harvard, and I'm gonna relax and watch the world go by, maybe knit, maybe read ... who knows. I'm just pretty certain I'll have a blast. Then Amber will pick me up and I'll be in Lake Geneva until Saturday afternoon or evening (whenever Amber gets sick of me.) I'm so excited to have this awesome mini vacation!
All I need is the air that I breathe ...
I slept with the window open last night, nestled under quilts, cozy as can be. I love this time of year, when fresh air soothes the soul. It was a long winter, but this makes it all worth it.
Life, with a side of poverty ...
I've had to re-evaluate some of my plans as far as travel and summer fun. The new rule is pretty simple: stick close to home, take the train whenever possible, and spend only when necessary. Had to toss a bit more money at the car last week (Frank assures me we can keep it running, thank God!) and am working hard to keep ahead of my finances. It's actually going okay, because I've remembered this important bit of math: The train costs $12 round-trip either to Chicago or Harvard. The train to round-trip to Champaign is about $28, so I can still go see Matt Fear's show and catch up with Ryan. And the love? That's free. Doesn't cost me a penny to be with the people I love, and who love me back with such startling perfection it shocks and stuns me.
The most important meal ...
I've learned to love breakfast. Most of the time, it's either fresh fruit with vanilla yogurt and a sprinkling of granola, or oatmeal with fresh fruit mixed in. Delicious! Pretty soon, the farmer's market will be open, and fresh, local food will be in my kitchen every week. I can't wait!
About those mad ninja skills ...
I've survived two Strike! classes, and I can't wait for the third. The instructor, Alisa, is hysterical and awesome, and she encourages me every step of the way. Who knew muscle fatigue could feel this good?
My future's so bright ...
I bought sunglasses this week. Yes, I had to do it without Mike Rice's help. Tragedy! Actually, I think I chose pretty well. And for $9.99 at Target, I think I got a pretty stellar pair that make me look like I'm famous. If you disagree, just leave me to my delusions, okay?
Not much else to say ...
It's been a pretty quiet week in my life, actually. Just waiting for the weather to be consistently warm, for Cute Brian to return my calls, and to win the lottery. Other than that, life is good. It's fair to say that I miss you, I love you, and I hope to see you soon.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
No Day But Today
I love live theater. It has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. My sisters were active in high school productions, and I went to every performance of every show. Even as a child, I realized that theater can move me. It can make me feel more alive. It can teach and entertain me.
Eventually, it was my turn to perform, which really just enhanced my appreciation as an audience member. I love seeing great productions, whether dramatic plays or frivolous musicals or something in between. I love when someone catches my eye from the back of the chorus, keeping me riveted throughout a show. I simply love everything about the theatrical experience. Even though my days as a performer are mostly behind me (unless someone wants to direct "Into the Woods" and cast me as the witch; do you hear me, Universe?) I still love it. And on rare occasions, it is my privilege to see a production that leaves me changed in some way, long after the final curtain.
The most significant show of my life is Rent. But then, you probably already know this. I saved my money when I was in college so I could afford the two-CD original Broadway soundtrack. I wore out my first set of CDs; I kept returning to the music time and time again. It never failed to bring something out of me ... hope, sorrow, belief ... every time, I found a new layer. It spoke to me.
That was 1997, the year I graduated college, started my first "real" job and moved away from my parents' home for good. And during all that transition, Rent followed me. So it's no surprise that when I vacationed with all my old theater pals in July of 1998, we listened to the soundtrack time and time again. That's where my story and Christopher's intersected, and we adopted Rent as the soundtrack of us. We were both "looking for baggage that goes with mine."
We saw the show together three times. A signed poster of the Broadway cast hung on our wall (side note: it still hangs on mine.) We walked down the aisle hand in hand to a single guitar playing "Seasons of Love." It bound us together, in a way. A film version of the show was released in November 20005; it was the last movie we saw together. (How's that for poetic?)
So when my marriage was crumbling down around me, I would listen. "The earth turns, the sun burns, but I die, without you." I know it seems dramatic, but that's how it felt. Everything I believed in was fading. Nothing anyone said could diminish that. It was pain I wasn't sure I could endure, but somehow, I did. I came out the other side and found the light again. I didn't lose my dignity. Many "someones" cared, and covered me with love like a blanket. And eventually, I woke from the nightmare.
And still, I'd listen. Sometimes it bolstered my mood. Sometimes it helped me sink into sadness. But it always spoke to me. So in December of last year, when I learned it was coming back to Chicago, of course I wanted to go. I wanted to connect the show with something else; something lasting; something other than Christopher. So I called Patrick, and he and I got tickets for the two of us and Ed.
Last night, we hopped on the El and made our way to the Oriental Theater to experience Rent together. It was magical. Adam Pascal and Anthony Rapp, who originated the roles of Roger and Mark on Broadway, returned to their roles in this company. Rapp has only gotten better with age, and his performance last night was shockingly beautiful. Sitting in the theater - dead center, first balcony, great seats - with my boys, I couldn't have been happier. We laughed, we cried, we made new memories.
And in one particular scene, during Life Support, the participants share their thoughts about living with HIV and AIDS, and one character speaks of not feeling well, and being afraid. He sings:
"Look, I find some of what you teach suspect,
because I'm used to relying on intellect,
but I try to open up to what I don't know,
because reason says I should've died three years ago."
and the cast answers back:
"No other road. No other way. No day but today."
And it hit me. That's what I felt like, three years ago. No, I wasn't sick, there was no illness (except for the virus I like to call Love) but I did sorta feel zombie-like, wandering through life, praying for the pain to stop in any possible way. So I'm sitting in the theater next to my best friend, who has been at my side in one way or another for almost 30 years, and I hear those words - "reason says I should've died three years ago" - and the tears come.
And they don't stop.
Patrick takes my hand, lets me cry, and I'm transformed once again by this show. No day but today, indeed. No matter how much it hurts, no matter the loss, we've got now. And getting through now sometimes brings you to something awesome.
I wouldn't trade my now for anything. Yes, I'd live through the marriage and the divorce again if it meant I got to have today. It ain't perfect, not by a longshot, but it's perfectly mine.
If you're reading this, you have, in one way or another, been instrumental in my surviving the last three years. So I'll take this moment to say thanks ... for every time you've listened, all the love you've poured upon me, and everything we'll experience together in the future.
There's only us
there's only this
forget regret, or life is yours to miss
No other road
no other way
no day but today.
Eventually, it was my turn to perform, which really just enhanced my appreciation as an audience member. I love seeing great productions, whether dramatic plays or frivolous musicals or something in between. I love when someone catches my eye from the back of the chorus, keeping me riveted throughout a show. I simply love everything about the theatrical experience. Even though my days as a performer are mostly behind me (unless someone wants to direct "Into the Woods" and cast me as the witch; do you hear me, Universe?) I still love it. And on rare occasions, it is my privilege to see a production that leaves me changed in some way, long after the final curtain.
The most significant show of my life is Rent. But then, you probably already know this. I saved my money when I was in college so I could afford the two-CD original Broadway soundtrack. I wore out my first set of CDs; I kept returning to the music time and time again. It never failed to bring something out of me ... hope, sorrow, belief ... every time, I found a new layer. It spoke to me.
That was 1997, the year I graduated college, started my first "real" job and moved away from my parents' home for good. And during all that transition, Rent followed me. So it's no surprise that when I vacationed with all my old theater pals in July of 1998, we listened to the soundtrack time and time again. That's where my story and Christopher's intersected, and we adopted Rent as the soundtrack of us. We were both "looking for baggage that goes with mine."
We saw the show together three times. A signed poster of the Broadway cast hung on our wall (side note: it still hangs on mine.) We walked down the aisle hand in hand to a single guitar playing "Seasons of Love." It bound us together, in a way. A film version of the show was released in November 20005; it was the last movie we saw together. (How's that for poetic?)
So when my marriage was crumbling down around me, I would listen. "The earth turns, the sun burns, but I die, without you." I know it seems dramatic, but that's how it felt. Everything I believed in was fading. Nothing anyone said could diminish that. It was pain I wasn't sure I could endure, but somehow, I did. I came out the other side and found the light again. I didn't lose my dignity. Many "someones" cared, and covered me with love like a blanket. And eventually, I woke from the nightmare.
And still, I'd listen. Sometimes it bolstered my mood. Sometimes it helped me sink into sadness. But it always spoke to me. So in December of last year, when I learned it was coming back to Chicago, of course I wanted to go. I wanted to connect the show with something else; something lasting; something other than Christopher. So I called Patrick, and he and I got tickets for the two of us and Ed.
Last night, we hopped on the El and made our way to the Oriental Theater to experience Rent together. It was magical. Adam Pascal and Anthony Rapp, who originated the roles of Roger and Mark on Broadway, returned to their roles in this company. Rapp has only gotten better with age, and his performance last night was shockingly beautiful. Sitting in the theater - dead center, first balcony, great seats - with my boys, I couldn't have been happier. We laughed, we cried, we made new memories.
And in one particular scene, during Life Support, the participants share their thoughts about living with HIV and AIDS, and one character speaks of not feeling well, and being afraid. He sings:
"Look, I find some of what you teach suspect,
because I'm used to relying on intellect,
but I try to open up to what I don't know,
because reason says I should've died three years ago."
and the cast answers back:
"No other road. No other way. No day but today."
And it hit me. That's what I felt like, three years ago. No, I wasn't sick, there was no illness (except for the virus I like to call Love) but I did sorta feel zombie-like, wandering through life, praying for the pain to stop in any possible way. So I'm sitting in the theater next to my best friend, who has been at my side in one way or another for almost 30 years, and I hear those words - "reason says I should've died three years ago" - and the tears come.
And they don't stop.
Patrick takes my hand, lets me cry, and I'm transformed once again by this show. No day but today, indeed. No matter how much it hurts, no matter the loss, we've got now. And getting through now sometimes brings you to something awesome.
I wouldn't trade my now for anything. Yes, I'd live through the marriage and the divorce again if it meant I got to have today. It ain't perfect, not by a longshot, but it's perfectly mine.
If you're reading this, you have, in one way or another, been instrumental in my surviving the last three years. So I'll take this moment to say thanks ... for every time you've listened, all the love you've poured upon me, and everything we'll experience together in the future.
There's only us
there's only this
forget regret, or life is yours to miss
No other road
no other way
no day but today.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Ten ... I mean, Eight ... on Wednesday
Seasons of Love, or my life in three acts
Tonight is Christmas, of sorts. Patrick, Ed and I are going to see Rent, and I'm terribly excited. Adam Pascal and Anthony Rapp, the originators of the roles of Roger and Mark, are in the cast. I will try not to pee myself. It will be awesome to make some new memories with this show; Rent was me and Christopher ... the soundtrack of our courtship, if you will. But even as the curtain came down on that relationship, the next act of Maggie began. Life goes on.
Kung Fu Fighting, or I am ninja, hear me roar
Ryan tells me ninja are stealthy, ergo I mustn't roar, but too bad. This is my blog and I'll roar if I want to. I took a new class at the gym this week. It's called Strike, and it's like kickboxing but done with weighted gloves and weighted bars. Lots of defense moves, lots of stuff that makes you wanna go "HAH!" Lots of pain the next day, lots of awesome. I like to shake things up now and then, and this is a great addition to the routine.
Vacation, or Double Super Thursday
Next week we get Double Super Thursday - It's payday, and it's the last work day of the week. We're off in observance of Good Friday, so of course I'm doing a decidedly unreligious thing: catching the train to head to Lake Geneva. Amber's picking me up in Harvard, and I'm staying Thursday and Friday night. It will be awesome to relax and enjoy a few days away from home, surrounded by people I love. We'll go to karaoke (any requests?) and breakfast and it will just be awesome. I can't wait.
I Can Drink the Water, or I'll be damned ... it works!
In an attempt to not be personally responsible for an entire landfill, I'm trying to cut back on bottled water. I bought one of those stainless steel bottles that are supposed to keep your water cold, and it really does! I love it. I will probably get a few more, just so I can keep them in the fridge for when thirst beckons. I may never go back to plastic.
Ch-ch-ch-changes, or will it ever REALLY be spring?
I'm so ready. I want to move the couch over by the window so I feel like I'm in a treehouse. I want Cute Brian to pick me up in the Jeep with the top off (the Jeep's, not Brian's, although ... ) to go for a ride to nowhere in particular. I want Saturday morning workouts followed by Saturday afternoons at the pool. I want breakfast in the yard, drive-in movies and walks through the forest preserve. Spring is flirting with me, but she's not sticking around ... yet. Come on, you fickle mistress!
It's a Small World, or get a tan for me
My entire family is in Disney World. Yes, even Mike. Dad flew him down along with Brenda, our "sister" who helps take care of Mike when Dad travels. Yesterday, I talked to Mike on the phone. The joy in his voice was almost more than I could stand. I wish I was there with them, but I am so incredibly glad they are enjoying this time together. And I hope they bring me a present!
Dress Me Up, or whisk it ... whisk it good
I've been eating a lot of salads lately. Field greens, chicken, some crumbly cheese, dried cranberries, red onion, maybe some raspberries and walnuts ... delish. And then there's the dressing. There just aren't a whole lot of really tasty dressings out there that aren't horrible for you! So I've been dabbling at making my own. Here's my favorite so far, inspired by the fact that I made Magical Fajitas a few weeks ago and had some cilantro laying around: take some lime juice, a handful of fresh cilantro, a shake or two of cumin, a couple cloves of garlic all chopped up tiny and some salt and pepper. Mix it all up to combine it (I use the bowl my salad's gonna go in, but you could put it all in a shaker jar.) Then drizzle in a little olive oil and keep stirring or shaking until it all comes together, et voila ... cilantro-lime goodness for your salad!
Better Beautiful than Perfect, or take your time, Izzy
I'm working on Becky and Matt's next baby's sweater. It's slow going, but I'm still on track to finish by the time we have a baby. So don't rush, kid! And while I'm at it, I'll confess that I'm not knitting a masterpiece here by any means. It's a cardigan for a baby; I don't think Izzy will mind if it isn't perfect. At least hope not!
And yeah, that's it again ... not ten. But I don't wanna just fill it up with random crap, I want it to be stuff that you might care about. So be happy with your eight, and we'll try again next week.
Tonight is Christmas, of sorts. Patrick, Ed and I are going to see Rent, and I'm terribly excited. Adam Pascal and Anthony Rapp, the originators of the roles of Roger and Mark, are in the cast. I will try not to pee myself. It will be awesome to make some new memories with this show; Rent was me and Christopher ... the soundtrack of our courtship, if you will. But even as the curtain came down on that relationship, the next act of Maggie began. Life goes on.
Kung Fu Fighting, or I am ninja, hear me roar
Ryan tells me ninja are stealthy, ergo I mustn't roar, but too bad. This is my blog and I'll roar if I want to. I took a new class at the gym this week. It's called Strike, and it's like kickboxing but done with weighted gloves and weighted bars. Lots of defense moves, lots of stuff that makes you wanna go "HAH!" Lots of pain the next day, lots of awesome. I like to shake things up now and then, and this is a great addition to the routine.
Vacation, or Double Super Thursday
Next week we get Double Super Thursday - It's payday, and it's the last work day of the week. We're off in observance of Good Friday, so of course I'm doing a decidedly unreligious thing: catching the train to head to Lake Geneva. Amber's picking me up in Harvard, and I'm staying Thursday and Friday night. It will be awesome to relax and enjoy a few days away from home, surrounded by people I love. We'll go to karaoke (any requests?) and breakfast and it will just be awesome. I can't wait.
I Can Drink the Water, or I'll be damned ... it works!
In an attempt to not be personally responsible for an entire landfill, I'm trying to cut back on bottled water. I bought one of those stainless steel bottles that are supposed to keep your water cold, and it really does! I love it. I will probably get a few more, just so I can keep them in the fridge for when thirst beckons. I may never go back to plastic.
Ch-ch-ch-changes, or will it ever REALLY be spring?
I'm so ready. I want to move the couch over by the window so I feel like I'm in a treehouse. I want Cute Brian to pick me up in the Jeep with the top off (the Jeep's, not Brian's, although ... ) to go for a ride to nowhere in particular. I want Saturday morning workouts followed by Saturday afternoons at the pool. I want breakfast in the yard, drive-in movies and walks through the forest preserve. Spring is flirting with me, but she's not sticking around ... yet. Come on, you fickle mistress!
It's a Small World, or get a tan for me
My entire family is in Disney World. Yes, even Mike. Dad flew him down along with Brenda, our "sister" who helps take care of Mike when Dad travels. Yesterday, I talked to Mike on the phone. The joy in his voice was almost more than I could stand. I wish I was there with them, but I am so incredibly glad they are enjoying this time together. And I hope they bring me a present!
Dress Me Up, or whisk it ... whisk it good
I've been eating a lot of salads lately. Field greens, chicken, some crumbly cheese, dried cranberries, red onion, maybe some raspberries and walnuts ... delish. And then there's the dressing. There just aren't a whole lot of really tasty dressings out there that aren't horrible for you! So I've been dabbling at making my own. Here's my favorite so far, inspired by the fact that I made Magical Fajitas a few weeks ago and had some cilantro laying around: take some lime juice, a handful of fresh cilantro, a shake or two of cumin, a couple cloves of garlic all chopped up tiny and some salt and pepper. Mix it all up to combine it (I use the bowl my salad's gonna go in, but you could put it all in a shaker jar.) Then drizzle in a little olive oil and keep stirring or shaking until it all comes together, et voila ... cilantro-lime goodness for your salad!
Better Beautiful than Perfect, or take your time, Izzy
I'm working on Becky and Matt's next baby's sweater. It's slow going, but I'm still on track to finish by the time we have a baby. So don't rush, kid! And while I'm at it, I'll confess that I'm not knitting a masterpiece here by any means. It's a cardigan for a baby; I don't think Izzy will mind if it isn't perfect. At least hope not!
And yeah, that's it again ... not ten. But I don't wanna just fill it up with random crap, I want it to be stuff that you might care about. So be happy with your eight, and we'll try again next week.
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