The Say it's Your Birthday, or another trip around the sun
Today is my mom's birthday. I got her the same thing this year as I got her last year. It's funny ... my mom and dad's birthdays are exactly one week apart, and growing up I always remembered Dad's, because I always forgot Mom's. One year, when I was away at college, my sister Jenn called to tell me it would "beehoove me" to call my mother and wish her a happy birthday. But I haven't forgotten it once since she died. Something about the melancholy that makes me remember, I suppose.
Walk Like a Man, or a second helping of melancholy
Yesterday, my friend Eric's dad died. Eric is an old and wonderful friend who knew Maggie 1.0 ... the version before college, before marriage, before responsibility. And now we're back in each other's lives, and I'm able to offer him a spongey shoulder through what is certainly a tough time. It's the ultimate in paying it forward, I think. When I was losing Mom, Mike was there for me, having been through it before. And now, with that experience under my belt, I'm able to to offer some small measure of comfort, if for no other reason than because I understand a tiny bit what he's going through. I hate it. I hate watching people I love hurt over losing someone. I want to make it better, and I can't. I can just be here when the tears come, baking cookies and buying oranges and listening to the stories. This is what friends gear up for, after all. (For the record, the song title here is the Springsteen song, not Motown. Don't know it? Clicque vous the title. The song has always reminded Eric of his dad, the inimitable Ward Schwartz. It speaks volumes about the man he was.)
Walk Right In, Sit Right Down, or but it's not all sadness
Later on this week, my friend Emily will be staying with me for a few nights. She wants to move here from Champaign, and she's going to be up here looking for work and a place to live and stuff. I really enjoy having friends stay with me, because they leave a little of the love behind when we say goodbye.
Sleep Like a Baby, or an Early visit
Emily won't be my only houseguest, either! One of my favorite families, Chris, Janie and Liam Early from Oregon, will be here in June. I have never met Liam, but I know Chris and Janie are completely awesome so I can't imagine their two-year-old son being anything but! I can't wait to bake them cinnamon rolls and show them my town and play with Liam and soak up every bit of love the three of them have to offer. They are amazing people with beautiful hearts, and it has been far too long since I've seen them. June 20 can't come soon enough!
Stop and Smell the Roses, or plenty of joy to go around
This weekend is the art festival in my town, and it's always awesome. I'll be wandering around looking at things I can't afford and admiring the handiwork of incredible artisans. You should come visit! (Amber, this means you!) Then the following weekend, my cousin Laura is getting married and my father's 80th birthday shindig will be hoppin'. See? So much to celebrate. In the midst of that which scares us or makes us sad, there are always reasons to move forward.
Life Less Ordinary, or sometimes it turns on a dime
My favorite Marine, Second Lieutenant Ryan I. Carlson, was to report to The Basic School in Quantico, VA sometime this fall. October rings a bell. Plenty of time to allow the family to get used to the idea. Plenty of time for him to make me fettuccine Alfredo. Plenty of time for me to visit him in Champaign again before he headed out to begin his Real Life. But as luck would have it, the U.S. Marine Corps (and for those of you playing at home, the "s" is still silent) had other ideas. He will now report to Quantico on June 2. He's got everything he needs - the love of his family, the credentials of an officer, and a killer tattoo - but I'm still not quite ready to let him go. However, if I correctly remember a conversation he and I had about a month ago, this might well mean he'll be home for Christmas. Maybe that's a fair trade. At any rate, he's my brother, my friend and my Marine.
The Glamorous Life, or my day as a Beverly Hillbilly
So on Saturday, my friend Linda and I visited the Vernon Hills Lifetime Athletic Club, a branch of our gym. This facility, however, is uber-posh. Glass doors on the showers. Luxurious poolside setting. Three-story rock wall. Spa-like yoga studio. Seriously, I couldn't get over myself. And Linda and I took advantage of everything, sunning poolside on padded teak chaise lounges and looking quite like movie stars. We earned it - after all, we did two hours of cardio with Donna - but man, did we feel pampered. I will go back every chance I get!
Beach Baby, or tie-dyed skin
Speaking of the gym, I went on Sunday, too. Back to my "home gym" in Schaumburg, to lay by the pool and spend a little time with Shakespeare. It was only about 70 degrees, but the sun was still doing its thing, so I sprayed on the sunscreen. And proceeded to miss about half of my exposed skin. I look sort of ridiculous. I feel completely stupid. Note to self: be sure you're covered! Pink is not a "healthy glow."
Puppy Love, or oh, for the love of Jane
Shakespeare was puppy-sitting over the weekend, and now I'm in love with a puggle named Jane. Even though she peed on my foot and stuck her tongue up my nose, I find her irresistible. Sweetest puppy ever. She's back with her "real" family now, and I miss her.
Doctor, My Eyes, or yes, I've made the appointments
On Thursday I consult with the doctor about the gallbladder. I'm hoping to get that sucker out sooner rather than later, but we'll see. Then next week (on my dad's birthday) I have the mammogram. Annual joy, what fun! This is just me, being accountable. I'll let you know what I learn. And while I'm on the subject (again) of modern medicine, this Saturday my sister Jenn begins chemo. If anyone can kick leukemia to the curb, it's Jenn, but any happy thoughts you'd care to send her way would certainly be appreciated.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Summer volume
I sing a lot. It's what I do. Especially when I'm home alone (which is a lot), I tend to crank the tunes and let it fly. I'm not bad, actually. In fact, a dear friend recently said "you have the voice of an angel." And while I don't agree with that assessment, I do acknowledge that I know where the tune is, and generally I can carry it.
So last night when I got home from work, I opened all the windows, jumped in the shower, and afterward hung out in my towel for awhile, tidying up Chez Mags and rocking to the tunage.
Alicia Keys' "No One" came up on the rotation. I wailed. Again, it's what I do.
I have zero reservations about singing. I figure I am no worse than the thumping-bass-jackass in the hoopty driving in the next lane, so I tend to be unabashedly vocal when in the confines of my own home.
"No one, no one, no one ... can get in the way of what I feel for you ... "
Just as I'm finishing the song, I look out the window. There are two people across the street, staring up at my window. Either they're wondering who is begin tortured up there, or they're trying to figure out who's singing so loudly. I giggled, went to the window (again, clad only in my towel) and waved down to them. I refrained from taking a bow.
So consider this your fair warning: if you're wandering the streets of Arlington Heights on a warm summer day, I won't apologize for what you might hear. And if you really love me, you'll let me buzz you in so we can do a duet.
So last night when I got home from work, I opened all the windows, jumped in the shower, and afterward hung out in my towel for awhile, tidying up Chez Mags and rocking to the tunage.
Alicia Keys' "No One" came up on the rotation. I wailed. Again, it's what I do.
I have zero reservations about singing. I figure I am no worse than the thumping-bass-jackass in the hoopty driving in the next lane, so I tend to be unabashedly vocal when in the confines of my own home.
"No one, no one, no one ... can get in the way of what I feel for you ... "
Just as I'm finishing the song, I look out the window. There are two people across the street, staring up at my window. Either they're wondering who is begin tortured up there, or they're trying to figure out who's singing so loudly. I giggled, went to the window (again, clad only in my towel) and waved down to them. I refrained from taking a bow.
So consider this your fair warning: if you're wandering the streets of Arlington Heights on a warm summer day, I won't apologize for what you might hear. And if you really love me, you'll let me buzz you in so we can do a duet.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Ten on Tuesday, big weekend edition
It took a long time to get my thoughts together. I'm still a little overwhelmed, but here's the rundown of my life since late last week. Those of you think a picture really does paint a thousand words will find the links helpful; you'll find the photos in my Mac galleries when you click on them.
Driving in the rain to the airport on a Friday afternoon
Yeah, that's not going to turn out well. It's just not. I left the office at 1 p.m., and didn't get to him, standing outside in a leather jacket and shorts, until almost 3. the airport is 38 miles from me. The math doesn't add up; welcome to Chicago. But we were undaunted! There was White Castle to eat! Pants to buy! And more food!
Our traditional first stop each time Rice visits is White Castle. When you live in Tucson, this is a luxury ... a necessity. A delicious diversion. I behaved ... I ordered nothing, and ate only a few of Mike's fries.
Once we had Mike moved into Chez Mags for the weekend, it was time for a trip to Old Navy. It was chillier in Chicago than originally forecast. And from there, we headed to Bahama Breeze for dinner. Big mistake. I cannot resist the deliciousness that is crab claws, and yet I know that two things I ought not eat with my gallbladder are rich things and fatty things. Crabmeat drenched in butter? Not smart. And yes, I paid for it later. Truly, though it was delicious, is was not worth it.
Attack of the Killer Gallbladder
I had such great plans for getting up on Saturday and going to the gym, but the pain and medication from the night before had other plans. Honestly, I had a horrible time getting back to life at all on Saturday; woozy, tired and borderline nauseous all day. Finally around 5 I fixed myself a cup of ginger tea and took a shower, which seemed to help. Good thing, because I had plans!
The Best Man
Yes, Saturday night I returned to see The Best Man at the Geneva Underground Playhouse. This time, I took Shakespeare to the theater; big fun! We started the evening with Chinese food (steamed chicken and broccoli for me; not taking any chances with my stupid gallbladder) and Mongolian beef for my lovely dinner companion. We enjoyed the show very much, especially Eric's performance - truly a stunning portrayal of a dying ex-President.
After the show, we were invited to Steve and Pat Lord's house to share in the cast party. Now I have a serious rule about how people who aren't cast members don't belong at a cast party, but Shakespeare was game (and she won the rock/scissors/paper contest) and several people seemed to want us there, so we went.
I am so glad we did. We were welcomed as if we'd been along for the ride from day one. I was touched by how warm and kind everyone was, genuinely interested in both Jess and I. Probably the most stunning facet of the evening, however, was the moment I met Angelicque Cate. I've known of her forever, because she was cast in a role I auditioned for back in 1980-something, and I've held the grudge ever since. But as we stood together in the same space, it became clear that some of life's baggage simply begs to be set down. It was time, and I thoroughly enjoyed her company. I guess you just never know.
As the night wore on and we gathered around the fire in the backyard, warmed by the good company and the red wine, I felt like I was part of something great. It was a wonderful feeling.
Sliding in the mud and loud alarms
Knowing I had to get up early the next day, however, I eventually had to leave the warmth of the fire and head to my car. But not before I slipped in some rather lovely mud in front of Steve and Pat's house and pretty much coated my left shoe in the stuff. Spa treatment for leather, right? Anyway, I got into the car, started it up, and realized it was 2:09 a.m.! My plan was to leave the house at 9 in the morning, and I was an hour away from home. At best, I'd get six hours of rest. But in reality, I got home at 3, took a shower and was in bed by 3:30. When the alarm went off at 8:30, it was SnoozeFest 2009.
Mike and I finally got on the road at around 10:30, and we picked up the Comfy Traveling Car (my sister's Grand Cherokee) at 11:30. By the time we had lunch (more Chinese) and actually got on the road, it was almost 1. But I'm not convinced we cared, because life, after all, is about the journey much more than it is the destination.
What up, Doudna?
Our first destination along this particular journey was the campus of Eastern Illinois University, where we went to school together a decade+ ago. Our purpose? Checking out the Doudna Fine Arts Center. As the Center's Web site says, "This newly renovated and greatly expanded facility boasts several public arts venues." Ask Mike and I, and we'll pretty much just tell you it's a beautiful, huge building with at least one theater that has near-perfect acoustics. Not that I walked up to center stage in the empty, dark theater to test them out or anything.
The Road to a Friend's is Never Long
Soon it was time to head to Brian and Patty Poulter's house. Following Patty's directions absolutely cracked me up. "If you reach the Golf Course, you have gone too far. If you reach Lincoln Lob Cabin, you are in 1843."
We arrived at their beautiful home, hugged the dogs and the Poulters, and got started with the business of catching up. So much time has passed, and yet the good times are still there, the humor still alive and the love still very much intact. Brian was my first favorite professor in college, and the first to take a chance on the 29-year-old transfer student by allowing me to edit a campus publication. I will always believe that had a profound effect on my college experience, and I will always be grateful.
It was an evening of delicious food (I have to recreate the strawberry appetizer thing; I dream of it now) and wine and conversation and doggy hugs. Stories of wrist rockets, Antiques Roadshow, motorcycle travels, don't be so stupid and the politics of education carried us through the evening. When it was time to turn in, I crawled onto a marshmallow (truly, the guest bedroom at Chez Poulter has the most comfy mattress in creation) and slept like a contented baby. Except I didn't wet the bed.
Touch Me in the Morning
That song is now pretty much a morning tradition, thanks to Patty telling us how Brian sang it to her one morning. We were up and out nearly on time, thanks to Patty's coffee and breakfast waiting for us. Then it was into the car and back North, with a stop in Champaign to celebrate Ryan's commissioning.
Mike and I met up with the family at the Alma Mater statue at just before 9 a.m. for the private commissioning ceremony. As we walked up, the recognition just sort of washed over the family as one by one they realized Mike was, indeed, here. It was a magical moment fueled by tears, and yes, I saw Ryan's lip quiver in what we can only assume is the Marine equivalent of crying. The support of family at the important crossroads of life is so critical, and I'm incredibly glad Mike was able to share in Ryan's day. Watching Ryan and his friend take their oath of service was powerful and meaningful. He's a Marine now, for sure, I kept thinking. He is no longer "ours" ... he belongs to our country.
After the private ceremony, Mike and I dashed off to feed the meter and get my camera before the full ceremony began. We hurried back to meet up with the family, because Ryan had something to say to everyone.
In the Words of a Marine
In the wee hours of the morning, Ryan had written something to his family. He related each piece of his uniform to the members of his family, and the ways we encourage, support and inspire him. As his sister Tori read his letter, Ryan's very real transition from child to adult seemed to wash over us. His turn of phrase was beautiful as he spoke about the people he loves most in this world. Most shocking to me, though, was when he included "and of course Maggie" in with his other stepbrothers and sisters. I know I'm not really family; I understand that there is no DNA evidence to support me being a part of it. And still, time and again, I learn that they just don't care. I'm theirs and they are mine, period.
Moments passed and it was time to head into the Joint Service Commissioning Ceremony. What a grand event! (Although, frankly, I think they needed a live band rather than a CD, but that's just me.) A large gathering of men in uniform - you'll get no complaints from me. We watched as each commissioned officer was presented to the crowd, and once again when they individually processed through the Arch of Sabers (which is every bit as cool as it sounds) and received their first salute. Nope, I didn't cry. I'm just not the sentimental type, remember?
Time to Celebrate
After the ceremonies were finished, it was time to relax. We gathered at Hessel Park (some of us took longer than others; Rice and I needed Dunkin Donuts and a change of clothes) to grill burgers and hot dogs and eat cake and enjoy a day in the sun with family, which included Ryan's dear friend Isaiah and his family, and that sweet Errin who made me laugh. It was a fantastic time to relax with family, squish the babies (complete with projectile vomit!), catch up with Cindy and enjoy the sunshine. The food was wonderful (there's just something about a burger on the grill) and the company even better.
Sometimes I am amazed at how seamlessly the Carlsons have accepted me as part of the family. Just a year ago, I met Cindy, and I knew who her kids were because I saw them at the wedding. I didn't meet them until after that, though. I met Ryan and Tori at the lake house last July, and I didn't meet J.J. until January of this year. But that didn't stop J.J. from asking me if I'd met her friend Chris at the wedding; I had to remind J.J. that I hadn't even met her at the wedding! It's awesome to me that they must feel like they've known me forever. What a privilege.
You Drive Me Crazy
Because all things must come to an end, pretty soon it was time for Rice and I to fire up the GPS and point the Jeep toward home. Because nothing in my life happens without a little bit of drama, I missed my turnoff for 47 and ended up taking some serious backroads to Montgomery. Mike used this opportunity to sleep. I used this opportunity to test out the accelerator. And I know this much for sure: I really like Kathie's car.
Soon we were home. Well, I was; Rice still had a flight in front of him. Our 3:30 a.m. alarms came pretty stinking early, but I think we both agree that it was worth it. I would do it again in a heartbeat, because there were countless perfect moments over the past four days that will be among my favorite memories for a long time to come.
Driving in the rain to the airport on a Friday afternoon
Yeah, that's not going to turn out well. It's just not. I left the office at 1 p.m., and didn't get to him, standing outside in a leather jacket and shorts, until almost 3. the airport is 38 miles from me. The math doesn't add up; welcome to Chicago. But we were undaunted! There was White Castle to eat! Pants to buy! And more food!
Our traditional first stop each time Rice visits is White Castle. When you live in Tucson, this is a luxury ... a necessity. A delicious diversion. I behaved ... I ordered nothing, and ate only a few of Mike's fries.
Once we had Mike moved into Chez Mags for the weekend, it was time for a trip to Old Navy. It was chillier in Chicago than originally forecast. And from there, we headed to Bahama Breeze for dinner. Big mistake. I cannot resist the deliciousness that is crab claws, and yet I know that two things I ought not eat with my gallbladder are rich things and fatty things. Crabmeat drenched in butter? Not smart. And yes, I paid for it later. Truly, though it was delicious, is was not worth it.
Attack of the Killer Gallbladder
I had such great plans for getting up on Saturday and going to the gym, but the pain and medication from the night before had other plans. Honestly, I had a horrible time getting back to life at all on Saturday; woozy, tired and borderline nauseous all day. Finally around 5 I fixed myself a cup of ginger tea and took a shower, which seemed to help. Good thing, because I had plans!
The Best Man
Yes, Saturday night I returned to see The Best Man at the Geneva Underground Playhouse. This time, I took Shakespeare to the theater; big fun! We started the evening with Chinese food (steamed chicken and broccoli for me; not taking any chances with my stupid gallbladder) and Mongolian beef for my lovely dinner companion. We enjoyed the show very much, especially Eric's performance - truly a stunning portrayal of a dying ex-President.
After the show, we were invited to Steve and Pat Lord's house to share in the cast party. Now I have a serious rule about how people who aren't cast members don't belong at a cast party, but Shakespeare was game (and she won the rock/scissors/paper contest) and several people seemed to want us there, so we went.
I am so glad we did. We were welcomed as if we'd been along for the ride from day one. I was touched by how warm and kind everyone was, genuinely interested in both Jess and I. Probably the most stunning facet of the evening, however, was the moment I met Angelicque Cate. I've known of her forever, because she was cast in a role I auditioned for back in 1980-something, and I've held the grudge ever since. But as we stood together in the same space, it became clear that some of life's baggage simply begs to be set down. It was time, and I thoroughly enjoyed her company. I guess you just never know.
As the night wore on and we gathered around the fire in the backyard, warmed by the good company and the red wine, I felt like I was part of something great. It was a wonderful feeling.
Sliding in the mud and loud alarms
Knowing I had to get up early the next day, however, I eventually had to leave the warmth of the fire and head to my car. But not before I slipped in some rather lovely mud in front of Steve and Pat's house and pretty much coated my left shoe in the stuff. Spa treatment for leather, right? Anyway, I got into the car, started it up, and realized it was 2:09 a.m.! My plan was to leave the house at 9 in the morning, and I was an hour away from home. At best, I'd get six hours of rest. But in reality, I got home at 3, took a shower and was in bed by 3:30. When the alarm went off at 8:30, it was SnoozeFest 2009.
Mike and I finally got on the road at around 10:30, and we picked up the Comfy Traveling Car (my sister's Grand Cherokee) at 11:30. By the time we had lunch (more Chinese) and actually got on the road, it was almost 1. But I'm not convinced we cared, because life, after all, is about the journey much more than it is the destination.
What up, Doudna?
Our first destination along this particular journey was the campus of Eastern Illinois University, where we went to school together a decade+ ago. Our purpose? Checking out the Doudna Fine Arts Center. As the Center's Web site says, "This newly renovated and greatly expanded facility boasts several public arts venues." Ask Mike and I, and we'll pretty much just tell you it's a beautiful, huge building with at least one theater that has near-perfect acoustics. Not that I walked up to center stage in the empty, dark theater to test them out or anything.
The Road to a Friend's is Never Long
Soon it was time to head to Brian and Patty Poulter's house. Following Patty's directions absolutely cracked me up. "If you reach the Golf Course, you have gone too far. If you reach Lincoln Lob Cabin, you are in 1843."
We arrived at their beautiful home, hugged the dogs and the Poulters, and got started with the business of catching up. So much time has passed, and yet the good times are still there, the humor still alive and the love still very much intact. Brian was my first favorite professor in college, and the first to take a chance on the 29-year-old transfer student by allowing me to edit a campus publication. I will always believe that had a profound effect on my college experience, and I will always be grateful.
It was an evening of delicious food (I have to recreate the strawberry appetizer thing; I dream of it now) and wine and conversation and doggy hugs. Stories of wrist rockets, Antiques Roadshow, motorcycle travels, don't be so stupid and the politics of education carried us through the evening. When it was time to turn in, I crawled onto a marshmallow (truly, the guest bedroom at Chez Poulter has the most comfy mattress in creation) and slept like a contented baby. Except I didn't wet the bed.
Touch Me in the Morning
That song is now pretty much a morning tradition, thanks to Patty telling us how Brian sang it to her one morning. We were up and out nearly on time, thanks to Patty's coffee and breakfast waiting for us. Then it was into the car and back North, with a stop in Champaign to celebrate Ryan's commissioning.
Mike and I met up with the family at the Alma Mater statue at just before 9 a.m. for the private commissioning ceremony. As we walked up, the recognition just sort of washed over the family as one by one they realized Mike was, indeed, here. It was a magical moment fueled by tears, and yes, I saw Ryan's lip quiver in what we can only assume is the Marine equivalent of crying. The support of family at the important crossroads of life is so critical, and I'm incredibly glad Mike was able to share in Ryan's day. Watching Ryan and his friend take their oath of service was powerful and meaningful. He's a Marine now, for sure, I kept thinking. He is no longer "ours" ... he belongs to our country.
After the private ceremony, Mike and I dashed off to feed the meter and get my camera before the full ceremony began. We hurried back to meet up with the family, because Ryan had something to say to everyone.
In the Words of a Marine
In the wee hours of the morning, Ryan had written something to his family. He related each piece of his uniform to the members of his family, and the ways we encourage, support and inspire him. As his sister Tori read his letter, Ryan's very real transition from child to adult seemed to wash over us. His turn of phrase was beautiful as he spoke about the people he loves most in this world. Most shocking to me, though, was when he included "and of course Maggie" in with his other stepbrothers and sisters. I know I'm not really family; I understand that there is no DNA evidence to support me being a part of it. And still, time and again, I learn that they just don't care. I'm theirs and they are mine, period.
Moments passed and it was time to head into the Joint Service Commissioning Ceremony. What a grand event! (Although, frankly, I think they needed a live band rather than a CD, but that's just me.) A large gathering of men in uniform - you'll get no complaints from me. We watched as each commissioned officer was presented to the crowd, and once again when they individually processed through the Arch of Sabers (which is every bit as cool as it sounds) and received their first salute. Nope, I didn't cry. I'm just not the sentimental type, remember?
Time to Celebrate
After the ceremonies were finished, it was time to relax. We gathered at Hessel Park (some of us took longer than others; Rice and I needed Dunkin Donuts and a change of clothes) to grill burgers and hot dogs and eat cake and enjoy a day in the sun with family, which included Ryan's dear friend Isaiah and his family, and that sweet Errin who made me laugh. It was a fantastic time to relax with family, squish the babies (complete with projectile vomit!), catch up with Cindy and enjoy the sunshine. The food was wonderful (there's just something about a burger on the grill) and the company even better.
Sometimes I am amazed at how seamlessly the Carlsons have accepted me as part of the family. Just a year ago, I met Cindy, and I knew who her kids were because I saw them at the wedding. I didn't meet them until after that, though. I met Ryan and Tori at the lake house last July, and I didn't meet J.J. until January of this year. But that didn't stop J.J. from asking me if I'd met her friend Chris at the wedding; I had to remind J.J. that I hadn't even met her at the wedding! It's awesome to me that they must feel like they've known me forever. What a privilege.
You Drive Me Crazy
Because all things must come to an end, pretty soon it was time for Rice and I to fire up the GPS and point the Jeep toward home. Because nothing in my life happens without a little bit of drama, I missed my turnoff for 47 and ended up taking some serious backroads to Montgomery. Mike used this opportunity to sleep. I used this opportunity to test out the accelerator. And I know this much for sure: I really like Kathie's car.
Soon we were home. Well, I was; Rice still had a flight in front of him. Our 3:30 a.m. alarms came pretty stinking early, but I think we both agree that it was worth it. I would do it again in a heartbeat, because there were countless perfect moments over the past four days that will be among my favorite memories for a long time to come.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Hello, gorgeous
I'm a firm believer that we all deserve someone in our lives who greets us like that. "Hello, gorgeous." It speaks volumes. It's at once affectionate and reassuring, especially when uttered at the gym when I've just suited up into my ugly black-and-cat-hair-colored yoga pants and green t-shirt.
"Hello, Gorgeous" says John from down the hall. He, having just come from the office, looks actively handsome, but finds me gorgeous. "Because you are," he tells me.
And he's not the only one. That's how Ryan answers the phone when I call. That's what Rae's been telling me since 1996. It's practically Amber's favorite nickname, and Shakespeare tells me all the time how much she loves my gorgeous face. Every now and then, when no one's around, I look in the mirror and say it.
I don't always believe it, but sometimes it's enough to know that you do. And for the record ... you're gorgeous, too.
"Hello, Gorgeous" says John from down the hall. He, having just come from the office, looks actively handsome, but finds me gorgeous. "Because you are," he tells me.
And he's not the only one. That's how Ryan answers the phone when I call. That's what Rae's been telling me since 1996. It's practically Amber's favorite nickname, and Shakespeare tells me all the time how much she loves my gorgeous face. Every now and then, when no one's around, I look in the mirror and say it.
I don't always believe it, but sometimes it's enough to know that you do. And for the record ... you're gorgeous, too.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Return of Ten on Tuesday
Not making any friends here
I made potato salad tonight. Not merely potato salad though ... no indeed. I made "patatas alioli," or my version of the garlic potato salad served at my favorite tapas place here in town. I have nothing to fear from any local vampires tonight. It will likely come out my pores tomorrow, but it was worth it.
Pride and stuff
This weekend, I'll be road-trippin' to Champaign to see my fake stepbrother Ryan be commissioned into the U.S. Marine Corps. I'm a little uneasy about this. I'm at once proud and thrilled and scared and excited ... it's a bit much. I couldn't love him more if he were my flesh and blood brother; yes, the Rice family has brought me more than my share of men who inspire that emotion. Yet another aspect of the good fortune brought to me when I chose to finish college at EIU.
Speaking of which ...
I'm driving down on Sunday and spending the night in Charleston with my photography prof and his wife, who is a music prof at EIU. I haven't walked around campus in years. I hope it recognizes me. I'm excited to see the new Doudna Fine Arts Center ... it was designed by one of my favorite architects, Antoine Predock. Look him up; be amazed. Anyhoo, Sunday looks like it's gonna be a pretty artistic sorta day, and then Monday I'll get up early, eat bacon, and head up to Champaign. Friends, family, celebration. Plus, I get to hold Izzy again. Neat!
I've got rhythm
But not everyone does. Seriously. Last night at the gym, my least favorite instructor subbed for my favorite instructor. It was like having a blind teacher for driver's ed. Kill me now. The woman can't keep a beat, much less keep a class motivated. I wanted to eat my own hand. I toughed it out, because I'm a nice person and I didn't want to just walk out ... but I didn't like it.
With each day, there's fresh hope
It sounds trite, but it's true. Every day is a new opportunity to make something better than the day before. I need to remember that. I'm not writing it out of some crazy self-righteousness; no, I write it because I forget, all too often. Each day, ladies and gentlemen, is another chance to make choices that are authentic to who you are. Each moment, in fact ... we can pick any moment - how 'bout now? - to be more than we were a moment ago.
I've been writing bad poetry
Now, I don't know how to describe good poetry. I know it when I read it. It's the stuff that resonates in me, that strikes a chord or otherwise changes me. But I've been challenging myself to try and write it, because when I was in college I had a professor who said anyone could be a writer if they had no limit to their words. Tell a story with a poem, he'd say, or better yet, a haiku. So I've been trying. I'm not a rhymey girl, so it's very free-form and flowy, and mostly very personal ... but it's mine and I'm writing it, so I love it for what it is.
I always liked Matthew the best
I have a history of involvement with the musical "Godspell." If you don't know it, just picture a 1960s love-fest version of the Gospel According to Matthew. I was lucky enough to be in a production of the show back in (seriously, I am aging myself here) 1989, and we took our show on the road a few years later, performing in countless churches and halls. It was an incredibly meaningful experience, and one that springs to mind all the time. Then, a few years ago, I came out of retirement to do the show once again, making different memories with a different cast. So it should come as no surprise that every year at this time, when the lilies of the valley are blooming and their fragrance tickles my nose, that I play this line over and over in my head: "Consider the lilies of the field. They don't work. They don't spin. Yet I tell you - Solomon in all his splendor was not attired like one of these." So don't miss it. Stick your face in a lilac bush. Bend your fanny over and smell your garden. Put your face to the sun and be grateful winter is over - even if your winter never gets colder than 40 degrees overnight in Tucson.
Look, I made a princess!
I took my 14-year-old niece shopping on Saturday for her very first dress for her very first dance. It is an aunt's privilege and responsibility to share this rite of passage with her baby girls. It was such a treat for me to spend the day with amazing young lady, who is truly going to be a sight to behold in her sparkly plum number. (Note to Kelly: she needs black sandals and black strapless bra. I have spoken. And I want to see pictures!)
Creepy
About four months ago, I called my landlord to tell him my medicine cabinet wasn't anchored to the wall. Weeks past, and nothing. I honestly forgot about it. Until I came home last night to see all the stuff that was formerly in my medicine cabinet all over my bathroom, and sawdust and stuff all over my everything. It's a little creepy to me that my landlord and at least one other dude (my landlord is a power tool; he doesn't use them) were hanging out in my bathroom without my knowledge. Had I known, I would've ... well, I would've at least put away some of the more private items that live in my medicine cabinet. Just ... creepy.
Before you know it
Soon, it will be summer. I have a list of stuff I want to see, do, eat, experience and enjoy. I have limited funds - no travel for me this year - but let's face it. Sweet corn is cheap. Fireworks are free. Bodies of water just hang out, waiting for me. So if you want to road trip to the shores of Lake Michigan, relax on a lounge chair at Amber's pool or the gym, grill something tasty, go to the drive-in, find Shakespeare in the park, ride a Ferris wheel, take a walk in the forest preserve or just sit in the grass and eat egg and cheese sandwiches and drink coffee, I'm game. Come along with me for summer, people. It'll be fun, guaranteed.
I made potato salad tonight. Not merely potato salad though ... no indeed. I made "patatas alioli," or my version of the garlic potato salad served at my favorite tapas place here in town. I have nothing to fear from any local vampires tonight. It will likely come out my pores tomorrow, but it was worth it.
Pride and stuff
This weekend, I'll be road-trippin' to Champaign to see my fake stepbrother Ryan be commissioned into the U.S. Marine Corps. I'm a little uneasy about this. I'm at once proud and thrilled and scared and excited ... it's a bit much. I couldn't love him more if he were my flesh and blood brother; yes, the Rice family has brought me more than my share of men who inspire that emotion. Yet another aspect of the good fortune brought to me when I chose to finish college at EIU.
Speaking of which ...
I'm driving down on Sunday and spending the night in Charleston with my photography prof and his wife, who is a music prof at EIU. I haven't walked around campus in years. I hope it recognizes me. I'm excited to see the new Doudna Fine Arts Center ... it was designed by one of my favorite architects, Antoine Predock. Look him up; be amazed. Anyhoo, Sunday looks like it's gonna be a pretty artistic sorta day, and then Monday I'll get up early, eat bacon, and head up to Champaign. Friends, family, celebration. Plus, I get to hold Izzy again. Neat!
I've got rhythm
But not everyone does. Seriously. Last night at the gym, my least favorite instructor subbed for my favorite instructor. It was like having a blind teacher for driver's ed. Kill me now. The woman can't keep a beat, much less keep a class motivated. I wanted to eat my own hand. I toughed it out, because I'm a nice person and I didn't want to just walk out ... but I didn't like it.
With each day, there's fresh hope
It sounds trite, but it's true. Every day is a new opportunity to make something better than the day before. I need to remember that. I'm not writing it out of some crazy self-righteousness; no, I write it because I forget, all too often. Each day, ladies and gentlemen, is another chance to make choices that are authentic to who you are. Each moment, in fact ... we can pick any moment - how 'bout now? - to be more than we were a moment ago.
I've been writing bad poetry
Now, I don't know how to describe good poetry. I know it when I read it. It's the stuff that resonates in me, that strikes a chord or otherwise changes me. But I've been challenging myself to try and write it, because when I was in college I had a professor who said anyone could be a writer if they had no limit to their words. Tell a story with a poem, he'd say, or better yet, a haiku. So I've been trying. I'm not a rhymey girl, so it's very free-form and flowy, and mostly very personal ... but it's mine and I'm writing it, so I love it for what it is.
I always liked Matthew the best
I have a history of involvement with the musical "Godspell." If you don't know it, just picture a 1960s love-fest version of the Gospel According to Matthew. I was lucky enough to be in a production of the show back in (seriously, I am aging myself here) 1989, and we took our show on the road a few years later, performing in countless churches and halls. It was an incredibly meaningful experience, and one that springs to mind all the time. Then, a few years ago, I came out of retirement to do the show once again, making different memories with a different cast. So it should come as no surprise that every year at this time, when the lilies of the valley are blooming and their fragrance tickles my nose, that I play this line over and over in my head: "Consider the lilies of the field. They don't work. They don't spin. Yet I tell you - Solomon in all his splendor was not attired like one of these." So don't miss it. Stick your face in a lilac bush. Bend your fanny over and smell your garden. Put your face to the sun and be grateful winter is over - even if your winter never gets colder than 40 degrees overnight in Tucson.
Look, I made a princess!
I took my 14-year-old niece shopping on Saturday for her very first dress for her very first dance. It is an aunt's privilege and responsibility to share this rite of passage with her baby girls. It was such a treat for me to spend the day with amazing young lady, who is truly going to be a sight to behold in her sparkly plum number. (Note to Kelly: she needs black sandals and black strapless bra. I have spoken. And I want to see pictures!)
Creepy
About four months ago, I called my landlord to tell him my medicine cabinet wasn't anchored to the wall. Weeks past, and nothing. I honestly forgot about it. Until I came home last night to see all the stuff that was formerly in my medicine cabinet all over my bathroom, and sawdust and stuff all over my everything. It's a little creepy to me that my landlord and at least one other dude (my landlord is a power tool; he doesn't use them) were hanging out in my bathroom without my knowledge. Had I known, I would've ... well, I would've at least put away some of the more private items that live in my medicine cabinet. Just ... creepy.
Before you know it
Soon, it will be summer. I have a list of stuff I want to see, do, eat, experience and enjoy. I have limited funds - no travel for me this year - but let's face it. Sweet corn is cheap. Fireworks are free. Bodies of water just hang out, waiting for me. So if you want to road trip to the shores of Lake Michigan, relax on a lounge chair at Amber's pool or the gym, grill something tasty, go to the drive-in, find Shakespeare in the park, ride a Ferris wheel, take a walk in the forest preserve or just sit in the grass and eat egg and cheese sandwiches and drink coffee, I'm game. Come along with me for summer, people. It'll be fun, guaranteed.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Time travel and the arts
So last night Cute Brian and I met up in Geneva to see my friend Eric's show, "The Best Man." It's a great script, a classic, really ... political intrigue in the 60's, but as timeless as can be. The production was pretty damn good - the first one at the new Geneva Underground Playhouse, of which Eric is Executive Director. In all the time I've known Eric (we go back ages, connected via community theater) I had never seen him perform. I'm not surprised that he was great, but I am awestruck by how stunning his portrayal of a dying ex-President was. I would gush, but it might embarrass him. Suffice to say that if you have time on your hands over the next few weekends and you find yourself in Geneva, you should go.
But believe it or not, that was not by any stretch the best part of the evening. No indeed, the best part of the evening was sitting in my cushy theater seat next to one of the most talented people I know and watching one of the other most talented people I know walk in the door, and then proceeding to sit with these two incredibly talented men while watching yet another talented friend wow us from the stage. Mike Vertenten, musician extraordinaire, happened to be in town from Austin, which he now calls home, and made it to the show. I hadn't seen him since March of 1991, and let's face it ... a lot has changed since then. But walking through downtown Geneva with these two men, the easy familiarity cut right through any awkwardness that might have been. I won't say it was as if time stood still, because it didn't. Mike V has a lot less hair now than he did back then (and so does Eric, but then he has a lot less hair than he did two weeks ago; that's a little thing we like to call "dedication to character") and we've all grown up quite a bit. But the beauty of it is, time didn't seem to matter. It wasn't such a big deal that we have to get re-acquainted with one another. It was enough to just show up, and want to be re-acquainted.
So Cute Brian left early - duty calls - and left three old friends plus Eric's wife and friend Nora from the show to talk into the wee hours of morning. It's entirely possible that if there weren't a matinee at the theater today, we'd all still be there, talking. So much to say, so much to listen to, so much love stored up over the years.
"The thing about Eric," Mike said to me as we walked to our cars, "is that over the years, he never wavered." We should all be so fortunate to have friends like that.
Two of my insanely talented friends: Mike Vertenten and Eric Schwartz.
But believe it or not, that was not by any stretch the best part of the evening. No indeed, the best part of the evening was sitting in my cushy theater seat next to one of the most talented people I know and watching one of the other most talented people I know walk in the door, and then proceeding to sit with these two incredibly talented men while watching yet another talented friend wow us from the stage. Mike Vertenten, musician extraordinaire, happened to be in town from Austin, which he now calls home, and made it to the show. I hadn't seen him since March of 1991, and let's face it ... a lot has changed since then. But walking through downtown Geneva with these two men, the easy familiarity cut right through any awkwardness that might have been. I won't say it was as if time stood still, because it didn't. Mike V has a lot less hair now than he did back then (and so does Eric, but then he has a lot less hair than he did two weeks ago; that's a little thing we like to call "dedication to character") and we've all grown up quite a bit. But the beauty of it is, time didn't seem to matter. It wasn't such a big deal that we have to get re-acquainted with one another. It was enough to just show up, and want to be re-acquainted.
So Cute Brian left early - duty calls - and left three old friends plus Eric's wife and friend Nora from the show to talk into the wee hours of morning. It's entirely possible that if there weren't a matinee at the theater today, we'd all still be there, talking. So much to say, so much to listen to, so much love stored up over the years.
"The thing about Eric," Mike said to me as we walked to our cars, "is that over the years, he never wavered." We should all be so fortunate to have friends like that.
Two of my insanely talented friends: Mike Vertenten and Eric Schwartz.
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