Once on this island

Up until last week, I had never been to Hawaii. To say I wasn't prepared for how I would feel about this place, and how this island would effect me, is a helluvan understatement. It's almost other-worldly, the way you just sort of exhale into a different life there.

In Hawaii, life is simple. Even for residents - the kama'aina, as they are called - life is different than it is here on the mainland. They approach work as work, and then they leave it behind in favor of surfing, spending time with friends or just enjoying the beautiful place they call home. How could you not love it here?

From the moment we got off the plane, I could feel myself sort of melt into a feeling of peace. We checked in to the Princess Kaiulani, walked into our room and were greeted with this view:

Our view from the lanai at the Princess Kaiulani.

I can't think of anything in the world more beautiful than watching the ocean roll toward the shore! So incredibly pretty. That night, Dad and I wandered down to Duke's Canoe Club for dinner. We were shone to a table right up by the railing, overlooking the Pacific. I, however, forgot my camera, so I have no proof of this.

I've wanted to go to Duke's ever since Jimmy Buffett recorded the song "Duke's on Sunday", about eating here on a Sunday night. And here I was, at Duke's, on Sunday; life is perfect.

It was about that time when I realized the island was tickling all my senses. I ordered seven-spiced ahi tuna, and MAN, was it delicious. Pan seared perfectly, it was like butter ... seriously. So there we sat, tasting amazing food, looking out onto the beautiful ocean, hearing the waves roll in and island music wafting up from the beach, smelling the combination of plumeria, Coppertone and salt, and feeling the tradewinds dance across our skin. Almost, but not quite, sensory overload. Instead, it was a complete delight. I could have sat there forever.

But alas, I could not. The next day was a full one, starting with a run at 6:30. I found my way down Kalakaua Ave to Kapi'olani Park, running toward Diamond Head. What an incredible experience! I've never been a vacationing runner before; I've always just taken a break from exercise, but this time was different, and completely perfect. I loved running there.

When I got back to the hotel, it was time to shower, have breakfast and head to the Polynesian Cultural Center. Along the way, we stopped to take photos. Dad was a great sport, letting me hop out a couple times along the way so we'd have photographs of the journey.

On our way to the Polynesian Cultural Center.

I absolutely love this photo; the lonely boat, just hanging out ... it reminds me of the simplicity of Hawaii. It was such a pretty drive, I snapped tons of photos. (Eventually I'll get them up on the Facebooks; for this post, I just wanted to include one photo per day.)

The Polynesian Cultural Center, or PCC, was really cool. Dad arranged for us to have a guided tour through the islands of Samoa, Aotearoa (or New Zealand as we call it today), Fiji, Tonga, Hawaii and Tahiti. Each area is represented with an activity (such as starting a fire in Samoa or dancing in Tahiti and Hawaii). So interesting and educational; heck, before that day, I had no idea New Zealand was considered a Polynesian island! So we walked all over the complex all day, watching a dude from Samoa open a coconut and climb a palm tree, playing with sticks in Aotearoa, eating poi (or avoiding it) in Hawaii and learning about drumming in Tonga. It was a jam-packed day!

We had dinner in the Prime Dining buffet, which included lots of American fare and some island favorites as well. After dinner, Dad and I wandered around shopping, and he ran into Kap, one of the demonstrators from Samoa who is also an artist. Kap had some of his prints for sale in the shop, so Dad bought three of them. They will look so cool when they are framed and hung in the house.

The night ended with a presentation of the show "Ha: Breath of Life". The story was told through music and dance, and most of the lyrics were in Hawaiian. It was easy to follow the story, though; pretty much consisted of "The Lion King Goes Hawaiian". Don't take my [extremely funny] jokes to mean that the show isn't good; it's great! Absolutely beautiful. Again, each island was represented, and we were re-introduced to a lot of the concepts we learned about during our tour that day. The show ended with fire dancers! So awesome.

My second morning on Waikiki Beach meant another opportunity to go for a run. This time, I ran along the path on the ocean side ... good choice! Hearing the water along the way fueled me forward. There are lots of runners in Hawaii, and they all greet each other; just another culture difference. They seem so happy! I loved being one of them.

That morning, I needed to do a little errand running to have one of Dad's prescriptions filled, and then it was off to Pearl Harbor. What an amazing place. (Did you know it's a national park?) We relaxed a great deal in the park until it was time to catch our shuttle across to the memorial. When we got there, everyone was rather quiet, taking in the space and the enormity of what had happened there. After all these years, oil still leaks from the sunken battleship, making its way to the surface. Floating above the water in an iridescent glow, it seems to take on a life of its own, reminding us of the sacrifices made by the men who remain below.

We headed back to the hotel to clean up and get ready for dinner; it was time to return to Duke's. This time I remembered the camera, so I could surf up shots like this:

The view of the sunset from Duke's Waikiki.

Dinner consisted of mahi mahi, a mai tai ... and hula pie for dessert. (It should be noted that, with the exception of one night, Dad and I split dessert.) It was, without a doubt, heaven's most perfect meal. (But then, anything at Duke's is pretty much like that.) On the beach at Waikiki ... it's paradise.

We shopped a bit after dinner. I stopped at Na Hoku and got myself a souvenir - a sterling Hawaiian slipper pendant. I'd been looking at them for a few years, at the location in Schaumburg, but it didn't seem right to buy something from a Hawaiian jeweler in the Chicago 'burbs, so I waited. I haven't taken it off; I love it. It serves as a touchstone to a place where I felt in perfect sync with life.

The next morning brought our last full day in Waikiki. I got up for a run, and then prepared to hike Diamond Head. And by "prepare" I mean "I hadn't the vaguest idea how to prepare." Dad stayed behind at a bench, and I made my way to the crater ... and started to climb.

And climb.

And CLIMB. As I came closer to the summit, I faced a choice: the steep 99 steps through a tunnel, or the easy, rambling steps that wound around the side. I took the hard way; it seemed more adventurous. And when I reached the top, I was greeted with the most amazing sight. The view from atop Diamond Head - 560 feet higher than when I began - is breathtaking. I will never forget looking down and thinking, "I did that." Amazing.

From the top of Diamond Head.

I was, of course, starving when I got back down by Dad, so we had some lunch. Shortly after that, it was time to head to the airport; we were taking a helicopter tour! It was awesome; I loved seeing Diamond Head from the air. It was incredible to see what I had just climbed from this perspective; totally different! I loved being able to do this with Dad; it was completely cool to hang up there with him. About halfway through the tour I began to get a serious case of motion sickness. This made it a lot less fun, but that was okay. I kept taking photographs because it was so pretty, regardless of how crummy I felt! We saw a gorgeous green valley between mountains, the Polynesian Cultural Center, Pearl Harbor and even some sea turtles from the air. Amazing!

When we were done, I (carefully) climbed out of the 'copter and (miraculously) did not puke. It felt so good to be back on solid ground! Airsickness took me totally by surprise. I took Dramamine before we went up, and still BAMMO, it got me! But as soon as it hit, I was better. And ready to get cleaned up. And eat dinner. :)

We walked down to the Cheesecake Factory for a simple dinner. I had fish tacos; Dad had something beef. While not the most adventurous place, the food is always good ... and the dessert is rich and perfect. Dad let me choose, and I ordered banana cream cheesecake. So good! As our waiter was bringing me coffee, he said to Dad and I, "The coffee's on the house tonight." I asked why, and he said, "In this job, it's easy to become robotic. And when people like you come in and make me smile, it reminds me that I'm alive."

That was cool. Truth is, Dad and I were just being Dad and I. We talk, we engage, and we enjoy learning about people. It's a family trait, I think. If you're willing to listen, you can learn so much! That guy - I can't for the life of me recall his name - made my day.

That happened a lot in Hawaii, people making my day. The people there ... my Lord, I love them.

Another new day dawned, so it was time to take my final run along Waikiki Beach. We were leaving the Princess Kai and heading to the leeward side of the island (away from Diamond Head), to the resort area known as Ko'olina, to spend four nights at Aulani, the new Disney Resort and Spa. So we packed up, had breakfast, and headed west.

Our first stop was due to road construction. When a bridge is out, GPS is no help. We had to stop and ask for directions, and then we were on the way to the Dole Pineapple Plantation. Dole Whip, get in my belly! We took the train ride (the Pineapple Express; so cute!) and wandered around the gardens. Then we got back in the car to head to our true destination, Aulani.

Here's where I start getting a little choked up. This place was so incredibly beautiful. It felt so completely ... Hawaiian. The hotels along Waikiki Beach were pretty much one and the same; so similar, and lacking in any distinction from a Chicago hotel. Don't get me wrong, I loved every moment there, but this? This was something different entirely. We were welcomed into the O'hana (family) and instantly began to feel like we belonged there.

We had dinner at 'Ama 'Ama (named after a Hawaiian fish featured prominently in the song, Hukilau). I had grilled lehi (a deepwater silver-mouth snapper that I would marry if I could) with veggies and potatoes. It was the most delicious meal ever.

And that's not including the gorgeous sunset.

The first sunset at Aulani, seen from our table at 'Ama 'Ama.

The following day, I ran along the path by the cove. Turns out, it runs about a mile and a half along four separate yet similar coves through this entire resort area - including three wedding chapels, two resorts besides Aulani, several restaurants and a yacht club. Gorgeous! After my run, we had a bite for breakfast and headed to the pool.

Where I proceeded to experience absolute heaven. Ahh ... this is living!

Me, poolside. Oh, how relaxed!

We sat in our little chairs by the pool and read, listened to music, and rested. Eventually we pried our butts out of the chairs and got into the lazy river ... it was lazy awesome! Dad even let himself relax a little, and he really seemed to enjoy the lazy river. We laughed our way around, the funniest point being when he tried to steer me into a waterfall and ended up steering himself into it, instead.

That night, we went to the luau at Paradise Cove. I am not including a link here, because the place sucked my will to live. Bad organization, horrible food. The venue and entertainment (with the exception of the emcee) were great, but not good enough to make up for the pain of the rest of it.

Eventually, we escaped not-Paradise cove and headed back to our little place in paradise. Breakfast at 'Ama 'Ama? Don't mind if I do.

I had an omelet with everything. Dad had two eggs, sausage, potatoes and toast. We shared an incredible view.

The view from breakfast at 'Ama 'Ama.

Ridiculously beautiful.

That afternoon, I headed off to Laniwai, the spa at Aulani, for a Lomilomi massage. This is a traditional Hawaiian massage, and it is wonderful. When you go, ask for Chuck. He will change your life, for serious.

The staff at Laniwai asks you to arrive an hour before your appointment, so you can relax in the Kula Wai - the outdoor hydrotherapy garden. Now, I have a deep relationship with water as it is. If I am cranky, put me in water. It doesn't really matter what kind. Dump me in the shower, draw me a bath, for God's sake find me a hot tub or a pool, and all will be right with my world. So when I arrived at Laniwai (which is Hawaiian for "freshwater heaven), I was, indeed, in heaven.

You check in and are escorted to a lavish locker room, where you change into your swimsuit, because the Kula Wai is co-ed. Out in the entry to the garden, you select the scent for your custom exfolliation. I chose sugar and maile. (Maile is a fragrant leaf, and I'm in love with the fragrance; it's clean and not too girly.) Then, you explore the various aquatic environments. Two hot soaking tubs; two jetted hot tubs; one seriously cold tub; six different outdoor showers. Plus luxurious lounge chairs. This place is wonderful. When you have about 20 minutes left, your host will ask you to head into the locker room to change into your robe and relax in the Relaxation Room.

And you will; it feels so awesome. Then your therapist will come get you and your treatment begins. If you've ever had a massage, you know that to begin you lay on a table with your face in this round cushy thing staring down at the floor. Well, not at this spa; here, you're looking down at a bowl filled with orchids. That's the difference; many little things that just take it to an even more perfect place. It is heavenly. Chuck discovered and beat the hell out of several knots in my shoulders and legs, and lulled me into a yummy relaxed state that I didn't want to end. As he walked me back to the Relaxation Room, Chuck said it was a pleasure to work on me. He's awesome. The experience was so incredible, I made an appointment to come back the next day for an exfoliation treatment. (As a side note, my skin is so soft right now I swear I slide right out of bed.)

The next day, I didn't run. Instead, Dad and I headed out to go to church. However, we never found church, so we ended up taking a drive. We came upon this great view of Aulani from the outlying areas; it really does look like it just grew out of the landscape!

Aulani, a Disney Resort and Spa ... beautiful.

We enjoyed a leisurely lunch oceanside before I had to go to my next spa appointment. I played in the Kula Wai again, and was greeted in the Relaxation Room by Sarah, who would soon turn my skin into something so smooth it was almost unrecognizable.

She used a concoction made of lehua honey, sugar and other stuff, and then wrapped me up in a warm cocoon ... it smelled like ambrosia! As she applied the mixture to my face, I wondered to myself, "why do I not take as much time, care and attention to my own face?" I'm trying to change that, so I'm starting to give myself a little more self-care. I only get this one face (not to mention the rest of me) so I guess now is as good a time as any to pay attention to it.

Afterward, I snuggled down in the Relaxation Room and met up with two ladies who were in Kula Wai with me prior to my appointment. We chatted for about an hour, over tea and zucchini/carrot cupcakes. It was a lovely way to end my appointment.

Then I was off and running again, this time to the beach and for a snorkel. The water is perfect, in the pool, the reef and the ocean. Happy, happy girl.

The view from my chair on the beach.

Far too soon, Monday rolled around and it was time to head for the airport. I did not want to go. I'm still not sure I want to be here. There was something about the people in Hawaii, and at Aulani in particular, that was just so comfortable. I felt right away like I belonged there. As I prepared to leave, and chatted with staff throughout the day, I found myself feeling a genuine sense of sadness over having to leave. And ya know, I got a sense that they were sad, too. It really is like family; parting ways is always sad.

It was an intense week. Lots to see and do, and a fair amount of relaxation, too. One of the many things they've done really well at Aulani is infuse the place with Hawaiian culture and folklore, such as the menehune - the "little people" mischief makers of the land. They are all over the place! I discovered them sleeping under the public phone, hiding in the elevator and hanging out by the pool. So clever, and a delight to discover.

Menehune! These mischief-makers are everywhere.

And now, I'm back home ... back to "real life". As Sarah was applying honey to my back, I expressed to her how sad I was that I was leaving. She said, "When you leave a part of yourself in Hawaii, a part of Hawaii will stay with you". I like that thought. She also told me that Hawaii will be there when I'm ready to come back.

I'm ready now, but it will have to wait. At the end of an incredible week, I find myself feeling so incredibly grateful to my dad for taking me to this place that seems singularly able to make everyone feel at home. Whether we were enjoying a meal (and most of the time that also meant gorgeous scenery), listening to music (which we did every single night, in one way or another), seeing the sights or relaxing (yes, Dad) by the water, we had a great time. Lots of laughs, only a few disagreements (all of which were my fault) and an altogether near-perfect vacation. 

Being home is hard, but I don't think I came home quite the same as when I left. I'm trying to hold on to the feeling of aloha in the islands, and I'm following a great lead here. This is what the great surfer Duke Paoa Kahanamoku said about it:

"In Hawaii, we greet friends, loved ones or strangers with 'aloha', which means 'with love'. Aloha is the key word to the universal spirit of real hospitality, which makes Hawaii renowned as the world's center of understanding and fellowship. Try meeting or leaving people with 'aloha'. You'll be surprised by their reaction. I believe it, and it is my creed. Aloha to you."

And so I leave you with ...

Aloha,
Maggie

The spirit of Aloha

It's sad, I think, when a writer lacks the words to say what's going on in his or her mind. And yet, that's where I'm at following my trip to Hawaii. I feel a little bit like a misplaced kamaaina - what Hawaiians call locals. I've never felt quite so lacking in adequate description; this place simply defies it.

I feel fortunate to have visited, and I miss it a lot. It felt like home. The people felt like family. My dad and I had a wonderful time. And that's all I can say for now.

Full trip report to come in a few days, after I'm able to process the wonder of it all. 

Scenes from a Hawaiian restaurant

With apologies to Billy Joel for the title of this post, I just want to let y'all know - in case I haven't been shouting it enough from the rooftops - that I'm leaving in a few days for Hawaii. While I'm there, I doubt most sincerely that I'll be updating the blog.

Instead, I'll be spending a day learning about the culture of the Polynesian islands. I'll tour Pearl Harbor and the Punchbowl Cemetery. I'll visit the Dole Pineapple Plantation, and take a helicopter tour. I'll run through Kapiolani Park and hike Diamond Head, try my luck on a stand-up paddleboard and float down a lazy river.

I will eat hula pie (and hope not to gain weight) and let myself be entranced by the island spirit.

There will be photos upon my return, but for the duration of my trip I will attempt to "unhook" a bit. So until mid-October, be well, and be good to yourself.

Aloha

Love

I'm lucky. In a world full of sadness and pain, hatred and animosity, I have a lot of love. I'm also fortunate to have a lot of examples of love, even when it's not directed at me. Families, friends, couples ... the love is so huge, it's immeasurable.

Which makes it all the more tough to take when life takes a turn, and the love - or the life - is over.

In the past week, I've been served up examples of both. A couple I admire, individuals whom I love, are parting ways. It's sad, and yet beautiful the way people can acknowledge that they've grown apart, and move on to create a new, separate happiness. There's honor in that; I can respect it even as I love them both. And I'm fortunate that during my divorce I had examples of folks who did not take sides; I'm grateful for that example, because now I stand poised to offer that same support and love to my friends.

But the true tragedy of the past week is a love that was ripped apart by death. My friend Jack died last weekend after having a heart attack. He was only 58. His death leaves his wife - my friend Sherry - and their college-aged children, Heidi and Jackson, without a larger-than-life guiding force. I cannot imagine how much their souls must be hurting.

I didn't know Jack very well, but I sure did love the man. Back in the late 80s (or was it the early 90s?), my friend Tony asked me to assistant-direct "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" with him at the Riverfront Playhouse in downtown Aurora. Jack and Sherry were cast as the leads, and I'll tell ya ... Jack scared the piss out of me. He was an intimidating force with a booming voice, full of talent and authority. But what I learned throughout the process is that he was also full of mischief and wonderment, and by the time opening night rolled around, I had completely pulled a 180.

I, like so many others, found him so easy to love.

When faced with loss, even when it's not mine personally, I often find myself taking stock. I accept it as an opportunity to reflect on what's important. Does it matter that people make foolish choices and screw up along life's path? Well, yes, but it's not life or death. Does it matter that I still have several boxes to unpack? No. Does it matter that I have no shorts to take to Hawaii? No, dumbass, you're going to Hawaii, shut up.

What matters, truly, is love. Living in the moment. Doing your best. Letting the people you love know how much you love them, by your actions more than your words. Being kind to people and critters less fortunate than you. If there is one legacy my friend leaves behind, I hope it is that we realize that we can choose where to put our energies. We can focus on the bullshit, or we can focus on love. We can worry about stuff we can't control, or we can concentrate on the relationships that matter to us.

I'm going to do my best. I invite you to join me.

Trivial matters

For months now, my old friend Jeff has been inviting me to Tuesday night trivia at Ballydoyle, and Irish pub, in downtown Aurora.

And by "months" I mean months; as in, I think it was a year or more ago that the invitations started. It was just never convenient! And I'll be honest: it's still not convenient. I got home far too late and I'm convinced I'm actually asleep as I write this, but the whole point is ...

It was so worth it.

I arrived at Ballydoyle and was almost immediately enveloped into a hug from DJ. He and I met in Spanish class at Waubonsee Community College. We lost touch years ago, when I was married and just didn't have my shit together. DJ is now the superintendent of schools in Lockport, IL, not far from my job in Joliet. Weird how things sorta realign over time.

Of course Jeff was there, too, and he was acting as host for the evening. He was my editor on the paper when we were at Insight, and my neighbor when we transferred to Eastern. He found me on Facebook awhile back, and I think it's safe to say that even after a lot of time has passed, I love this guy. In some ways, I went off the grid after college. In some ways it was necessary; I needed to get my shit together and figure out how to be on my own. But in others - namely the "I found the man I'm going to spend the rest of my life with" part - I screwed up royally. I let go of friendships and connections that were my lifeline, and I did so willingly. Jeff was one of the people I lost, and I'm so glad he found me again. Earlier this summer, we had the occasion to visit for a few minutes during a town festival. And last night, seated next to him and DJ in an Irish pub in Aurora, it felt like the years just melted away. It mattered. Our shared history mattered.

At the helm of trivia last night was our mutual friend Brett, who was also a Waubonsee grad and an EIU alum. The four of us - the Dream Team, as it were - were joined by Brett's brother Rory, who is (God help me) a firefighter in a nearby town, and Brett's friend Bob, who is funny and awesome. It was like old times with old friends - some of whom only just met - as we sat, contemplated the trivia questions and drank a few pints of Guinness.

In a word, it was awesome. We laughed hysterically at each other, we talked each other right on out of correct answers, and we had a blast. And, we tied for first place! I couldn't have asked for a better night. Three old friends, seated around a table, with two new friends joining the fold, and one of the old crew running the show. Yes, this is what living a good life looks like.

Reflecting

It's been 11 years since that fateful day. I, like everyone else, remember vividly the events of 9/11/01 as if it were yesterday. It was my first day back at the office after my wedding and honeymoon. It was supposed to be a joyful re-entry into the workplace. What it became was something else entirely.

Time passed, and the following year found Christopher and I visiting our friends Chris and Janie in Oregon. We spent 9/11/02 with friends who warmed our hearts, and it seemed to make it all better, somehow. The wounds had begun to heal.

It didn't hurt that we spent a good portion of the day listening to Bruce Springsteen's album, "The Rising". If you don't think art can have a profound effect on the human soul, listen to this album. If it doesn't somehow touch you, please get checked; something is wrong with you.

And now, we fast forward to 2012. For me, as for many, it's a different life. I came to work today and marveled at the blue sky, reminded that the weather 11 years ago was eerily similar. I walked onto our beautiful campus and felt grateful for the job, the people I work with, and my friends and family. It's a day to be grateful.

At 8:30, the campus community gathered around our bell tower to share in a memorial ceremony. The sky was blue, and the sun was warm. I stood shoulder to shoulder with colleagues, students and faculty, and I offered up a silent prayer for those we lost that day, and for those we've lost in the years since.

And then, I opened my eyes and raised my head, looking up at the sky just in time to see a plane cross my field of vision. I smiled as a lone tear made its way down my cheek.

Balancing act

That's life, really - a balancing act. You balance what's important to you with what must be done ... and hopefully, at times, the two intersect.

The older I get, the better I get at balance. Living a balanced (or somewhat balanced, or almost balanced) life means first figuring out what's important to you, and then living that way.

For years, I said that my health and my financial well-being were at the top of my list of values - right up there with friends and family. But did I walk my own talk? No ma'am; I said it, but I didn't live it. So when the opportunity came to join a gym a few (okay, six) years ago, I took the leap and I never looked back. That decision had a profound effect on my ability to achieve balance in that part of my life. As for finances, well ... that's been more of a challenge, but not a bad one, really. Especially now, because I'm living rent-free while I save to buy my own place, I am able to achieve and remain in balance.

So the true challenge is making sure I spend time with the people I value. That point was driven home over the weekend by a visit to Wisconsin that turned into an opportunity to celebrate my birthday with a near birthday-twin, and while up there, help out a friend who wasn't feeling well.

Does it take effort to road-trip north of the border for a weekend? Yes. It takes time and gas, plus a good playlist. But is it worth it? Again, yes; hell yes, in fact. The journey northward takes me to people who fill my soul with love and my belly with bread and cheese. I come home with a new freckle on my nose from time in the sun, and sore abdominals from laughing. And I get to feel like I've made a contribution, small though it may be, to people who matter.

It's the best kind of balance there is, and it makes for a return to work (or "re-entry", as I call it) that's a little nostalgic, wishing I had a bit more weekend. Which, I guess, is a sign that balance has been achieved.

On moving and being moved

It appears that Maggie Bieritz has changed her residence.

Over the weekend, all of my stuff - the cat, the clothes, the crazy - moved into my sister's house in Aurora. I suppose I should stop calling it "my sister's house" and just call it "home" now, because ... well, regardless of ownership, it's now my home, too. I will spend a few years saving money, and at the end of that time, Lord willing, I will find and purchase the perfect condo.

In the meanwhile, Pat and I will be sharing a blog. I'll link you to it once we get rolling. But between now and then, I feel the need to muse.

I know what it means to move "stuff". I've boxed it all up enough and sent it to wherever my next place of residency might be. I've gotten somewhat used to this (although I lived in my last place for six years; that was a long stint in one location!) I know what it means to move, physically. This is a relatively new phenomenon, having only just been taking care of my body for the past four years or so. In that time, I've become a runner and a swimmer and an athlete. (Yes, it still feels weird to say that.)

And I sure know what it means to be moved, but it's harder to wrap my mind around, or explain it to anyone. I was talking with my nephew yesterday, and he was feeling mighty superior about himself and his experiences as we were talking as a family about our experiences at church camp. "I bet my camp beats yours," he said ... and I was a bit taken aback.

Perhaps the camp we went to didn't have archery, or trampolines, or zip lines. No, camp back then was about being together as a family (unless you were my sisters who actually went to camp with strangers). It was about walking over the swinging bridge to the pool, climbing the stairs on Vesper Hill, finding raspberries growing behind a friend's campsite, and wading in the creek. Camp for me was a simple time, a time when all you needed was a fire, a folding chair and a dog beside you ... and everything was perfect.

In those moments, you couldn't help but be moved. Sometimes I think when we take away all the things that stimulate us - our activities and our electronics, and even our friends - is the best time to truly be moved. And it's important, sometimes, to let that happen. It's vital, even, to allow yourself to go to that place where you can feel the breeze on your face, hear the crickets chirping, and know that the world is huge, but that you matter.

I have gotten better at moving my stuff. I revel in moving my body. But when I am truly moved, I am absolutely at my best.

Moving - on, forward, out, etc.

The Big Move is in two days. On Saturday, I load up the truck (and by "I", I mean "guys I am paying to move my shit") and point it toward my sister's house in Aurora. Her home will be mine, too, for about two years, while I save to buy my own Perfect Place.

Heavy is my heart. I love my town (are you tired of hearing about that already?) and I am so completely in love with the life I have built for myself here. But here's the real shocker:

I am completely, utterly in love with the person I have become here. I am, now more than ever, completely, utterly Maggie. I got to know who I am here. I acknowledged the parts I didn't like, and then ...

I changed them.

Here, I became an athlete. I am a runner, a swimmer and a cyclist. I am a triathlete, and a half-marathoner. (And I'm only half crazy!)

Here, I became a divorcee. He left because I had changed. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't recognize me today, and that's fine by me. Maggie 2.0 would likely have nothing to do with him, anyway. Suck it.

Here, I became a better friend. My world expanded, and I grew a sort of misfit family. We became a place in which not fitting in makes you fit in. I love that.

Here, I became a cook. Dabbling in the kitchen, I created odd things like curried popcorn and peanut chicken soup, and perfect things like grilled cheese direct from heaven (I am so not lying about that) and green tea ice cream. I flexed my kitchen muscles here.

And here, I became strong enough to take this life, and put it somewhere else. During a recent freak-out, my friend Eric put it this way: 

"The life you have built out of nothing is still your life. Think of it like transplanting a plant. It can't grow any more in the flower pot - so you move it to the garden. And I know you, Margaret. You will find your little spot anywhere. You will find your little stores and coffee shops and park benches. You will find the magic wherever you go. The hidden treasures. You will find the things that are your little secret to share with people you care about. There are very few people at good at life as I think you are."

I never thought of me in that way - being "good at life" - but I think he's right. I know he's right. The next chapter will be interesting. It will be bumpy. It will be fun and stupid and ridiculous, but it will be well-lived, too. 

So now, as my friend Janie puts it, it's time to leap and trust that the net will appear.

I need ...

• To figure out why I have gastrointestinal distress every afternoon.
• A good eyebrow waxing.
• To write my own manifesto. 
• Not to mention stay motivated to finish the book. (Spoiler alert: it's good.)
• A staff of five to come help me finish packing. (Thankfully my girlfriends are totally stepping up to that plate.)
• For a certain person I know to stop being a complete douchecanoe. 
• An airline ticket to Minneapolis. 
• And one to Portland.
• And San Diego.
• And while I'm at it ... Istanbul. Not, however, Constantinople.
• A glass of wine.
• This lamp. And this paddle game.
• My calf to stop hurting.
• My mommy. Yes, sometimes I do. Shut up.
• Coffee.
• Someone to make me dinner.
• Fresh air. 
• To run.
• For you to smile.
• To remember to be grateful.

Going home

I've been a bit lax with the updates of late, and you're just gonna have to forgive me. My life is a busy place right now, and well ... something's gotta give.

At any rate, a few weeks back I took a road trip to a place that's home, even though technically it's not my home. I went to Jacksonville, IL to the home of my best friend/brother Mike, for my faux-bro Chunk's wedding.

Oddly, I spent three days with these people and took nary a photo of the happy couple. I do, however, have a lot of photos of other people. People like ...

Racheal and Mike ... the best friends a girl could ask for. 

Izzy, Alice and Kaylee ... flower girls extraordinaire.

Mike and me .. our horns are showing.

It was a fantastic weekend. Sometimes it's good to go home and be with people who love you beyond reason or rational thought. It's impossible to return home after spending time with the people I choose as family and not feel fortunate, for so many reasons. For my entire life, I have (with rare exception) surrounded myself with people who have had my back, who swoop in to rescue me when I'm in need of rescuin' and who bring out the very best in me. There's usually laughter, and a few tears when it's time to part ways I'm lucky, and I know it. But the truth of the matter is, anyone can cultivate relationships like these. You just have start with great people, add a little love and understanding, stir and let it happen.

Long time, no talk

So Kelly informs me that it's been far too long since I've written. (She also would like to point out that The Monkey House has been rather lax with its updates, hint hint.)

So I figured I'd take a break from the packing and let my faithful readers in on what's the haps.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I'm moving. It's an exciting time, and an opportunity too good to pass up. My sister Pat, God love her, has opened her home to me for a few years. (Yes, I said years.) I'm not foolish enough to think it will be easy, but I think it will be a learning, growing experience for each of us. Plus - and here's the part where I'm overwhelmed by her generosity - not having to pay rent for two years will allow me to save for a downpayment on a condo. In two years, I hope to be able to take the plunge. (In the meanwhile, she and I will be writing a blog together. Once that's off the ground, I promise to link ya!)

And for the moment, it's a great time that's laced with melancholy. This town - Arlington Heights - has been good for me. I stood on my own two feet in this place. I proved to myself that I could be independent in this place, and I think that's the only reason I'm able to allow someone to help me now - because I've made it work, I can allow myself to take a step back.

It means I will, eventually, be able to take a step forward.

Today I ran a 5K here in town, and it was so happysad. Happy, because this place is sorta magical in the way it loves its residents and its runners. And sad, because this is my final race through town as a resident ... at least for now. I'd be lying if I said that I won't consider moving back here at some future time.

Living here, I really got to know myself. I learned to listen to my gut. I learned to venture forth and build relationships that I am certain will stand the test of geographic distance. I learned how to heal myself, and how to let others help. Here, in this place, I became an athlete. I became confident (mostly). I bought the car of my dreams, four pairs of running shoes (not at the same time) and a pair of jeans in a size I hadn't seen since college.

What's next is unknown, and it scares me. Here, I'm comfortable. I have my hard-earned independence, and I'd be lying if I said I weren't afraid that what I'm actually doing is giving up instead of moving forward. That's why it's all the more important to me that I'm able to make it work. Or, rather, that it simply works on it's own; that it doesn't feel like work, but the natural flow of things. I know it will take work to save the money (because I really love shoes and airline tickets) but I believe, for the first time in a long time, that while I cannot have it all ... I can have all the truly important things.

So, here I am, preparing to say goodbye to a life I've built from scratch. Or, rather, transplant that life to a new home base.

Don't be a stranger, eh?

Crazy blissful three-day weekend

So can I just tell you how completely awesome it is to have three-day weekends during the summer? It is. It's heaven. It's like a little gift, every week. Sure, the four, 10-hour days are long and arduous ... but the payoff is so worth it.

Ergo, I am determined to squeeze every last bit of summer out of summer, right up until we go back to five-day workweeks with the start of the fall season around the college. August 10 is my last long weekend, and until then, I intend to enjoy weekends like the one that just passed.

What's so special about that, you ask? Well, lemme give you the lowdown.

It started off not as intended. By the end of the day Thursday, I was pretty tired, so when I got home, my heart was not excited about getting in the car and driving to Wisconsin ... so I dawdled around the house. Did my laundry, watched a little television, went to bed early and decided the drive would wait until morning. And, of course, when I arrived at Amber and Jeremiah's, I was greeted like a long-lost relative (who had only been "lost" for a few weeks, but what does that matter?) I got my hair cut, and arrived back at the house with plenty of day left for swimming. Let me tell you, there is nothing in the world I enjoy more than suiting up for a day with water. A good book, a floppy hat, and SPF 15 ... I'm set.

Dinner was burgers on the grill and sweet corn (with chipotle mayo; try it). Then it was time to primp and head to Bobby Rockets for the best karaoke anywhere ever. I tried a few new songs, including Pat Benetar's "We Belong" ... which was almost awesome but I should've tried it earlier in the evening. Anyway, it was big fun. Along with me, Amber and Jeremiah, we were treated to Jamie's company, too, so our table was full and we had a fantastic night.

Saturday morning we slept in. See? Bliss. Then we went to breakfast (lobster quiche? seriously?) and headed back to the house so I could get a massage. How is it that, in one small area, I have found the best hairstylist (Leah at Americuts), massage therapist (Jeremiah Micholichek; for serious) and the best karaoke (Brew City Music)? And how is it that although I live in a major metropolitan area (hello, Chicago?) I can't find anything even remotely similar here? Not that it matters; I love having an excuse to just get away. What an easy thing to embrace. So, anyway, my massage ... dear heaven, it was wonderful! Jeremiah found and worked through all my knots. Perfection.

Then it was time to head over to Dale's for drinks and dinner. I met up with him and Trent, and soon Candy joined us. Music, laughter, sandwiches and cold beer - how else would you create a perfect Sunday afternoon? We sat and talked until far later in the evening than I intended. One tends to linger around the campfire. All too soon, I was headed home.

Because on Sunday morning, I was a Warrior! Time for my second annual Warrior Dash - mud, sweat and beer. Linda and I headed to Channahon (way down by where I work) for the 5k wrapped up in obstacles and swathed in mud and fire. It was incredible. If you want to learn more about that, you'll have to check out my health and wellness blog for the full report.

After the race, Linda and I parted ways so I could go to Dad's house for Father's Day - the traditional ribs-on-the-grill sorta meal, accompanied by my borrowing his laundry room so I could go home sans mud.

Dinner was delicious. My family, typically awesome. And far too soon, I had to head home. By the time I walked in the door of my third-floor penthouse, it was pretty much time to go straight to bed. Which was okay with me, because let's face it; the weekend was perfect. Why would I ask for more?

Family

There are relatives, and then there is family.

Relatives, you're stuck with. You're related by blood or by law and that's that.

Then there's family. Family is oftentimes comprised of people who are also relatives; I define it as the people you would want in your life, whether you were stuck with them or not. Lucky for me, that includes my dad, my sisters and my brother.

It also includes an assortment of old friends. A few I met in high school, and they connected me to others, so that family grew. (I even married into it for a little while.)

And then there's the one I acquired when I was in college. I don't even remember who adopted whom, but when Mike Rice and I met, sometime back in 1995, the family thing was almost instant. We were brother and sister from the word "go". I met his family, and they welcomed me to the fold. Mike married my dear friend Racheal, and the family began to grow.

We've seen each other through death, and we've seen each other through marriage; they've seen me through divorce and I've seen a few of them through the birth of their children. In every way but blood, we are family, and it all started on a warm autumn evening over a game of Frisbee at EIU.

There have been a lot of memorable events - camping trips, weddings, new cars, funerals, holidays spent together, trips to Arizona to visit (that's where Mike and Rae live these days) and vacations at the lake. And every time we are together, I feel more connected. So I should not have been surprised that last weekend, when Ryan got married (he's Mike's stepbrother, so I guess that makes him my stepbrother, too) we just all seemed to flow together in an easy sort of familial manner. I also should not have been surprised that it was tough as hell to say goodbye.

I will see them all again in July, when little brother Chunk gets married. But until then, I'm still basking in the glow of a certain sort of love that many people only discover among their relatives. I know deep down how fortunate I am to experience that kind of love from people who choose me as their family, too.

The only good photo ever taken of me and Mike.

Busy-ness

I feel like I say this every time I sit down to write, but ... life has been a bit of a whirlwind of late. Since starting the new job (can it be three weeks already?) I have been working a lot (four 10-hour days a week, plus at least an hour's drive there and back) so it's hard to write during the week. Then, there's this compulsion to pack activity into the weekends. My Fridays have been so full! Not complaining; I love that I have the time, and I've been spending it in ways that make me happy. But I am completely looking forward to taking a break ... sometime around the end of June.

Think I'm kidding? Well, take this weekend as an example. I'm spending Friday with Mike, Rae and Kaylee in the city. They're in town for Ryan's wedding. Then Saturday, I'll get up early to go to the gym, take strength training class, and then speed to Naperville for packet pickup for the SheRox tri (which is on Sunday). I'll nab my packet, shop the expo and attend an orientation meeting. (I hope it's a quick one.)

After all that, I get to fly back home, shower and primp ... then drive into the city for Ryan's wedding and reception. Yes, ladies and gentlemen ... I am attending a wedding the day before my first triathlon. I am not very smart.

So of course Sunday, I'll be (you guessed it) ... at the tri. I am so looking forward to it being over! Not just because I'll be able to say I did a tri, but because I'll get to rest. ;)

As for the tri itself, I am nervous as a cat. I don't want to embarass anyone - including myself - but there is a distinct possibility that this is the event in which I will finally, actually finish dead last. I am not a good swimmer. I am a worse cyclist. And as a runner ... well, any rational person would call what I do "walking". But that isn't what matters. What matters is that I'm willing to try (tri?) and honestly, even failure is an accomplishment at this level.

So off I go, to once again challenge myself to do something I've never done before.

In 90-degree heat.

Sleep deprived, and with full knowledge that I'll be bringing up the rear.

It's just another Sunday in Maggie's World.

Off the grid

So it seems I haven't had much to say of late.

Actually, nothing could be further from the truth; I've just been radio silent, waiting for life to work itself out. But I think it's time to come clean.

I QUIT.

I'm leaving my current job. One week from today will be my last day with my current company, and I'm moving on to something completely different. (More on that once I land in the new gig.)

It makes me a little nervous, but I'm also very excited. It's weird, though, because I've never done this. In my professional life, I've never just made the ol' switcheroo; I've never looked for work when I didn't need to look for work.

The new job has lots of incredible perks. Fridays off in the summer. More holidays than I've ever had in a calendar year. On-site mechanic. In some ways, I'll be spoiled. In others (like the drive), it'll be rough. But that's okay; I'll adapt.

I think it's going to be an amazing new chapter, and I'm completely ready to begin. But I'll have to wait another week.

The weather, and why I love my life

Summer came early to Chicago.

A few weeks ago, temps rose into the 80s. For those of you sans calendar, it's still March. For those of you who think global warning is a bunch of liberal BS ... it still March.

But I digress.

It's been gorgeous. Today it was in the 40s and everyone thought it was Armageddon. No, it was just being March. But on those yummy, warm days, I've been out there enjoying every possible moment. I'd be a fool not to.

Outdoor run at twilight? Don't mind if I do. Dinner on the patio at Peggy Kinane's? Yes please. Walk to ... oh who the hell cares, it's gorgeous? Yes, and yes. It's heaven. It changes daily, but still ... heaven.

So at the risk of writing an entire blog post that seems to be about nothing but the weather, seriously, this is awesome. I've already worn shorts. And sandals. And the nights are chilly and life is good. It isn't perfect - after all, I haven't won the lottery - but it's pretty damn nice.

And the weather is just part of it.

Fit for a Princess

I have absolute princess withdrawals.

A week ago, I was in Orlando. A year's worth of planning and execution were playing out, and all the "what-ifs" and "maybes" were about to be crushed.

My first half marathon was on the horizon.

For the record, I finished. I finished slowly, but I'm so proud that I did it. And now, I'm feeling a little let down. A little ... princess melancholy.

But the thing of it is, I did it. There are moments when I just can't believe it. It took courage to enter. It took strength to finish. I did both. If you want to read about it in depth, you can find my race report here.

And now I'm trying to decide what's next. I'm pretty sure I want to do another half marathon this year. I know I want to do two Disney half marathons next year ... and maybe three. And I know now that I can. I just need to make a decision, register and start planning.

For the moment, I need to be content with being fit for a princess.

And ... scene.

So last night I did something different.

It was Valentine's Day, one of those rite-of-passage days for me each year, because six years ago I finally decided to stop sitting around waiting for my then-husband to look up from his instant-message-chat with his girlfriend (yes, you read that right) and notice that I'd come home from work. On Valentine's Day 2006, I loosened my grip on my hope of saving my marriage and started trying to be happy.

Six years later, I barely recognize that girl. So it should come as no surprise that the person I am today does a lot of things differently. For instance, when Maggie 2.0 was asked to participate in a one-night-only production of "Love Letters" with Liberty Town Productions in Libertyville, I jumped at the chance. For one night (and a few rehearsals) I was able to flex my dramatic muscles, and it felt awesome.

It was amazing to get back on stage in this capacity. I've sung a little over the past few years, but I haven't tapped into the actor within in a long time. I think it went well; I know I feel good about it.

Me and my awesome co-star and director, Scott.

I'm humbled and pleased by the audience reaction, and I couldn't be more proud of what we were able to share with our audience. People were moved, I think, by the story we shared. Our characters read the letters they've sent one another over the course of about a 50-year friendship. It's easy to see myself in some of the letters, and I think everyone can relate, in one way or another, to one of the characters. At least that's my hope. At the end of the evening, when Scott and I took our bows, that's how it felt.

Will there be more opportunities to perform? I don't know. It takes something pretty special to get me out there. But when everything comes together, it's like lightening in a bottle.

And I can't think of a better way to spend a day dedicated to love.

Rituals

Yesterday - roughly 24 hours ago, in fact - I began to feel under the weather. Personally, I far prefer being above the weather, thank you very much, but for the moment, it seems to have brought the hammer down on yours truly. Which is fine. I mean, really, it's been a long time since I've been sick. So I'm going to just let it run its course, which hopefully won't take too long.

But while I'm feeling crappy, I get to do things I don't usually do. See, I have these "sick day" rituals that serve as a little treat for the low days. I drink tea from a pretty cup - one that I only use when I'm sick. I add eucalyptus oil to my bath water. I kick my usual good habits up a notch, I drink orange juice, and I let myself get copious amounts of rest.

I have lots of rituals, and it's a big part of what makes me ... well ... me. Before every race, my friend Linda and I take a "long arm" photo of ourselves. When I have a particularly bad day at work, I take a shower as soon as I get home, to "wash the day away". And when I make myself a particularly fancy dinner (hey, it happens) I eat off the good china. It's those little things that mark moments, that make them special.

So weird as it sounds, I'm going to enjoy my cold. I'll work through it, and hope it moves along quickly, but while it's here, I will acknowledge and respect it.

And drink tea out of a pretty cup.

Making the best of it

So I noticed that I haven't posted much lately. Maybe you did, too. And there's a reason for it, although it's pretty lame: I don't have a whole lot good to say.

Work has been very stressful. I'm doing my best, but still ... it's a difficult situation. So there's not a lot of time for creative thought or focusing inward, in order to have something meaningful to say. It's a sort of isolating feeling, too, because although I know I have a lot of friends and family who support me in many ways, I do feel like I'm sort of going it alone.

So, I just keep plugging away, and making the best of the moments that don't suck. Like right now, I'm trying to type this while the cat rests his head on my hand. It's sweet, and it gives me comfort. It really is the little things, right?

If you need me, I'll be focusing on the stuff that gets me through. Whether it's the perfect grilled cheese sandwich or finishing up the laundry, life is good ... even when the crappy moments are more prevalent than usual.

Happy New Year

Yes, it's been awhile.

Life has been incredibly busy (and wonderful; can't deny that) and time has been scarce. Lots of celebrations, a couple wonderful trips, and the occasional moment to rest - that's pretty much been the last couple of months in Maggie's World.

I am not complaining, just explaining.

I've visited Tucson, Orlando and San Antonio. I've spent time with friends old and new. I've reunited with the family folks to whom I'm not related but share a strong connection. I've eaten breakfasts, lunches and dinners in the company of amazing friends. I've run. I've rested. I've made gravy and pie. I've bid farewell to friends relocating to the earth's far corners and I've curled up next to the fire with friends I don't see often enough. I've gone to church, avoided the mall and still managed to find a few perfect gifts. I've made bread and tamales, I've danced, I've waved to Santa and I've dressed like him, too.

All of this is to say that yes, it's been busy. But it's been awesome. My heart is full. I am blessed to have brought 2011 to a close with the comforting knowledge that I did my best, pushed myself when it mattered, and accepted as much love - if not more - than I gave.

Here's to 2012. May our paths cross again before too long.

I'm still here!

Life, as often happens around the holidays, has run away from me.

Actually, I ran away ... to Disney World, with my dad and two of my sisters. It was delightful, the perfect vacation. However, I returned to a rather frenetic pace of social shindigs and holiday gatherings, then threw myself back into work and working out, and I'll be leaving town again this weekend.

I am not complaining; in fact, I'm quite happy. But, it does mean that the blogs take a backseat.

Never fear; I shall return, for a snippet or two here or there. Meanwhile, have a good chuckle at this photo of me and Dad on the plan home from Orlando. I swear, he has this same look on his face in every photo from the trip. Good thing I know he loves me!

Never too old

I sent off a quick e-mail to a friend today, and it included this line: "You are never too old to go on vacation with your dad."

The line was in reference to the fact that, on Sunday, I leave for Disney World with my father and my sister Pat. Next week, Jenn will join us. Because, let's face it, there's nothing better than being in the Happiest Place on Earth with The Man.

But as I wrote the words, the truth of it sorta settled over me. "You are never too old ... "

I'm living proof of not mistaking age for maturity, or the number of years I've been on the planet as a reason to stop, or slow down, or to wind down in the least. No, actually, as I rack up points on my Frequent Birthday card, I seem to actually ratchet up the intensity of life. Because you are never to old. To discover friends who become family. Take up a new habit, or get rid of an old one. Try a new hairdo. Get an education. Trust in your dreams. Play in the sand. Eat cereal for dinner. Giggle. Try your best and fall, then get back up and keep trying.

It's what kids do all the time. And there's no reason, other than giving up, to ever stop.

Blogger is stupid, but I am thankful

I had this beautiful Thanksgiving post written, and Blogger crashed. Usually it auto-saves. This time? No. Poop on you, Blogger.

It will have to be enough for you to know that I am grateful for lots of things, and I have lots of wonderful Thanksgiving memories. Like eating at our neighbors' house (mostly dessert) when I was a kid and the Great Peacock Rebellion of 1991. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, and I am so ready for it to be here.

The days are becoming darker, grayer and colder here in Chicagoland, and I'll be putting my best efforts toward not being a big jerk about it. Please be patient; this "not losing my shit every winter" thing is new to me.

There's lots of travel on my horizon in December, so perhaps I'll get my sunshine elsewhere. I will update when I can, and when I have something worthwhile to say.

In the meantime, I wish you a very happy Thanksgiving. May you be surrounded with love.

And pie.

Southwest weekend

Unless you've only recently crawled out of bed after a week-long nap, you know that I spent last weekend in one of my favorite places in the world: Tucson. Autumn is the perfect time to visit the Southwest. You never know what you're gonna get, weather-wise, but it's generally guaranteed to be a little warmer than home (and this year, it was only just a little!) and always sure to provide amazing cuisine. The place I stay also provides a whole lot of love.

Sometimes the canine kind. This is me with my desert dog, Pork Chop. I love him. (As if you couldn't tell.)
I arrived late on Friday night. My flight landed at about 10 p.m., and my best friend Mike picked me up at the airport. There is just something about being met at baggage claim by someone who loves you that just makes my heart glow. If it hadn't been late, there would have been three people meeting me - Rae and Kaylee, too - but a hug from Mike was enough to make me tear up.

The desert, for the record, smells amazing. Being there, though it's far away, always makes me feel at home.

Saturday morning dawned bright and early, even though I slept through my alarm. Thankfully, Racheal woke me up and pointed me toward Sahuarita and their pecan festival ... which included the 3.7 mile Nut Run I was registered for. Awesome run. Wanna read more? Click here.

That's me and Rae, pre-race. We are adorable. The race itself wound through the Green Valley Pecan Orchard. Yes, this photo is blurry; I was running, for heaven's sake! It was an absolutely beautiful run.

Look! A clear photo! Mountains in the distance; just beautiful.This is my sweet niece, Kaylee, on a pony ride. I find her heartbreakingly adorable.

Kaylee, feeding bunnies.
Mike, feeding a donkey.

Moo. Cute, and delicious.Rae, Kaylee and Mike on our hayride. This was a REAL hayride. Pulled by big horsies, through the pecan orchards.

Dude in a real Stetson driving the horsies.

Did I mention that Kaylee got her face painted?

One of the few photos I have of Mike where he's not making a face. He looks sweet and thoughtful here; this is how I actually know him.

Big horsies.

Kaylee wants to be a farmer when she grows up. She also wants to marry two boys. Mike and Rae are in for a world of hurt when The Girl grows up.After the pecan festival, we went out for Mexican food. Carrrrne asada. YUM.

I think my dog looks like Walter Matthau.

We had an awesome visit, but as usual, time passed too quickly. We spent the day Sunday lazing around the house, as Mike had caught a bit of Death Plague and was not feeling well. We used that as an excuse to stay in our jammies until afternoon (when the Trianos took me, Kaylee and Rae out to lunchfast. It's so nice meeting old friends for the first time!) and just hunker down together. I like being the person who comes to visit and just becomes part of the household. I don't need to be entertained; I just need to be family. That's nice.

Monday morning came too fast, and I headed out for a final desert run. I took Pork Chop with me, and loved the feeling of running in this beautiful place, with my buddy at my side.

The view along my run.

More mountains, in the distance. Perfect blue sky.

To say that I miss that place, those people ... that's an extreme understatement. But it's nice, too, to spend time effortlessly, knowing that soon we'll all be together again.

Martha, Laverne and Shirley

Okay, my friends ... first of all, last night I got to meet this woman: Martha freaking Stewart

It was like having a visit from the Mother Ship. Yes, I am a bit starstruck/awestruck/giddy. Martha talked about her new book (at 432 pages, it also makes a nice weapon) Martha's Entertaining and gave the audience some wonderful advice, both for in the kitchen, and in life. So I guess I'll be determining what will be my "signature" dish (I don't think grilled cheese sandwiches fit the bill) is, and perfecting it.

The highlight of the evening, though, was spending time with my sister, Jenn. She is freaky awesome. I love her. Letting the two of us loose in Chicago's Standard Club was truly like an episode of Laverne and Shirley. You should have seen us in the bathroom; you'd've sworn it was the first time we've seen indoor plumbing. (And that was before Jenn accidentally washed her hands with mouthwash.)

Jenn and I, in the opulent loo at the Standard Club.

We had a blast. Between dining on "heavy hors d'oeuvres" (which I'm sure resulted in a heavy hindquarter) and sucking down as many pomegranate cosmos as possible, we enjoyed every moment of the evening. (Could someone please tell me what kind of cheese that was?)

We noshed on olives and cheeses and breads and dried fruit, pumpkin soup, mini tuna burgers, crab cakes, these little salmon bites with herbed cream cheese ... and that was before dessert. Lemon tartlets, tiramisu "shots", brownie bites ... sweet mother of God.

We ate. We laughed. And then, we got in line to meet Martha. Completely gracious (and with great shoes), Martha greeted us with appreciation, even after a full evening of talking and signing books. We said our hellos and our thank-yous in a matter of seconds, and were on our way, back to the real world. Back to bagels and coffee from a paper cup, instead of cocktails and finger sandwiches.

But as I rode the train back to The Heights, I couldn't help but think, yeah, Martha probably thought we were the coolest people she met all night.

Either that, or she wondered how Penny Marshall and Cindy Williams got in without her knowing.

Oh, brother

If you're lucky, you are born into a family that loves you for who you are, nurtures your interests, and expects great things from you, all the time.

If you're really lucky, you meet someone along the way who isn't related to you, but becomes family simply by virtue of doing all that stuff, even though he's not technically family.

I am really lucky.

This weekend, I am headed to Tucson to see my brother Mike. It's confusing, to say the least, that I have not one but two brothers named Mike. The first is my twin, my womb-mate, my brother from my actual mother. The second - Mike Rice - I discovered when I was 28 years old, in Charleston, Illinois, while this late-blooming lunatic was in college at Eastern Illinois University. My friendship with Rice was instant. Our connection, unbreakable. Just like family. As we "grew up" together, I somehow became added to his actual family. Their unconditional love extended to me, as if I'd grown up in that old Victorian house in Jacksonville with the wraparound porch and chicken & dumplings in the kitchen.

I was family. I am family.

Mike and I have been there for each other through life's ups and downs. Weddings, funerals, babies (Mike and Rae's, not mine!) and break-ups (mine, not Mike and Rae's) ... Mike has been there, as has Racheal, his wife (but she was my friend first).

We are the very definition of family.

So it's easy to understand why I simply cannot wait to get on a plane tomorrow night and make my way Southwestward. I go because I love them, and they love me. I go, because when I am with Mike, Rae and their daughter Kaylee, I feel like I am at my very best.

You know that scene at the end of the movie "Love, Actually", in Heathrow airport, when everyone is meeting up? At first, it's all the principals from the film, and it's all romantic and crap. But then, it becomes about all different kinds of love - hugs between parents and children, old friends, families.

I disembark from the plane in Tucson and live my own version of that movie.

In less than 48 hours, I will see my brother, my dear friend and sister-in-law, and my niece. I will soak up the love. So time, if you could pass quickly, that'd be great. Thanks.

An open letter to my physical self

I just wanted to say thank you.

The human body has an infinite capacity to forgive you for not treating it particularly well. For years, I took care of my health in a way that could barely be called taking care of my health. And then, yesterday, I had this turning-point sort of day.

Completing a 15K (that's 9.3 miles to those who don't play in the Metric pool) is not something that's generally done by someone who is unhealthy, or someone who doesn't take care of herself. Running that distance - regardless of pace - is not something that's done by someone who mistreats her body. No, this is the sort of thing that's done by athletes. By runners.

I am one of those people.

So, to my feet, thank you. Thank you for carrying me through the beautiful city of Chicago on a perfect fall morning, for continuing to propel me forward even when you started to hurt. For keeping me upright after the race, so I could walk through the party area and get to the main event - the chocolate! And for the record, to my black toenails, I'm sorry I did this to you again. But really, toenails are for sissies.

To my right Achilles, thank you. Thank you for healing, for standing strong through injury and recovery. It's been a tough road, and I still need to treat you gently and with respect. I am so grateful that you allow me to run. There were moments, earlier this year, when I was convinced it was over. But you rose to the challenge, and you allowed me to work my own little miracle. To go from fat girl to 15K runner in just a few years is pretty amazing. I could not have done it without your cooperation.

To my knees, thank you. I know you didn't like the stairs this morning; I know you still feel every step we took together over the 9.3 miles. I promise to keep doing what you need to stay healthy. Together, we will take off the remaining excess weight. I think we'll both be happier then.

To my legs, thank you. I didn't know how strong you were! After a nice bout of stretching this morning, you groaned only a little and seemed to ask, "what's next?" You have adapted pretty brilliantly to this new activity. You still jiggle, and you probably always will, but I think that's just your way. Under the jiggle, though, there's some badass muscle. You, legs, are pretty amazing. How 'bout a kickbox class to celebrate?

To my core, thank you. Poor abs, you aren't sure what's up, are you? I really had to convince you to work at around mile seven, when my lower back started talking to me. You had to step up and hold it together. You did a great job. We have some work to do, you and I, but you came through like a champ.

To my arms, thank you. Running is pretty easy on you guys, but you kept great rhythm, and you were awesome at waving to people along the way. And without you to hold my iPod, it would have been a long race indeed!

To my heart, thank you. Thank you for giving me the strength and endurance to make it through a long run. But most of all, thank you for opening up and allowing me to embrace and love my running community. Because of you, I have run alongside some of the most beautiful, talented athletes. I have been supported, encouraged and inspired by many more, because somewhere along the way, you decided my life should not be a solitary one. I'm not kidding at all when I say I owe my every physical accomplishment to you.

To my shoulders, thank you. Thank you for bearing my worries and holding up my big head, and for reminding me to stand up straight. Running posture is hard!

Finally, to my mind, thank you. For quieting all the bullshit, for letting me get outside of you and into the moment, for trusting in my ability and my training. Thank you for realizing I needed to change and then ... slowly ... allowing it to happen. Thank you, too, for that amazing runners' high thing. I enjoyed endorphin-induced euphoria pretty much all day yesterday. That alone is enough to get me back out there.

Needy and weak

I've been a little whiney lately. Life sometimes hits rough patches; I get that. But a recent conversation with a friend made me realize something sorta earth-shattering for my wee little mind.

I've been needy lately. I've been weak lately. And every time - and I mean every time - I had a weak moment over the past few weeks, someone has been there to share their strength. Every time I had a need - and again, every time - someone has been there to fill it. It's as if the universe has conspired to show me that it's okay. The world will not stop turning simply because I cannot handle everything on my own. In fact, by allowing myself to be weak, I give someone else the opportunity to be strong for me.

Needy and weak, then, is not necessarily a bad thing. Being where we are on any given day, in any given moment, is precisely where we're meant to be. And if that happens to be a day or a moment in which we're not feeling our best, maybe it's someone else's opportunity to rise to the occasion and lift us up. It's not easy to allow it to happen, but I'm learning that my greatest strength is the collective strength of me + those who love me. In that, I cannot fail.

Breathe

One of my yoga instructors has a tattoo on her arm that reads, in her own handwriting, "Just remember to breathe." Good advice, indeed.

Without breath, we really have a whole lot of nothing. And sometimes, the universe conspires to teach us to slow the hell down and breathe. Take, for example, last Saturday. I began the day with a run - the 5K Monster Dash along Chicago's lakefront. To run, ya gotta breathe. For me, running takes a great deal of effort, so it's a constant forward motion to a rhythm in my head that pretty much goes, "pick it up, put it down" to my feet and "in ... out" to my breath. My footsteps and my breath join in a cadence that keeps me going, and the run becomes an exercise (pun intended) in connectedness.

So imagine my shock when, a mere 10 hours later, I found myself in Charleston, IL, having yet another emotional freak-out and forgetting to breathe.

I'd made the journey back down to pick up the Jeep after it had been repaired, and I was so excited to get back behind the wheel of my baby. It started up like a champ, and then I tried to drive it. Sluggish and noisy, especially on corners; there was no way it was drivable. Commence meltdown.

My poor friend Annie, who had driven me down to Charleston. My poor dad, on the other end of the phone. My poor brain, a pool of moosh as my worst fears seemed to become real. Moments passed. I drove around the parking lot, Annie waiting patiently, Dad listening across the miles, in hopes that all would be well. I finally decided I would just go stay with friends for the night and figure it out in the morning, letting Annie go and crying on the phone to Dad. As I journeyed through the one-way streets of Charleston, my dad suggested I try the emergency brake.

In a flood of relief, I found the lever, pushed it to the off position, and all was perfect.

If only I’d remembered to breathe.

The whole event is an important reminder of two things. First, if I’d just slowed the heck down – mentally, emotionally – perhaps I would not have panicked. Perhaps I would have noticed the brake and kept peace in my heart. Perhaps neither is true; perhaps I still would have jumped to conclusions, but I could have done so a tiny bit more rationally, I suppose. I’m quite highly strung, in case you hadn’t noticed. Perhaps I can work at being less so.

Secondly, I was reminded – for the second time in as many weekends – of my intense good fortune when it comes to people who love me. No one would have left me stranded. No one would allow me to endure whatever was wrong with the car in an isolated state, regardless of how it felt in the moment. And even if the worst were true, I was in a place I love, with access to people who would care for me through whatever came next. There was really no need or point to the meltdown.

And so, all’s well that ends well. I spent Sunday with my girlfriends, surrounded once again with the absolute truth that is my life: I may feel alone, but I am not. I just need to breathe, and remember that.

Someone saved my life

I feel like this is one thing I have to do, I have to write, I have to allow to be real ... in order to let it go.

If you were to use the search function on this blog to find the name "Brian," you'd see that this guy is predominantly featured during some of my darkest times. He saved me from myself when I was going through the divorce, showing up when I needed something, someone to cling to. He was my rock. He was beautifully intuitive, knowing what to do or bring or be when I was at my lowest.

He provided me friendship when I was at my least lovable. He saw me through a horrible time. But now, he's just gone.

The last time I saw him was a few days after I had my gallbladder removed in July of 2009. He came over and made me waffles, once again sensing what I wanted most and then providing it. After that, he stopped taking my calls.

It breaks my heart, because he doesn't know this version of me. He has never met Maggie the Runner, or Maggie the Jeep owner. He doesn't know that I've become someone I (generally) really like. He doesn't know that I am, for the most part, healed.

Ours was never a romantic relationship. Well, except for that one time, right before I left EIU. Or that one summer day on the lawn at Rae's apartment. Or on Mother's Day 1997. Other than that, we were best friends. I thought he would always be in my life.

But he's not. So now, even though ever time Elton John's "Someone Saved My Life Tonight" comes on the radio, it's Brian I think of, I have to let him go. I have to accept that he left my life for a reason, even though he never said anything ... he just disappeared. I have to find a way to believe that it isn't something I did, or something I lack, that drove him away, because the wondering has made me crazy for two and a half years.

I have to be okay with being let go, and let my friend, go, too.

But I will always have memories of picnics in the park, great music, 1 a.m. trips to Denny's and that one day when he wouldn't let me go home to watch my husband pack up his belongings and leave me. I wish things were different, but I am eternally grateful that, when he could be my friend, he was very very good at it.

Coming Home

There is something special about Homecoming Weekend at Eastern Illinois University. It's a time for families of a sort to come together. Groups of friends who became family while in school gathered around the dinner table. Groups of Journalism students and their teachers with one common goal - tell the truth, and don't be afraid - gathered over bowls of chili. All of us, everyone who calls EIU "home" in one way or another, gathered near the stadium to swap stories, quench our thirst, and celebrate our oneness.

I haven't been back for Homecoming since 1999-ish. It was a different time, and I was a different person, in many ways. But even then I'd begun to build amazing relationships with people who, frankly, are so much more awesome than I. (Even after all this time, they've not figured it out.) So this trip was a little bittersweet. Going back without Mike and Rae, without Shamie, without Vana or any of our old newsroom crew pretty much ensures that something will be missing. But honestly, it was all okay, because of the people who were able to be there. Old friends, new friends, knitting together to create a beautiful blanket that warmed me all weekend long.

So when the going got tough, and my car refused to make the trip home, I shouldn't have been surprised by the outpouring of offers to assist. This morning, I actually thought to myself, "If one more person is nice to me, I am going to lose it!" But it didn't stop. From the moment the car decided not to go, people made it better. I was shown that, in no uncertain terms, life is good, even if this particular moment in time lacks something. Whether it was a perfectly starry night, having someone work through all the details in a way that made sense, sharing cinnamon toast and coffee shared, hysterical laughter when talking with my father and trying to figure out how the heck to get the rest of my week to function, or a myriad of other things that brought me from a major meltdown last night to the relative relaxation of this moment, I have learned one thing this weekend:

I am loved.

It's difficult to wrap my head around sometimes, and I don't mean this to come from the po' me corner of the world. Truth is, I can be a thoughtless bitch sometimes. I have done things, said things that hurt the people I love. It was never my intention, but I know beyond a shadow of doubt that some of the people who reached down to lift me up today have not always been cared for by me in the same way.

This is what forgiveness feels like.

And then there's the woman I met on Friday. Becky is a mutual friend of the Poulter family, with whom I stayed over the weekend. I can't explain how this happens, but sometimes I meet people and within a few hours, we sync up. (It happens a lot in Charleston, to tell you the truth.) And that happened here. Which is a damn good thing, because I'm pretty sure she saved my sanity at least twice in the last 24 hours.

This is what being in the right place at the right time feels like.

I'm not sure whether it happened when I dialed up my photography professor at 11 p.m., or when I sat on the sofa feeling foolish and pathetic while the tears flowed, or when I lay snuggled in bed under an antique quilt listening to my stressed-out heartbeat in my ears, but eventually, I let myself accept that I was not in control. I could try to cling to some semblance of it, and wind up truly miserable. Or I could just let go. I realized I needed to at about 5 a.m.

I'm still clinging to some of the leftover bits. These things take time.

I have, however, finally come to the realization that this is not a tragedy. This is inconvenient. But it is also an opportunity to take a step back and appreciate that the love thing? Yeah; that's real. Friends new and old, and every member of my family, offered me love, comfort, support, cookies, rides, assistance and at least one pumpkin pie blizzard.

So I came home the long way. From my favorite house in Charleston, Northward we headed ... by way of a tow truck near a corn field, a mechanic's shop, a gas station in Dwight, the house I grew up in and, eventually ... blissfully ... to the little place I call home. It's quiet here, which is a bit disconcerting, but it offers a chance for me to shut off my busy brain and realize, for real and for true, that this day is what coming home really is all about.

Nostalgia

It's homecoming week at EIU, and for the first time in at least 10 years, I'm going. The last time I was in Charleston for Homecoming, I wasn't yet married, but Chris accompanied me. Things are different now. And yet, in so many ways, I am more like the person I was when I was a student.

How refreshing is it to realize that who we essentially are cannot be altered? It may go on hiatus for awhile, but we always return to our core values. The last five years have taught me that the things I value are friendship, health, knowledge and fun. Not so different from Maggie circa 1997 ... except maybe the health thing. Maggie back then went to class, studied hard, worked hard, played hard. She made memories so vivid, it seems like only yesterday we were crawling through a grate in the floor of the gym hallway, or driving home from the St. Louis arch in the wee hours of the morning.

Maggie today works hard, plays hard, and yes, she's still making memories. Sometimes, with the same people she made them with back in '97.

I will spend a good portion of this weekend with Patty and Brian Poulter, two of the greatest professors at EIU. I will see my ish-bro Chunk and his fiance Erin. I will eat chili with the Journalism department, I will watch the homecoming parade, and I will smile, laugh and remember. And make more memories while I'm at it.

10 on Tuesday

Haven't done one of these in awhile! Let's see if I still "got it" ...

1. I love live music. Lucky for me, this weekend brings not one, but two opportunities to enjoy some. On Friday night, my sister Jenn is taking me to see Mary Chapin Carpenter at the Paramount in Aurora. I love her music. (Mary’s, not Jenn’s, although she’s pretty talented, too.) Jenn and I have seen Mary before, and she’s awesome … but it’s been years, and we no longer have the matching cow vests to wear to the show. My friend Karen had an extra ticket to see Matt Nathanson at the Riv on Saturday, and she offered it to me. Hello? Yes please! I love him, and I’ve never seen him live. So we’re planning to spend the evening in the city, with dinner at a wine bar and dessert at a bakery and lots of time to visit. Yep. Perfect.


2. But what am I really looking forward to? Sunday. I have nothing on the schedule on Sunday. I will not schedule anything on Sunday. I will not even walk outside my apartment on Sunday, unless it’s to walk to the Dumpster to throw out garbage. Other than that, Sunday will be spent barefoot and curled up in my little home. I haven’t had a day like that in a really long time. Based on my psyche lately, I need it.


3. I ran six miles on Saturday. That’s my longest run to date. I ran it with my friend Di, in a Naperville forest preserve. It was perfectly lovely; I was a little blissed out, to tell you the truth – doing something I’ve never done before with a dear friend at my side? Yes, please. Working toward the 15K Hot Chocolate race on November 5. Nine miles? Yikes. I can to this. But I may limp afterward.


4. Speaking of, I am in desperate need of a massage … which means that, while I’m far too busy for my own good, I need to get up to Lake Geneva to see my friend Jeremiah, the massage therapist. We barter – he massages, I buy him breakfast. It’s a good trade, but I need to find the time.


5. Last Sunday I did something I haven’t done since about 1998 – sang with my family in church. It was meaningful for lots of reasons, not the least of which being that it has been such a long time since I shared in music with both Jesus and my family at the same time. My dad is still one of the greatest worship leaders ever; the man has the greatest soul, and it translates into meaningful worship for everyone, I think. What a great day.


6. I desperately need to clean my closets. I’m surprised I can actually pull together a matching outfit these days. I wish I were kidding.


7. There are lots of fun opportunities coming up. Like what, you ask? Well, next weekend I will be travelling to Charleston to visit my friends Patty and Brian, and go to my college homecoming. I haven’t been to homecoming in years, and let’s face it – I love and miss my college town. Very excited to get back there, see my friends, eat some strawberry bread and enjoy the atmosphere. And chili.


8. Tucson calls! It’s been too long since I’ve wedged my ass into an airplane seat and travelled to Tucson to see my Southwest peeps. I’m fortunate to have people in lots of places that I can visit. Tucson offers the perfect quick weekend, because Mike & Rae live right by the airport, so it’s an easy trip for just a few days. I will get my training runs in, relax, and eat delicious food. And probably stay up way too late talking, because that’s what we do.


9. Okay, so not only did I run six miles on Saturday, but I ran five last night. Five of the most difficult, horrific miles ever. On a god-forsaken dreadmill at the gym, prior to Salsa/Funk class (which left me really feeling like dancing. NOT.) I felt like I was clawing at each fraction of a mile, trying to get to five. At about 1.5, I moved treadmills. At 3.3, I had to poop. Seriously. But I did it; I made it to five miles. Begrudgingly. Painfully. I made it.


10. I deal with change pretty well. I do not deal well with it when tons of things change, all at the same time. Please take note, and knock that shit off.