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!