Who we choose to love (Updated)

This was one of those days to be remembered for a long time. A day filled with the combination of conversation and silence, tears and laughter, coming together and letting go.

Last Sunday, Patrick invited me over for "dinner," which really meant frozen pizza while I helped him unpack the truck he'd just brought back from California. Today, I repaid the favor, by inviting myself over for a "visit," during which I lounged on the sofa in between loads of laundry.

Landry is free at Patrick's. It's $2.50 a load here. Plus, at Patrick's, I have Patrick, Ed, and three dogs to be loved and entertained by. A pretty easy choice, from where I sit.

Patrick with Zoe. He loves her almost as much as he loves me.

There I was, newly single, with the one person in my life who has known me the longest. Well, apart from my biological family, anyway. Patrick is my best friend, my first love, the man who taught me how I deserve to be treated. Patrick is ... well, he's my Patrick. I got to spend the afternoon getting clean underwear, and cuddling on the sofa with one of the people who brings joy to the furthest corner of my heart.

We were curled up listening to CDs and napping on and off, surrounded by dogs and pillows and love, and I was having myself a good cry over the way I seem to be so good at choosing people, except when it comes to romance, when he breaks the silence and says "Do you know how to sew?" The man cracks me up. Yes, I know how to sew. Yes, I will teach you. Now shut up and let me cry.

Oz. He has a longer name, but I don't know how to say it. He's just Oz to me.

Daphne. She's completely bored by me.

Zoe, who thinks she's a lap dog.

Then, tonight, I had dinner with Cute Brian. Cute Brian and I met in college, and at the time I remember looking at him and thinking how much he looked like Patrick, and knowing at first sight we would be friends. He and I have a sordid and interesting past, and he is my closest friend ... geographically speaking. He's the one who drove me all over creation that day last summer when Christopher moved out. He turned a gut-wrenching day into a top-down Jeep adventure, letting me cry and assuring me it was all going to be okay, eventually. And he was right.

Cute Brian being - what else? Cute!

So tonight we made dinner at my place and ate out on the patio. Which is really hysterical, considering I don't have a patio. No, we took our burgers and potato salad and beer (God Bless the Spotted Cow, the official beer of Maggie's divorce) out to the side yard and sat in the grass and ate as if it were the most normal thing in the world. People walking by seemed to get a charge out of it. Especially the couple to whom I felt the need explain, so I said to them with mouth full of burger, "I don't have a patio!" The laughed. And I think they walked a little faster.

After dinner, we took our usual walk all over town. We usually just wander. Tonight we wandered into the ice cream shop. Yum! So then we had to walk it off. The entire time, we never ran out of stuff to talk about, even if it's just me saying in a loud voice, "Yeah, you'd better wanna see me naked!" just to see if I can embarrass him. FYI ... I can't.

And now, I'm home, thinking about today and how much it meant to me. I spent the day with two men who know me - really know me, the good, stuff and the bad. These guys know all my secrets, my flaws, my insecurities, and my not-so-charming quirks. And still, after all this time, they choose to love me.

I'm lucky. I have an abundance of love, spanning this entire country (and recently, I've gone global - thanks, James!) It's a good feeling, to know that people can love you, understand you and accept you as you are, forgive you for your mistakes, appreciate you when you get it right, comfort you when you need it and teach you how to throw a Frisbee so you stop hitting people in the nose.

Here's to more days like this, with those I choose to love.

PS: Brian says he loves me. He thinks I'm keeping it a secret. He's wrong.

The speed of light in Cook County, IL

I've been divorced for two days, and I didn't even know it.

It hasn't really sunk in yet. I can't explain why that is, honestly. I mean, come on ... it's been two and a half years coming. Why am I surprised? I guess I just didn't think the system would work quite so quickly ... and yet, there you have it.

I'm divorced.

I don't know whether to laugh, cry or throw up. So for the moment, I'm gonna crack open another beer, put my feet up and figure it out.

Moments

Life is a series of moments. Moments of realization, moments of complete joy, moments of pain so intense you're not sure you'll survive to feel anything else.

It's not like you remember everything about a fantastic vacation, a week on the beach with those you love. No, you take with you memories of moments strung together with a ribbon laughter and love.

It's not like one moment a marriage was thriving and the next it was over. No, there were moments along the way - moments of disappoint, hurt and anger on both sides, combined with moments of desparation, trying to patch things up and make it better and begging - yes, begging - him to love you again. It all led up to that one moment when the knife went in and stayed there.

And it's not like all of a sudden you no longer need your mother to answer all your questions. No, in time you learn some of the answers, and you realize you don't need the others, so in a moment of clarity you're finally ready to let it go.

And the moments just keep on coming.

This morning, I reached into my Huge Bag and dug all the way down to the bottom to locate my Perfect Lip Gloss. I came up with a tube of Vicious Trollop and sand under my fingernails, causing me to ponder so many moments that have come to define my life over the past few years.

• The moment on the beach a month ago, singing in perfect harmony ... and knowing that perfect harmony went a whole lot deeper than just the song.
• The moment I walked toward Christopher to finalize the paperwork and didn't feel the need to run into his arms.
• The moment I looked at my baby nieces and realized they were, indeed, my nieces, even though we share no blood relation.
• The moment my father asked if I needed money before I left on vacation and realized that, to him, I'm still a little girl.
• The moment I realized that when I need a hug, all I have to do is ask.
• The moment it sunk in that sometimes I haven't seen James for two years, and it's been okay ... but it sucks now because I know he's really far away.
• The moment "home" started being defined by the people, and not geography.
• The moment, just scant hours after meeting Clan Carlson, I knew they would be in my heart forever.
• The moment a friend insulted me and I realized our relationship was changed forever.
• The moment Cute Brian and I swayed to "Green & Dumb" with countless people we didn't know ... and all was right with the world.
• The moment I woke up in the middle of my bed for the first time in ten years.
• The moment Rae gave me "the look," and I understood exactly what it meant, and loved her for loving me enough to give it to me.
• The moment I joined the gym, and never looked back.

There are more, but if you're reading this, you probably know a bunch of 'em. We've probably shared plenty, and many more as time goes on. I just pray we're wise enough to know that the bad ones will fade, and to treasure the perfect ones while they're here.

Life's too short for anything else.

The stuff that spills out of my head

It's nice to finally open the windows and let the fresh air flow. Thank you sweet little baby Jesus for lowering the humidity and temperature. 80 feels cool today.

I have to be careful what music I listen to. I will know that my heart has finally healed (or at least scabbed over) when I can sing along to "Ghost" by the Indigo Girls without crying. Today on the way home, I was still unable to do so. Two steps forward, one step back.

Once upon a time, I worked a miracle at the office. Someone needed something created from nothing to brilliant in about an hour, and I did it. Although it's a Microsoft product, I have to admit that I am somewhat of a guru at PowerPoint. My design background and my innate understanding of the difference between Great and Subnasty presentations have earned me the title. However, I cannot be brilliant every time in an hour. So I suppose I should feel lucky I had an hour and a half today. I may never be able to convince The Powers That Be that, given a couple of days, I could knock their freakin' socks off. It sucks knowing that the work they think is Good Enough could be Awesome, given enough time. I guess it's the perfectionist Virgo in me.

I seriously miss my cleaning lady. I haven't had one since the Days of Happy Marriage when we lived in Naperville, but damn, I miss the luxury of that clean-house smell in exchange for a check. Not in the budget right now, but something to work toward.

The neighbors think I'm nuts because I dance with the vacuum. But I don't let it dip me.

Ten on Tuesday

1. Aging Divorcee Learns New Skills. I think I left my calendar/address book at the Lake House. I'm learning to cope without it. Maybe I didn't need to be quite so attached to it? Sure, I'm going to need some method for planning so I don't miss important things, but perhaps I don't need to be so dependent on a binder that I don't like to be away from it.
2. My Butt Bones Hurt. Last night was spinning class. I love it, and I'm getting used to it, but still, every Tuesday, it hurts to sit. I think perhaps this is telling me to get up and stretch more often.
3. It's a Wet Heat. The dog days of summer are upon us, and with them comes humidity. Not as bad as monsoon season in India (so far, James, there has been no mold on my hat) but bad enough that I don't think my skin will ever be un-sticky. And even the rain doesn't bring relief; we had serious storms last night (pretty yet treacherous to drive in) and it's still 86 degrees outside (but the heat index is 92; how ... tropical.)
4. My Father Amazes Me. He will turn 80 next year. He leaves for Disney World on Saturday, with my nephew and sister. He plans to ride the Rock-n-Roller Coaster at least six times. In a row. He is wise, kind and funny. Not a bad role model. Every time we talk on the phone (which is every couple of days, usually) he ends the call by saying "Gotta go; have to pack. You know I'm leaving for Disney World on Saturday, right?"
5. Being Stuck in a Storm Can Be Nice. Last night, when I was on my way up to Marge's to drop off The Divorce Papers, Patrick called. "Hurry up and get there, and just stay until I tell you it's okay to leave," he tells me. He was watching the stormline on the news, and he didn't want me to get stuck in anything nasty. So I sat and talked with Marge for a couple of hours, heard some stories that were new to me (after all this time, there are still some that I don't know!) and laughed so hard our sides hurt. Finally at 10, I was cleared for take-off. And I was sad to leave.
6. Leave an Open Door. The Best Band Ever, Roger Clyne & The Peacemakers, released this song on their "Americano" album. It caught my ear this morning, with its message of moving forward but leaving an open door behind you. "Sing about the dawn in the middle of the night, leave an open door behind you. Stumble through the dark so that we might see the light, leave an open door behind you." I hope I do that. I hope that as I progress through life, I haven't slammed doors (except for that one) or burned bridges behind me. I hope the people who love me can follow me through.
7. I Can Stab. This post on brother Mike's blog is sweeping my office. Whenever someone doesn't know how to do something, or something doesn't make sense, or there's too much silence, or someone needs to breathe, someone will say, "I can stab," or "I can burn." Or when someone a little bit not smart asks us how to pronounce something like the word "subtle," we tell them. And when they walk away, we say "I can talk." Maybe you have to be here, but in my world, it's funny as hell.
8. Mirror, Mirror on the Wall. When I was washing my hands in the loo earlier today, I surprised myself a little bit when I looked up and saw myself and my first thought wasn't "There's Maggie, the fat version." It was, "Wow, the hair turned out okay even with the humidity." Sure, part of it is the fact that I've taken off some of the weight. But part of it is because I am seeing myself differently these days. I'm not just seeing the flaws. I'm seeing the cool stuff, too. It's a nice change.
9. What Century is This? I need a Web cam. Yes, you heard me - I said need. I talked to Cindy and Ryan earlier this week on the computer, and I could see them, but they couldn't see me. Now, lots of times this is a good thing, since I'm on the computer usually post-gym, but still ... there are features of Web conferencing I can't enjoy without having a cam on my end. So I'm researching and deciding which one to get. I can learn!
10. I Feel Allright, Like the Morning I Am Golden. Hello Dave is playing Venetian Fest in Lake Geneva this year. I'm trying to talk Cute Brian into coming with me, because we've been talking about seeing them for three years! Hello Dave and the Refreshments (the earlier incarnation of Roger Clyne et al) were pretty much the soundtrack to EIU for Mike, Rae, Brian and our assortment of n'er-do-wells. I will see them at the Fest, even if I have to go alone!

Health and recovery

So tonight, before dropping off The Divorce Papers, I went to the gym. Because I like the gym ... and I really like what it's doing for this old body of mine.

Monday night is spinning class, taught by the inimitable Joe (who, incidentally, has the most beautiful arms.) Joe has a way of talking you through a class and making you work harder than you ever thought you could and enjoy every aching moment. Tonight, after class, as I was cleaning my bike (because I sweat like an athlete!) he came up to me and asked how I was enjoying spinning. I've only been coming for about 10 weeks now, so I'm still relatively "new."

I told him I really enjoyed it, that each week was a challenge, and that the calories burned are definitely a bonus. And then I told him that the most remarkable thing about challenging myself with the different cardio classes I'm taking is that the harder I work, the more time I spend just sorta burning below my anaerobic threshold, the quicker my heartrate returns to its resting state when I slow down. And he says to me ...

"It's amazing how quickly the heart can recover once its healthy."

Think about that for a second.

I started to tear up, standing there drenched in sweat and talking to someone I desperately wanted to see me not as a weak chick, but as an athlete. So I bit the inside of my cheek, thanked him for a great class, and hurried to the locker room.

My heart has recovered. My heart is healthy. My heart is strong.

Lub-dub.

How I spent my lunch hour

The front page of The Divorce Papers. Isn't it pretty?

This is my signature, notarized by my new best friend Filippo at my bank. But I can call him Fil.

Yes, it's true ... today I dealt with what will probably be the last errand of my marriage - I had my signature notarized on the Marital Settlement Agreement for Dissolution of Marriage. Settlement, my ass. It's just a document that says, yeah, we don't wanna be married any more. He took his crap (and a lot of really nice clothes and a bread machine and a car and an education) and I took my belongings (which, incidentally, are fewer than they were in the days B.C.) and we're done.

When it's actually final, I'll let you know. Although there is a distinct possibility you'll hear my shouts of elation wherever you are.

Even in India.

Unexpected joy

I started this weekend off on my pity pot.

Yes, that's right, I was having a "poor Maggie" moment that threatened to last all weekend long. This is the first weekend in a long time that didn't hold plans with people I love. This weekend stretched before me like a black hole of loneliness.

So I did what any red-blooded American spinstress would do: I cleaned my apartment and talked to the cats. Yeah, that got old. By Saturday morning, I was ready to break out. I hit the gym hard, with a full hour of Latin-inspired cardio, followed by a full hour of weightlifting (swear to God, I'm gonna get some muscle tone if it kills me. And it might!) followed by a session focused solely on my core - the abs, lower back, and booty.

Incidentally, have you noticed that my ass is where it belongs? I think I have been successful at defying gravity - yay, glutes!

Anyhoo, following the workout, I put on my bathing suit, grabbed my SPF 30 and my book, and found myself a recliner by the pool. I spent an hour or so there, thinking about how good I felt about myself after such a great workout. Then it was time to shower and hit the grocery store.

Stocked up on important stuff, like beer and Popsicles. And when I headed home, I checked my voicemail.

Two messages. Both from people I love. The weekend was not going to be lonely, after all.

I spent last evening with my friends Ken and Melissa. You remember Melis - she's the one who crashed the wedding? We love telling the story of how our friendship has lasted longer than the friendship with the girl who introduced us, or the wedding that brought us together in the first place. It was a great evening, hanging out at Ken's folks' place - cold beer, good friends, and cake. We were up until the wee hours, talking, catching up, laughing so hard it hurt.

And now, I'm on my way out the door to meet Sheila for coffee, because I love Sheila, and I love coffee. That should bump nicely into an evening of "dinner" with Patrick and Ed (which, roughly translated, means frozen pizza in the oven while I provide manual labor to unload the truck.)

So a weekend that started out as me, alone, ended up being me and an abundance of love. Who knew?

Haiku for a Saturday

My pity party
Is canceled for this weekend
Spontaneous fun!

Stuck

It's stuck in my head. I'm sharing the wealth.

Gonna find my baby, gonna hold her tight
gonna grab some Afternoon Delight
My motto's always been, when it's right, it's right
why wait until the middle of a cold dark night?

When everything's a little clearer in the light of day
And you know the night is always gonna be there anyway

Skyrockets in flight ... Afternoon Delight!

Ah, the Starland Vocal Band. Can you believe they beat Elvis Costello for the Best New Act Grammy in the mid-70s?

Am I missing something?

Why is it that when well-meaning people learn that the divorce is bumping along (and for those of you playing the at-home version of our game, yes, the divorce is, indeed, bumping along) they assume the very next thing you want to do is

Date. Everyone. Available.

Now, don't get me wrong ... I have nothing against dating. But sheesh ... I only just got used to the fact that I'm going to be single again. Why the hell would I want to muddy the works with Some Guy?

So before you ask, no, I am not on match.com. I will not be joining eHarmony, or any of the many other coupling/networking sites available out there. Nothing wrong with 'em, they are just not my style. I am not gong to size up everyone at the gym and formulate a list of men in whom I am interested. Thank you, no, my reason for being at the gym is to be fit and healthy, nothing more, nothing less. When I talk to the hunky guy at work, I am not flirting, I am really just talking. And dammit, just because a guy in a bar says I have a nice nose (ain't that the best pickup line you've heard?) it does not mean that I have to swoon and follow him home.

No, folks, I have nothing against men. I love men. Some of my favorite people are men. Many of them read this blog! I guess I just look at it this way: If I should choose to one day re-enter the dating pool, it will be on my terms. It will be because I met someone who fits into my life, not because I went looking for him, but because our lives intersected and we liked it that way.

Because being Just Maggie again is good. It's been a long time, and I'm enjoying the whole process of figuring out who I am, and what I want, for me. From my perspective, Just Maggie is just fine.

Fun Stuff

Today I have had the best day at work ever. We had our Summer Celebration for work. They do this twice a year, once after the holidays (a fancy dinner with linens and silver) and once in the summer (a fun one with frivolity - last year we went to Dave & Buster's and I kicked my colleague's hiney in SkeeBall.)

Yeah, well, today I spent four hours at Medieval Times. Seriously. I kept sitting there thinking, "This is work. I am getting paid for this." The horsies were magnificent. The food was delish. The knights? Handsome and daring as ever. One bestowed upon me a flower, in acknowledgement of my beauty and grace. (Or more likely in acknowledgment of the fact that I can holler "huzzah!" louder than just about anyone in the castle.)

Anyhoo, with my crappy camera phone, I snapped a few photos before I got the message that the memory was full and I'd need to delete. So here you'll get the two from our outing, and a few others that I'd completely forgotten. Enjoy!

This is me and Juliette, a girl I work with. We are using the buddy system; everyone must hold hands.

This is me and Natasha on the bus. She is also a girl I work with. Please note: I do not make friends at work.

This is Mike at White Castle on the last full day of our vacation. I miss him. He misses sliders.

This is the unbridled joy brought on by steamed patties of "meat."

Mmm ... thirst-quenching goodness.

I try to tell Rae to stop calling the burger "My Precious."

Rae was threatening to whack me with a fry. Yeah, she scares me.

One last one, and yes, I know this makes me look like a pathetic divorcee, but seriously ... what I really want you to notice is the floors. I have been keeping them really clean lately, and it's not easy. But aren't they pretty?

Ten on Tuesday

We now bring you to our regular feature, Ten on Tuesday, which appeared on this blog for the first time last Thursday.

Yeah, bite me. I know what day it is.

Anyhoo, it's a little project we have going - my brother's brother, my brother's sister and I. (Wanna read theirs? Linketh on the right.)

So without further ado, I give you ... my Ten on Tuesday:

1. Most of the people I work with are really cool, but there is one person who just makes me want to eat my own hand rather than talk to her. You could go on a three-day bender or talk to her; you'll lose the same amount of brain cells either way, and the bender is a helluva lot more fun.
2. My pants don't fit. I bagged up two trash bags of clothing that doesn't fit anymore. Some heavy chick is gonna get a great wardrobe from Goodwill. Today I wore a pair of pants that used to make me feel like Kathryn Hepburn - full leg, cuffed, camel in color. They fit ... 40 pounds ago; now they're in the bags for donation. But hell, at least my workout clothes fit. Which brings me to ...
3. The mirror and I are getting along. There are mirrors everywhere in the gym, so we can keep an eye on our form. I used to shy away from them, but yesterday I started to look. And ya know what? In general, I have pretty solid form. On the bike during spinning yesterday, I looked like an athlete, strong and in control. Boxing drills? I look like I could kick someone's ass. And keeping an eye on the mirror reminds me to suck in the tummy.
4. Abs. I has them. They're not pretty yet, but they're there. And there is nothing like the vision of near-perfect abs to make me work mine harder than ever. Seriously, there is nothing like a man with beautiful abs. It gives me hope that I might sometime find my own. But for the moment, I am more than content to look.
   
5. I'm not perfect. I am not a perfect friend, a perfect sister, a perfect aunt, perfect daughter, perfect writer ... perfect anything. But I do the best I can, from where I am, all the time.
6. Laying in the sun is a great way to spend a Saturday. Sure, I used SPF 30 so I barely got any tan, but that's not what it was about. It was about letting the sun warm my skin, falling asleep beside a good friend, and smelling Coppertone on my shoes later that same day.
7. Divorce is sad, even when you're ready for it. But support can come from the most unlikely of places, like Vita at the gym, or Sharon in e-mail, or even myself, when i think I'm completely tapped out.
8. I've said it before, but I'm putting it in writing here for the world to see: Love is like a rubber band. The further away life takes you, the stronger you feel its pull. I know Chris, Janie and Liam feel it in Oregon; Chermaine in Texas; Mike, Rae and Kaylee in Tucson; Clan Rice Carlson scattered across Illinois; Matt, Becky and Alice just a wee hour away, and Patrick and Ed an hour in the opposite direction; my Wisconsin family in (wait for it ...) Wisconsin; and yes, my brother James in India. Can you feel it?
   
9. There are storms rolling in. I used to love watching them with Christopher. I know enjoy them differently, but I still enjoy them. Would I love someone to share them with? Of course. But that's why I called Patrick. We can share, even if it's just over the phone.
10. It's almost August. I can hardly believe summer is slipping away. So I'm grasping onto a little denial and I'm just gonna embrace the calendar. It's summer until September 21, people. That's a little fact you just can't ignore.

There you have it - my 10 facts, thoughts, snippets of "wisdom" for the week. Until next Tuesday, remember this: I love you ten times more than you thought I did.

Smooching my hind quarter

The other day, a "friend" of mine made a comment that hurt my feelings. Everyone knows that I can be a little sensitive, especially when it comes to my looks. I'm fragile there. I still feel a pang when I think of my sister telling me, at about age 17, that I was the best accessory she could take with her anywhere, because I was so ugly I made her look really pretty.

Stuff like that plays over and over in my mind. So imagine hearing a similar comment from someone who is supposed to love me ... yeah, ouch.

But here's the reality, that hit me tonight mid-workout:

I may never be the prettiest girl in the room. I may never be one of the to 20 prettiest girls in the room. But put me next to the guy who insulted me, and I bet I can outrun the SOB. Bet I can kick his ass. Bet my body, as out of shape it is at the moment, is still in better shape than his.

So there, butt munch. Here is my ass. The smaller version. Getting smaller every day.

Kiss it.

Quick thought for a Monday

Every time I talk with this woman I work with, I walk away from the conversation a little stupider than I was when it began.

I would eat my hand to avoid her, and yet I seem unable to do so.

I would rather go canoeing with Kelly than talk to this woman.

Seriously ... it's that bad.

What if the world were a little more perfect?

It was years ago - December of the year 2000, to be exact. I was boarding a plane to Singapore, quite literally halfway around the world, and leaving my love back in Chicago while I was on assignment in a tropical paradise. Don't mention that there was already several inches of snow on the ground and I was going to a spot just a few degrees above the equator - a tropical haven, to be sure. Let's not even talk about the fact that I was being treated like royalty - amazing accommodations, first-class every leg of the journey, my every need met for the entire time I was there.

And yet, I didn't want to go. Leaving Christopher behind for the duration of the trip was more than I thought I could handle.

How wrong was I?

My adventure in Singapore was so incredibly worth it. I have pictures of myself ankle-deep in the South China Sea, taken on the same day Chicago got hit with 14 inches of snow. Hell yes, it was worth it. Did I miss Christopher? Of course. But did I get over it?

You betcha.

It's the same with life these days. I never thought I'd adjust to a whole life without him, and yet here I am. Everyone falls. Not everyone rises. Or at least that's what Maren Ord says in her song, "Perfect." She asks, "What if the world were a little more perfect? Just stop crying - would you take the leap?"

And ya know what? Once I stopped crying, the leap was easy. Leap, hell. Sometimes I feel like I am hurtling headlong into an uncertain future, not unlike leaving my life in the hands of some unknown pilot, taking me halfway around the world.

There are moments, like this afternoon, when I wanted to go to a movie and felt a little down because I have no companion to join me for cinematic enjoyment. And then I got over myself. After all, these days, I have no one to consult regarding what movie I'd like to see. I can see whatever I want, as many times as I want, and not worry even the tiniest bit about someone else's good time.

It's funny, because one of the biggest reasons he gave for why he left was because it was always all about me. (Because, let's face it, I'm incurably selfish, aren't I?) And now? It is all about me. And I like it this way just fine.

Ten on Thursday

This idea is stolen, fair and square, from my friend John's far too beautiful sister's blog and then shared with my sister Bex and brother James. It's a good idea, so I'm running with it ... although it may not always appear on Thursdays.

I give you ... my ten for today:

1. Sometimes, a signature holds more value than anything you own. For example, when you're signing your divorce papers.
2. Hindsight really is 20/20. Cliches are cliches for a reason, and the reason behind this one is ... IT'S TRUE! It was nice to look across the table at my ex and think to myself, "what did I ever see in him?" It was even nicer to walk home and realize that even though there were only two fat cats in my apartment, I was not alone.
3. Alone is as much a state of mind as it is a state of being. For a long time, I lived in fear of being alone. And then I realized that I can be by myself when I choose to be, but I am never alone.
4. It is very revealing that, even when I was "happily" married, when I referred to the happiest time of my life, I recalled college ... the time I spent truly coming into my own. I never thought of my time with Christopher, as amazing as some of those times were, as my best or happiest.
   
5. The people who don't make a commitment to you but live committed to you are the ones who matter. My People - and you know who you are - have no need to promise they'll be with me for the long haul. Promises don't matter; how you live does.
6. How you deal with anything is how you deal with everything. I picked this tidbit up from Rae on vacation. It's someone's signature line, I think she said. Those are words to live by. I kept thinking of that during dinner. I think I dealt with it pretty well.
7. Pride, patience, perseverance. That was Ryan's advice approaching this evening. Keep those in mind, he told me, and I will make it through unscathed. He was right.
8. A friend can hold your hand from hundreds of miles away. "Pretend I'm sitting next to you tonight," Rae told me "holding your hand, and reminding you that you're fantastic just as you are." She was right, too. And it gave me intense comfort to soak up that love, all the way from Tucson.
9. I know how to walk. We met tonight at a restaurant here in Arlington Heights. I walked from my apartment - it's only a few blocks. As I turned the corner toward the restaurant, I saw my ex sitting on a bench outside. I felt my back straighten, felt my steps become very deliberate, and felt how my ass shakes less now than it did a few months ago. I had two blocks before I reached him, and I worked the walk the entire way. See this? See what I'm creating underneath the layers of ice and stone you helped me build up over our ten years together? See who I'm becoming? With apologies to Eddie Vedder, "This is not for you."
10. Love lives. I see evidence all around me - in a new marriage between one of my adoptive dads and his amazing Amazon temptress; on the face of a girl at work (I cannot call her my friend, for I do not make friends at work) when she talks about the new man in her life; in the voice of a dear friend from out of town when he describes a woman "far more beautiful than anyone I have ever dated." Love is out there. And if it doesn't find me, I will remain content to rock my own damn world. Because, seriously ... have you seen me walk?
    

Metaphorically speaking

My life of late has been filled with metaphors, which I suppose is fitting, since I play at being a writer when I'm not writing for a living. I play with my words like some people play with puppies - giggles and guffaws included.

So here is big one that has come into focus over the last few weeks, since I've returned from that bit of paradise I like to call South Haven. I give you, today's glimpse into the Mind of the Maggie:

The Willow and the Dead Oak
I believe we are called to be flexible, to bend with the breezes and bow to the freight trains. Flexibility is the very nature of strength. It allows us to be who we are, to live authentically while at peace with those around us. To be flexible, like a willow, is to curve and bend around that which doesn't perfectly mirror us.

So why, then, would one - oh, let's say, me, for example - choose the opposite? Why would I willingly live in a brittle, unmoving world, where that which challenges me snaps me in half rather than moving me in a gentle dance? I did not bend; I broke. I spent ten years broken, trying desperately to pick up the pieces and urge them back together into something resembling Maggie. But that can't work until major changes are made.

The best news is, a Dead Oak can transform once again into a Willow. She can regain her strength. She can challenge herself, she can be challenged, and she can challenge others. The transformation is difficult, but ultimately worth it, and if we're truly dedicated to it, it's never really done. We just keep bending, keep stretching, keep flowing toward something greater than ourselves.

Sure as hell beats the alternative, don't you think?

Knot! (UPDATED)*

It's weird, the way we change. When we're not even looking, we start becoming who we are, and one day we compare ourselves to who we used to be, and we're unrecognizable.

This can be a good thing, but it can also be a very, very bad thing.

Who I am today is hardly the woman I was two and a half years ago. And who I was two and a half years ago doesn't compare to the Maggie of the late 90s.

How do I know this? Well, the people who love me best tell me it's true. And, sometimes, if we're lucky, someone holds up a mirror for us to see it for ourselves.

I share all this as the long way of explaining that on Thursday, I'll be meeting up with Christopher to take care of the final bits of paperwork to bring an end to our wedded "bliss." As I sit at work today, I'm remembering the sad, scared girl of early 2006, who had just learned her marriage was ending and didn't think she could go on. Every night, I cried myself to sleep. Every day, I tried to figure out how to heal our marriage. Every moment, I prayed the pain would end. I wanted to die, because I could not stand another moment of agony. Anything was better than the life I was "living."

I don't recognize that girl any more. She is gone, lost in the same heap of rubble that was our marriage. So I thought to myself, what would happen if one day he came back and wanted to try again?

I laughed out loud at the very thought. It's funny to think about being in a relationship with anyone; it's completely ludicrous to think about selling myself short ever again.

I tied the knot once. And if I'm honest, I'll admit that I'm a little bit tied up in knots over the idea of ending it. But just a little bit. Because Maggie Now is so much stronger than Maggie Then. And Maggie Now deserves so much more than what she settled for in the past.

While I was on vacation, many conversations were had, much wisdom shared ... I came away stronger and more knowledgeable. Here's a sample of what I was told:

From Bex: "When you were with Christopher, you weren't the same Maggie. It's good to have you back."

From Ryan: "I never met him. I don't have to meet him. He's a moron."

From Racheal: "Next time, we'll pick for you. We won't let you down."

And from Mike: "Eh, fuck him."

Would I have done anything differently if I'd known (or acknowledged) any of that ahead of time? I don't know. But what I know for sure is, if I ever surprise myself and decide to travel down the relationship road again, I will acknowledge and accept the opinions of those who know me best. Because they are the ones who pick up the pieces when the chips are down. They are the ones who provide me with a soft place to fall. They are the ones who truly understand commitment.

I take thee, my friends, to be my wonderfully wacky companions, as long as we all shall live.

*Because I foolishly left off the most important quote.

Photo-palooza

Well, it's done.

Are you tired of hearing me wax philosophical over my week at the beach? Now you can at least see it for yourself.

The online album can be found if you click here. You may love it. You may think I'm crazy. But at least you'll get the picture.

Enjoy. Heaven knows I did.

In the movie of your life ...

... who plays you?

That's one of my favorite party questions. It makes people think, and it's fun to see how people see themselves, who they think can capture their essence.

And then you have a week that feels like it was pulled straight out of a great film. Let's call it "Our Lake House." As the "film" unfolds, you realize that the only person who can play you is you. The characters can only be played by themselves ... and what characters they are!

Just look at that picture. Can you not feel the connection? The love? The laughter? There isn't an actor alive who could have carried it off. This was taken during one of our nights on the beach, where we (and by "we" I mean the boys) built a fire and roasted marshmallows and ate s'mores with a side of sand.

This is us. This is family. This is who we are. And yes, this is who I am.

In the movie of my life, I play me. You play you. It's a hit, I tell ya. Five stars from this critic.

What I miss about the Lake House

I'm still working on the album, but I can't stop thinking, can't stop missing the unconditional love of family. Here are just a few of the things I can't stop missing:

• Bare feet
• Sand everywhere
• Pie
  
• Baby hugs
• Really good food
• Laughing so hard it hurt
• Unending availability of hugs
• Pie
  
• People to talk to whenever you had something to say
• The stairs
• Waking up and sharing coffee
• People who "get" me
• Bubbles
• The sound of the waves
• Pie
• Late-night conversations
• Lightening bugs
• Good beer, and friends to enjoy it with
• My family
• Rainier cherries
• Pie
  

I have long believed that, when I spend time with my "real" family, the Bieritz family, it helps me to understand where I come from. But it is beginning to dawn on me that spending the past week or so with the Rice Carlson Bathje Bieritz family has helped me figure out where I am going. It certainly helped me learn what I am missing, where I am succeeding, and what I still want in my life.

And yes, one of those things is pie.

Homesick for vacation

I'm back. Don't look for too much bloggy goodness over the next few days, however. I'm working on my album from the trip, and I promise to link to it from here as soon as it's done.

Suffice to say that as good as it is to be home, it is not without melancholy that I return to my "real" life. I am grateful for having spent the last seven sunsets with the people who, now that they are going their separate ways to return to their own "real" lives, leave a hole where they filled up my heart for the last week.

Here's to the many sunsets we will share as life unfolds.

Awesome

The rumors are true. Awesome is in town.

It's funny how when you need something, sometimes it just shows up.

Today is July 4. Exactly ten years ago today, I met the man who eventually became my husband. The 4th is one of those holidays that I celebrate with a little trepidation each year, because I never know when the melancholy is gonna hit me.

So this year, imagine my elation when Tucson Mike, Rae and Kaylee scheduled their vacation so they were arriving in Chicago on July 3. This year, there would be no sadness. There would just be fun, laughter and love.

HA, said the Universe, I'll show you.

And on July 3, divorce papers showed up in my e-mail. I have to sign, and he is picking them up on Monday on his way to file. Yes, it's true - one day short of the ten-year anniversary of meeting him, he sends the papers. Once I got over the shock, it hit me: for the next ten days, I don't have to be alone. If I'm sad, I won't have to be sad alone. And I have a sneaking suspicion that being with Clan Rice for a week and a half, I will have a tough time remembering what the devil I'm supposed to be sad about, anyway.

So I guess there are some "thank-yous" in order. To the friends on IM yesterday when the e-mail came through and I fell apart a little bit, thank you for telling me I was gonna be okay. To those who have been by my side - both emotionally and physically - since the early days of the end of my marriage, thanks for never letting me feel alone. To my family, however it's defined, thank you for just being there with me through thick and thin. And to Clan Rice ... thank you for being here when I didn't even know I needed you to be here.

It's true. Awesome is in town. Hot damn.

The Bill of My Rights

I, the Maggie, in order to form a more perfect life, establish bylaws and expectations to ensure my peace and tranquility.

Okay, so I know that's a broad re-interpretation of the Preamble to the Constitution, but I had to start somewhere. As we approach Independence Day, it's got me thinking about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, and if we're going to do that, shouldn't we have some sort of guidelines for ourselves?

Good, I thought you'd agree. So without further ado, I give you ...

Maggie's Bill of Rights
I have the right to fashion. Whether from Goodwill or some chichi boutique, I can dress fabulously. And don't even get me started on the accessories! I certainly have the right to great jewelry, the occasional shoe splurge, and a handbag that makes me weep.

I have the right to music. Life has a soundtrack. I have a themesong. I march to the beat of several different drummers, depending on my mood. Music is my birthright.

I have the right to a clean and comfortable home. Which means I have the responsibility to clean it. Or pay someone else to do it. But my surroundings should be serene and beautiful.

I have the right to great friends. Screw the very idea of having a bunch of n'er-do-wells in my life; it is my right to have a small but mighty group of friends with whom to share my heart, as they share theirs with me. It is my right to collect a precious few who will tell me I look fat in that, share my need for chocolate and plot world domination.

I have the right to drink red wine with fish. Or white wine with steak. Or whatever the hell strikes my fancy. They are my tastebuds, dammit, and I will treat them however I wish.

I have the right to date. It's been a few years, and I keep thinking to myself "you can't date, you're still married." Even when I asked a guy out (he said yes, but we just never connected) I had that weird feeling that somehow I was doing something WRONG because technically, I am still married. It's time to get over the bullcrap; the high road does not mean that I must deny myself the pleasure of male company.

I have the right to enjoy life. Every part of it - my job, my workouts, my social life, my friends and family ... and at the best of times, it all overlaps. Care to come along and hang with my friends at the gym?

I have the right to vacation. Whether it's Disney World, Vegas, camping or hanging out at home pretending to be at a spa, I get to take them. I also have the right to send postcards, or just decide not to, so don't get your hopes up.

I have the right to good beer. Do not come near me with Budweiser, unless we're pre-boiling brats.

I have the right to establish more rights. 'nuf said.

Optimistic reflections on a weekend

I love when stuff just turns out the way it's supposed to be.

Like when Amber's in Illinois for the weekend and in need of the perfect dress to wear to a wedding, and we find it. And I mean perfect. The girl is a knockout in her ugly robe. In this dress, hell, I practically threw her down on the floor of the dressing room. She is gorgeous in this dress.

Or when I go to visit my dad and not only mooch an afternoon of the washer and dryer, but also get pork chops on the grill.

Dad just got back from Hawaii, and he brought back each of us girls a pair of pearl earrings. Each of us have a different color - Jenn's are blue, signifying strength; Pat's are Golden, signifying loyalty; and mine? Mine are black, chosen for me because they signify adventure. Our sister Kathie chose them for us, and all this time I thought the last thing she wanted to accept in me was that spirit of adventure.

Turns out, she's okay with it. And so is Dad. As he put it, "They didn't have a pearl color that stood for 'wild-hearted free spirit,' so I thought that was the next best thing.

And then tonight I walked in the door, and The Boys were waiting expectantly, ready to shower me with kitty love and kisses. Life is good. Unless you're in Iowa.

The magic of a summer night

Tonight on my way home from the gym (at 8:45, because I understand the beauty of kicking my own ass) I was overcome by the simple beauty of the night. As I drove, the fireflies flickered. Couples walked hand in hand along the sidewalks of the neighborhoods on my way home. The line outside the Dairy Queen stretched beyond the parking lot. Golfers were perfecting their swing at the driving range. And me? Well, I drove with the windows down, listening to some great tunes.

It's simple, but it's perfect. Summer nights are magic.

In less than two weeks, some of my people will gather together to spend a week's worth of summer nights together. I'll get to catch fireflies with two precious one-year-old girls, and listen to their giggles and read them stories. There will be long conversations on the back porch, long walks along the beach (during which Mike has assured me he will NOT hold my hand), meals prepared with love, and peach custard pie. (Secretly, I'm hoping we'll also get a killer thunderstorm, but I might be in the minority in hoping for that.)

I'm so ready.

Six more get-ups!

Weekend at the Lake House

I truly needed to get my hair done. And do laundry. And eat one of Louie's mushroom cheeseburgers. And kidnap Kelly. So it was off to Lake Geneva for the weekend.

Picked up Kel on the way to karaoke on Friday. We danced and sang the night away, in celebration of Tim's birthday. He's funny when he's had a few too many. Wisconsin boy becomes Brooklyn tough guy in less than 15 seconds.

It was a beautiful night, so when we weren't singing, we sat out on the patio, offering ourselves up as a buffet to the mosquitoes. Flesh-eating bastards. But we made the best of it, and had a great time. Post-karaoke, I took Kelly with me back to Amber's, where we slept the sleep of angels. I didn't want to cuddle her, but she made me. She's so demanding.

Saturday was my appointment with Lea, so she could turn my tired hair into something resembling a good hair day. Mission accomplished. Then it was back to Amber's to do laundry and lay by the pool. The hungover birthday boy joined me poolside, and I have to tell you, it's most delightful to have someone to call Pablo and demand margaritas. It didn't work, mind you, but it was fun just to say it!

That night, I stayed in and went to sleep early. Girl needs her beauty sleep, you know! More laundry, mushroom burger, and more pool time.

Yes, I wore sunscreen.

This time, the Pell Lake Rathundes came along for chlorine-spiked fun, and eventually Amber came home and joined us, too. By the time Kelly arrived for her much-needed relaxation, the clouds were rolling in and it was time to head indoors. But what fun we had, snacking on everything edible in Amber's kitchen, playing games and just being family.

I was tired when I finally arrived home, but happy, too. It's always refreshing to surround yourself with love and sunshine for a couple of days.

It only hurts when I move

I'm willing to admit that, perhaps, I've bitten off more than I can chew this week.

There was spinning on Monday. Then kickboxing and strength training on Tuesday. Hip-hop on Wednesday. Salsa on Thursday. And my knees are really pissed at me right now.

Maybe I need to work out a schedule that doesn't include four days in a row of sweat- and soreness-inducing, calorie-burning workouts.

Or maybe the old body will eventually get used to it.

At any rate, tonight someone I've never talked to before came up to me and told me I dance really well. I almost cried! She's this tiny woman with a beautiful accent who dances like she owns the joint, and she thinks I can dance! Every dance tonight was my happy one.

Everything was perfect and happy until John decided it was time to edit my wardrobe. Okay, so the t-shirt I was wearing is threadbare and holey. It's old, white, cotton ... it's kind of a security blanket. "It does nothing for you," he said, delivering fashion advice in a way only a gay man can. (Honestly, I think if he didn't say stuff like that to me, he'd have to turn in his membership card.) But too bad, John - I love my tired old shirt, and I don't care how much you sweat on it, I'm gonna wear it until it disintegrates in the wash!

Anyhoo, tonight's schedule is going to include a loooooong, hhhhhot bath. I deserve a happy soak. And maybe even a glass of wine.

Yeah, that sounds just about perfect.

Sitting hurts

Tonight, I took my very first ever spinning class. Good friends, good music, teacher with beautiful arms ... okay, I'll bike my ass off for a hour.

What they forgot to tell me was that 15 minutes into the workout, my butt bones were going to hurt. 30 minutes into the workout I was going to want to kill people. 45 minutes into the workout I was going to want to kill myself. And 60 minutes after the workout - when we were done and stretching - I was going to feel so blissfully in charge of my body, I could do anything.

It's a great addition to my workout routine, really good for the legs (which really do have muscle in 'em, it's just buried beneath the "other stuff,") and honestly a blast. One more thing I was holding off trying until I became thin.

Gentle reader, don't wait for some future time to do the stuff you really want to do. Why wait when now works just as well? Life is too short to put off the good times for when you think you finally deserve it.

You deserve it now.

Tony who?

I can't begin to describe the feeling of watching a friend, someone who honed his early theater chops with me, perform on the Tony Awards.

This is the second time I've seen Victor Hawks perform as part of a nominated ensemble, and once again I have this crazy combination of goosebumps, tears, and uncontrollable giddyness. Congratulations, Vic. You make me proud.

Happy Blogversary!

One year ago today, Maggie's World found a home here at blogspot.com

It's been quite a year, one of growth and adventure, peppered with occasional bad judgment and pancakes.

Makes me wonder what the next year will bring me. I'm hoping that on June 15, 2009, I look back and see progress. Or at least good times, with good friends, and more smiles than tears.

A toast to the coming year!

Best monologue from the best movie, ever

I belong to the Church of Baseball. I was baptized at the feet of my mother, with whom I watched countless games on television, and a number of them at Wrigley Field. Walking in to Wrigley truly feels like walking in to church ... there's something that speaks to my soul. I can't explain it, but James Earl Jones can. His line, from my favorite movie, Field of Dreams:

People will come Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom. They'll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. ... And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come Ray. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh, people will come Ray. People will most definitely come.

A woman of ever-changing maintenance needs

Harry Burns: There are two kinds of women: high maintenance and low maintenance.
Sally Albright: Which one am I?
Harry Burns: You're the worst kind. You're high maintenance but you think you're low maintenance.

The scene is a classic, from a movie that's a classic. But I find myself in the unfortunate position of disagreeing with Harry, because I don't think I fall into either category. I am a blissful combination plate.

Like this morning, in a fit of total spontaneity, I went to the gym and then went home to cook breakfast for a hot guy. (Yes, it was Brian. We spooned in the kitchen; true story.) A super-quick shower was all that was required to make me Saturday-cute. It's a low-maintenance kinda day. Rolling with the punches, not needing much, just content to lay on a blanket in the park and enjoy the blue sky, coffee, and the company of a good friend (who also just happens to have killer arms.)

But sometimes ... sometimes, I can be that needy girl who just can't pull herself together without a little help from her friends. And, thankfully, they come through. Not always instantly - after all, I have to acknowledge that it really isn't all about me - but eventually, they come through. And sometimes I'm that girl who takes two hours to get ready. Sometimes I like to look like an actual girl, and that can take a bit of effort.

Hopefully, the people who matter (and if you're reading this, you're one of them!) think it's a worthwhile endeavor to figure out which Maggie they're getting on any given day. So far, you've never let me down.

Edited to say: No, Brian did not wake up there. And the spoons were standing. Sheesh, why must everything be kinky with you?

Truth and stuff

It's no secret that sometimes the loss of my marriage still haunts me. This is one of those times.

And yet, in truth, I'm not sure what it is that troubles me. Is it the fact that my husband wasn't who I thought he was, or was it me? Was I simply not who I thought I was, or not who he thought I was, or not who I needed to be?

In all likelihood, it's probably a combination of all those things, and more. But the last couple of years have really drawn into sharp focus a few things that I know for sure. Such as:

This is me. Take me or leave me, I'm not going to change who that is for anyone. I have eclectic musical tastes, I hog the covers, I sing in the shower, I like to watch television, I am a perfectionist, I do not like a messy house.

I have expectations, and while they are not extraordinarily high, they are not to be trifled with. Should I ever find myself sharing living quarters with a loved one again, I expect that when I walk in the door, he will stop what he's doing (unless it's something biological, or a miracle has occurred and a man has learned to run a vacuum,) stand up, hug me and say hello. (The occasional sweep-me-off-my-feet kiss would be nice, too.) I can't tell you how many times I came home to find my ex glued to the computer screen. In the later days of our marriage, he was likely corresponding with his paramour, but I sincerely hope that early on I was a little more important than whatever computer game he was playing. Just hug me, then get back to it. But give me a few minutes to feel special. Like maybe, just maybe, you missed me.

I like dairy. The lactose intolerant portion of the population can just stay the hell out of my fridge.

I camp. In a tent. You don't have to like it. You don't even have to go. You just have to encourage me to do it without you. Sissy.

I do not like to be pawed in the grocery store. I think he thought I was a cold, anti-affectionate ice cube, when in fact I simply didn't like him touching my lady parts in the cereal aisle. Some things should be private, dammit, and that's one of 'em.

I need to have activities that are all my own. I willingly gave up so much of this during my time with Christopher, and it took me so long to re-discover the fact that I like karaoke, I love to dance, writing is a true passion, knitting relaxes me in a way little else can, and sometimes I need time alone with my friends.

Finally, I require that teeth be brushed at least twice a day, showers be taken daily unless we're camping, and clothing be ironed. Not by me.

It's not a lot, really. I'm not saying "hey, gimme a kidney" here. And I'm sure there's more; these are just the examples of things that immediately spring to mind when I think about how I settled, and how much more I deserve.

Panini

My sister Jenn gave me a panini grill.

Ergo, anything that can be stuffed between two slices of bread and grilled to perfection has been.

Egg bread, cheese, turkey, artichoke hearts and fire-roasted peppers.

Wheat tortilla and cheese. (It was midnight. I was hungry.)

Seven-grain bread, Muenster cheese, avocado, tomato (the non-salmonella kind) and mushroom.

White bread and leftover sloppy Joe meat.

Every experiment so far has turned into a culinary delight. My tastebuds are so damn happy.

My ass, on the other hand, hurts. Kickboxing is good for the soul, and good for the ass, but hurts a little while in the aftermath.

How do you like me now?

Damn that Toby Keith.

Much as I hate to admit it, I love country music. I stayed away from it for a long time, cringing with every strum of the steel guitar, every twangy phrase.

And then, it started making sense to me, describing how I was feeling. Faith Hill's "Cry" spoke exactly of my emotion when Christopher moved out. Carrie Underwood's "Before He Cheats" made me feel better about my deep desire to commit a crime against his car. But probably more than anything, the song that became my theme is Toby Keith's "How Do You Like Me Now?"

At first, I didn't know who sang the song. It was Nemo's song, karaoke'd by my favorite bartender. As far as I was concerned, Nemo was the only artist who sang it, and it was written just for me. And over the last couple of years, it has stuck with me.

Lately, I've been hearing it a lot on the radio. Maybe that's because I find myself tuning in to the country station more these days, or maybe it's just the universe's way of reminding me that I am becoming someone worth liking.

And yes, sometimes I do wonder ...

How do you like me now,
now that I'm on my way?

Noche con Sabor a Oaxaca

A night of Oaxacan flavor ... no kidding!

Last night, I took Cute Birthday Brian to Fuego, my favorite restaurant, for the monthly pairing dinner. This month, it featured Del Maguey Single Village Mezcal, which is a nice way to say "you will be very full, and very drunk, at the end of the night."

The first course: Tamales de Pato. Duck carnitas tamales. So incredibly good. Served with the Del Maguey Margarita, fresh, delish and authencally simple.

Second course: Enchiladas de Pollo en Coloradito. Chicken enchiladas in one of their many moles, with roasted plantain. Plus, Margarita de Pepino, made with cucumber-infused mezcal and garnished with salt and chile powder. A savory margarita that made my senses tingle.

Entree: Medallones de Cerdo en Dos Moles. Perfect pork medallions in yet another pair of moles. Pardon me while I die and go to heaven. Served with La Colorada - Mezcal, orange liquor, lime and red grapefruit juice. Big wow. I could have it for breakfast.

Dessert: Nieve de Petalos de Rosa. Rose petal and champagne sorbet, drizzled with Crema de Mezcal. This delight to the palette was served with Crema de Oaxaca, an unbelievable mix of Crema de Mezcal, white chocolate and vanilla liquors, and strawberry puree ... garnished with a chocolate-dipped strawberry.

Factor in the shot of each mezcal we tasted before each course, and you'll have some idea as to why I woke with cobwebs in my head. But consider the delicious food and wonderful company I enjoyed and you'll have some idea as to why I'm eager to do it all again.

Birthdays, art, and the condition of my scalp

I spent hours outside yesterday. The weather was perfect - sunny, just a few clouds, about 70 degrees. A great day to spend wandering around the Promenade of Art with Amber. We browsed to our hearts' content, enjoying beautifully crafted jewelry, paintings, photography ... you name it, the 150 artists participating in our little show had it. This is one of my favorite events in Arlington Heights. I love spending the day there.

So imagine how tickled I was to learn, about halfway through the day, that it was Amber's birthday! How fortunate was I to be able to spend it with her? We looked at everything, made a few purchases (ask Amber to wear that gorgeous necklace - it's stunning!), lingered over lunch at my favorite restaurant, sat by the fountain (and even put our feet in!) and just enjoyed the day. So much so that my scalp is a bit sunburned this morning. The curse of thin hair, I suppose.

Today is my Dad's birthday. There's 79 years of wisdom, humor and unconditional love wrapped up in the man. I don't care what anyone else believes - my daddy hung the moon just for me. So this is turning out to be one of those weeks when I'm just happy to be alive, and surrounded by people with whom I can celebrate. I'm so glad y'all got born!

Drop and gimme 32

As of yesterday's weigh-in, I'm down 32 pounds. Compared to the total I have to lose, I'm just scratching the surface, but there are some significant changes going on in the old bod.

Most startling, for sure, when I catch my reflection. The girl looking back isn't the same girl who turned the calendar to 2008. She's ... leaner; prettier; healthier; more fun; happier; and yes, smaller.

This morning, I was standing in the studio waiting for salsa/funk class to begin when that realization started to wash over me. I looked tall and confident. Even with my freshly washed face and bed-head hair, the woman in the mirror was not mousy, frumpy or ugly. She was alive and she was ready to dance.

I hope I never forget that feeling of re-discovering myself. I think it's a gift we can give to ourselves.

Other gifts I'll enjoy this weekend include strolling through the Promenade of Art, which is happening just blocks from the penthouse here at the Palace, breakfast in bed (sans homemade scones, unless I make 'em myself!) and clean sheets. And honestly, isn't that a recipe for the perfect weekend?

Unanswerable Questions

Sometimes, they just hit me - things I wonder about that just can't be explained. For example:

Why does cat food smell so heinous? It's made of food things, but it smells like something decidedly unfoodly. It's nasty, yet The Boys love it.

Why do the gay boys always have perfect tushies? Not that no straight men do - hello, Nemo? But come on. I think the ratio of gay perfect booties to straight perfect booties is decidedly whack.

Why do I insist on using words like "whack?"

Where are those soft pink socks? They were perfect, and usually when I lose socks, I really just lose sock. But this is an entire pair, gone. Oh pink socks, how I miss you.

How did I manage to hurt my favorite muscles? You know, the inner thigh ones - the adductors, the ones that usually only hurt when you've had lots of good times in bed not sleeping. Well, I haven't had any of that, and I didn't feel like my hip-hop class really worked 'em, but today they are screaming. It kind of feels like I made lots of whoopie but don't remember it. Kinda makes me miss college.

There are more, but those are the biggies for tonight. I'll continue to ponder. You continue to be cute.

Breakfast

There's nothing like waking up to a marching band. Once I figured out it was just the Memorial Day Parade, and not a drum and bugle corps warming up in my bathroom, I got up to sit by my window and enjoy a little breakfast and java.

Pictured here is the last amazing blueberry chocolate chip scone, courtesy of one Janie Early of Hermiston, OR. Janie knows the way to my heart is via my tastebuds, and she never disappoints. The beautiful green rose coffee mug is part of a set of four, also from the Early family. So the universe has Janie, Chris and Liam to thank for the fact that I am somewhat awake and coherent today.

Happy Memorial Day, everyone. Or, since it's May 26, happy my dead mother's birthday. Whatever you're celebrating, do it with a smile on your face and people you love around you. That's how my mom and Janie would want it.

Indiana Jones and the Suburban Euphoria

This was my day to do with as I pleased. No commitments, just a full 24 hours stretched before me. I slept late, treated myself to breakfast in bed, (mmm, scones!) watched a little television, did a little work on a freelance project I'm working on, went outside and laid in the grass (because the weather was way nicer than the forecast said it was going to be) and finally got dressed at around 4, at which time I did a little grocery shopping and made myself a fabulous dinner. (Pasta, sausage, sun-dried tomatoes and asparagus ... I am a god-like chef.)

My indulgence of the day was a trip to the movies with none other than Cute Brian. We went to see "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull." So much fun, I can't really tell ya. It just worked. No, Harrison Ford is not to old to pull it off. And seeing Marion again was worth the price of admission. Plus, that damn Shia LaBeouf made me nostalgic over River Phoenix. What a perfect addition to the ensemble.

After the movie, we walked out of the theater and just breathed in the air. It was that early summer air that smells like rain is just beyond the horizon. We took a little walk around the complex, just enjoying the night. Brian had a rough day - he was supposed to be at a barbecue in Kenosha, but car trouble mandated that his plans be altered. His misfortune became my good luck, but I still felt bad that his plans imploded. So imagine how good it felt to hear him say, "ya know, this has turned into a good day."

I love that sometimes I can be a part of someone's good day. I love that sometimes just showing up is all you have to do to start erasing the crap. I love that I have friends I can do that for, who also do it for me.

And while I'm on the subject of stuff I love, I love that the windows are open and the rain is falling. I love that it held off until I got home. I love driving with the windows down, feeling the wind in my hair and smelling summer.

It may not be perfect, but I love my life.

It's been a full day

Woke up early, hit the gym. The 9:30 salsa/funk class rocks. Then it was home to do laundry and unfairly accuse a friend of being an asshole.

Leave it to me to forget that, since I go to the gym almost every day, I needn't get all my exercise jumping to conclusions. I apologized. After three hail Marys and an act of contrition, I've been forgiven; the slate is clean.

Once the laundry was in, it was time to settle in to a couple of cups of coffee (out of the green mug) and the ultimate decadent treat - chocolate chip scones, courtesy of the Pacific Northwestern branch of my family. It is entirely possible to be hugged all the way from the west coast. I know. I felt it.

So tonight, I treated myself to a quiet dinner with someone I love: Me. I went to my favorite restaurant, Fuego, for a couple margaritas. I would happily recommend a Pasin on the rocks (passion fruit margarita, because everyone needs a little passion in their life, even if they have to pay for it!) and the Camarones a la Diabla (which I think is Spanish for "Shrimp as Big as Your Head.) It was so delicious, and there is something delightful about sitting at a table for one and taking all the time I want because it's late and they don't need the table back any time soon, so I can sit and watch the world go by outside the window, as smiling people pass by, enjoying the clear, beautiful night.

The company wasn't bad, either. Too bad I was too full for flan.

But there's always next time.

My own personal spa

It's Memorial Day weekend. Three blissful days that are - theoretically, anyway - all about me. I thought perhaps I might take a wee roadtrip this weekend, but the plan never quite came together, so home I stay. And home, it turns out, really isn't a bad place to be.

Work, for those of you who didn't know, has been giving me the old-fashioned ass-whooping over the last few weeks. The end is in sight - in a few weeks, the powerful people will be at Conference and my contributions will be final until the next crisis. But for now, I have three days stretching before me to do with as I please.

And I will please go to the gym. I will please give myself a pedicure. I will please wear sandals, even though it's really not warm enough. And I will please be grateful for the change of seasons, the love of good friends, for beautiful cups from which my morning coffee will be enjoyed (thank you, Early family) and for anyone who cares to grill me up a little love in the form of a burger or brat. I will drink green tea, wear comfortable clothing, and pretend I am at a swanky spa somewhere in the Berkshires.

So if you please, embrace the weekend and everything it will bring you, real or imaginary, and know that I am doing the same.

Bob and weave ...

There are things I've been putting off until I'm thin. Buying stiletto boots. Picking up younger guys. And kickboxing. I haven't been able to get into the kickboxing thing, because the classes are filled with these precious young hardbodies with something to prove.

So not me.

But one of my favorite instructors teaches on Tuesday nights, and it really looks like fun to pretend to hit stuff. So last night, I went.

Hoo-wah, what a great time! My heartrate monitor told me I burned 718 ugly calories! And today, I'm feeling it. My muscles are saying "hi!" every time I move. It's a pretty keen feeling.

So I won't be running out to buy those boots just yet - have to wait for the calves to get all slender and sexy. And I won't be picking up any younger guys, not for lack of trying, though. But I will be going to kickboxing. I will kick. I will box.

As Lloyd Dobler said, kickboxing is the sport of the future. And I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that.

Yes, I can remember back that far

When I was a little girl, my sisters and I used to love exploring in the backyard, and into the woods that stretched beyond our backyard. The Hundred Acre Wood, we used to call it. It was the property owned by Ray and Hazel Burgett, and they never seemed to mind four girls running along the paths, seeking new wildflowers and frightening squirrels. It was the best place to play hide & seek. It was also the best place to pick lily of the valley.

Each year for her birthday, on May 26, my mom would tell each of us that all she wanted was a bouquet of lily of the valley, and all four of us would dutifully head into the woods to pick it for her, following the instructions Mrs. Burgett had given us - grasp the stems down close to the ground and pull straight up, so you hear it give way with a "pop". It's a sound, and smell, that is so vivid to me still today.

Mom would gather up her bouquets into one big one, and it would be placed lovingly in water within her antique vase, her "buttons and bows" vase she called it, remembering the name of the pattern. The flowers were special to her, and so was the vase. And it would take center stage on the mantle, the scent of the flowers wafting through the living room of our home.

In time, the Burgetts moved, and my sister Jenn bought their little cottage in the woods, and along with it acres of land and some of the best lily of the valley around. Even when I was in college, and well past, I still headed to the woods to pick Mom's birthday present. There wasn't anything that made her happier.

So imagine my surprise last year this time when I got out of my car and smelled that familiar, heady scent. I must have looked like a crazed lunatic, one warm May night, being led in the moonlight by my nose until the snow-white flowers came into view. Right there, on the edge of the property where my building stands, is a small patch of lily of the valley ... memories, growing right there in the dirt.

I still pick them for Mom. I think she'd be pleased that I enjoy them in my own home these days. I know she'd be pleased at my choice of vase to hold them - a gift from Patrick, my best friend, my constant, my rock in the winds of life. It's not buttons & bows; it's more like love & pottery. Like my mother before me, I have a vase that's special, and flowers that are, too ... and a soul filled with memories that pop up unexpectedly sometimes, when you grasp them near the ground and urge them to come to life.

Feels like vacation

I had an amazing weekend. I would love to tell you all about it, but first I must address a topic close to the heart of the blog.

Anonymous readers get no bloggy love. You wanna be mentioned in the blog, ya gotta tell me who you are. And even then, I make no promises.

We now return you to our regularly scheduled blog.

I had a helluva week. Work's been kicking my ass of late, with deadlines looming and just general office politics that I just don't cope with well. So I took a mini-vaca.

Yes, I know ... that's Spanglish for "little cow."

Drove up to Wisconsin to enjoy some karaoke, stay with Amber, catch up on sleep, read, relax, and see "Carousel," which Team Rathunde directed in Elkhorn. First stop: Amber's house. Had to beautify before heading to the Tap.

Bar was crowded! Dale showed off his cool new lasers, and the singing began. We only got through a little more than two rotations, there were so many singers. Most of them were good. One of them was that creepy guy I won't call by name, because I like to pretend to be nice.

Being at the Tap is a warm, welcoming experience for me. It's nice to come back to a place and know I've been missed, even if it's just because I scratch Mike's back really well. Colleen even stopped down, to close out the tiniest Tupperware party ever (she is, after all, the TupperQueen!) She sang that song I love but can never remember the title of. My friends make great music, even if Tim Bogarted "Banditos." And let's face it - it's Tim. He can do pretty much anything he damn well pleases.

Libby was there! She doesn't make it out very often, so it was great to step out onto the dance floor with her. Angel only sang once, but she made it worth it with a little "Black Velvet." I got to catch up with Larry, lick Chris' bicep (hey, I had permission!), dance with Kelly and enjoy some liquid refreshment along the way.

When it was time to go (and poor Wendy really had a rough time getting us to vacate!) I wasn't quite ready to head for the hills, but I said my goodbyes and hit the road.

Saturday was perfect. Seriously, straight out of a movie script. Amber and I slept in, and then go dressed to head outside. We took a walk along Geneva Lake, via the path that runs between all the homes I can't even afford to look at and the lake. It is beautiful. I wish I'd had the energy to enjoy it a little longer, but these old bones aren't what they used to be, so we turned around after a half hour or so and headed back. We enjoyed breakfast at Egg Harbor out on the patio - there is nothing better in the world than dining al fresco! We decided it was not time yet to head back indoors, so we walked down by the beach, took off our shoes and laid down in the grass.

Do you have any idea how awesome it feels to have the sun on your skin after keeping it hidden (the sun, and your skin!) during the winter months? Amazing. Relaxing. That in and of itself was a treasure, but we had a soundtrack. A guy named Mike was playing guitar, and he came over for a bit and sat by us. He took requests! We heard Van Morrison, the Beatles, and some original stuff. We soaked up the warmth of the sun and the enjoyment of music being created just for us ... I can't speak for Amber, but I couldn't ask for more.

Rounding out the day, we went to see "Ironman." Great summer flick! Loved it. Nothing like a dark, brooding leading man to send me off to dreamland with happy thoughts.

Then today, we went to Chez Rathunde for brunch. Liz was home, and she made Eggs Benedict for all of us - and by "all of us," I mean a houseful! We had us a blast, on top of full bellies. Then it was time to head to the theater to see "Carousel."

I find I have to speak in monosyllables when I talk about the show. As in "Tim wow, want more." He was incredible as Jigger; the man lights up the stage. Or maybe it's just that thing I have for bad boys.

At any rate, it was a truly enjoyable afternoon, and I was sad to head home, and even sadder to realize that tomorrow I have to head back to work. The realization that a week from tomorrow we'll be observing Memorial Day makes it all worth it, though.

Here's to a great weekend! Hope yours was happy, too.

Colleen

She likes to see her name on the blog.

Colleen colleen colleen. Colleen? Colleen Colleen!

Utter lunacy

It's been one of those weeks. One in which:

• I asked a guy to just hold that position, so I could just stare at his muscles.
• I ate a little too much hummus. I won't bore you with the details of how swiftly it moves through my digestive tract.
• Work kinda kicked my ass, but I found I could retain my stellar professionalism and kick back.
• I discovered steel-cut oats with a little brown sugar really is the ultimate comfort breakfast.
• I didn't get nearly enough sleep, but I'll catch up over the weekend.
• I re-connected by phone with two old friends who've been tough to catch lately. It's good to know I'm missed.
• I had a disturbingly sexy dream that I really don't care to share more of, lest the object of my dream affections read my mind.
• I lost two more pounds, and one of my colleagues said, "You are literally melting before our eyes."
• I came to terms with my dire need for a pedicure.
• A new friend hugged me and said, "I am so glad you're my friend!"

Happy Birthday

If you run into this guy today, wish him a happy birthday. Because it's May 13, and even though we never get around to celebrating until sometime in June (speaking of which, Brian, what are you doing June 4?) today is the actual day.

And I remembered.

Gold star for the Maggie.

Cute Brian in the photograph he took of himself sweating while he volunteered on his vacation in 2007. Now you know why we call him Cute Brian.

Happy Others Day

Today is Mother's Day. My fourth sans Mom. As is our tradition, Mom went to church and to dinner. She gets around.

Having my literal mother no longer with me always brings to mind the other people in my life who mother me, or who otherwise take care of me. Permit me, gentle reader, to take a moment to appreciate the Others in my life.

My sisters, who make me crazy half the time and make me proud to be a Bieritz the other half. They aren't perfect, but they are mine.

Rae, who has only held the title of Mother for a little over a year but who loves so perfectly and unconditionally, I feel as though she was a mom, in some ways, much sooner than she actually was. Thank you for having a daughter who loves me, even in pictures.

Janie, a woman who goes with the flow but always stands out from the crowd. Maybe it's her effervescent smile. Maybe it's the way she accepts people just as they are. Or maybe, just maybe, it's the bundle of unbridled joy in her arms. That's my nephew, Liam. You should hear him giggle.

Kelly, who has been mothering me since she was 13. Which is really saying something, since I was 16 at the time. She supported me through the loss of my mother, my job, and my husband, all the while reminding me that I was strong.

Ellen, who calls me "earth mother." She never fails to remind me that in my worst moments, I can choose to be my best self. She has high expectations of me, and I never want to disappoint her.

The Original Margaret Rathunde, my mother-in-law. This is a rare woman who understands that her son can divorce me, but she doesn't have to. It was my distinct pleasure to spend this morning with her. She's nuts, she's high strung, and I love her.

Finally, my dad. Yes, my dad. The man who, for me, hung the moon. He's the one I call when I need career advice, or when I'm still trying to understand how I failed as a wife, or when I need that recipe for Aunt Judy's soup. Glenn Bieritz is one in a million, and I'm glad he's mine.

So to those of you who are mothers, I celebrate you today. To those who have mothers, I hope you celebrate with them in some way. May we all continue to love and mother one another through the heartaches, scraped knees and triumphs of this crazy journey we call life. Happy Others Day, one and all.

Routines

So last night I'm at the gym. Should come as no surprise - these days, if I'm not at work or asleep (or sleeping at work) I'm usually at the gym. I'm doing the Thursday night Salsa/Funk class (where we dance salsa, we do not make dip) and having a blast. Two nights a week, I dance my ass off. Literally.

After class, my friend John (delightful fella with the most perfect hind end in captivity) says to me, "You haven't updated the blog lately. I checked." (He, by the way, has been hard at work updating his.)

Well, pardon me, blog stalker!

Which brings me to my need to post today.

I've settled into this routine that is dramatically un-routine. It goes something like this:

Do whatcha wanna do. Don't do whatcha don't wanna do. Sleep some, eat some, dance some, whenever you want.

And it's workin' for me. I'm enjoying my life, and all the people in it. What more could an aging divorcee ask for? Except, maybe, an actual divorce?

A Tale of Two Margarets ... and an Irving

I had the distinct pleasure of spending Sunday with my favorite mother-in-law.

She's my only mother-in-law, so I suppose she's also my least favorite, but I've always felt that I won the mother-in-law lottery. She's the original Margaret Rathunde; I'm the other Margaret Rathunde.

She had a nasty bad health scare a week or so ago, and got smacked into the hospital. Still not completely sure what it was, but she's at least home, although she's lugging around oxygen, which takes some getting used to.

She has a tank at home that's big and plugs in and makes its own O2, and then a little one for on-the-go. She walks it along with her like a dog, so we named it.

Irving allowed us to go to church, and out to lunch, and to the grocery store. Irving was well-behaved and did everything we asked of him, and when we got home, he went quietly back where he belonged. Irving is a pretty damn cool addition to the family!

Before I had to head back home, Marge did the unthinkable: She gave me her cigarettes. No, I haven't taken up the habit; she just wanted me to get rid of them. For now, she's a non-smoker.

It was a good day. There will be more good days. In fact, we're planning one tomorrow.

Waffles

I was watching "Numbers" the other night on demand (and yes, I am loving the return of cable to my life.) I enjoy catching the show now and then, in part because I'm fascinated by things I don't understand (like math) and in part because smart guys with curly hair are among my favorite things, and the character of Charlie is both.

So in the episode I was watching, one of the characters was sad because her family hadn't come to visit in a long time, and she told of how, whenever they were in town, they would go out for waffles. So Charlie had the whole gang over for dinner, and the scene around the table reminded me of many dinners with my friends - an amazing assortment of ages, interests, careers, all drawn together by one another. And Charlie enters from the kitchen with dinner - a huge platter of waffles - and announces:

"Family is the people you want to eat waffles with."

Truer words were never spoken.

Can you purr?

Have you seen my shoulders lately?

I have.

And may I say ... rrrrrrrrrr.