Life's been crazy lately, what with trying to bounce back from surgery and trying to get back to "normal" life. Here's what's been happening lately:
I started back to work last Thursday, July 23. Office politics may kill me, and were made even worse by the fact that I really didn't feel quite ready to be back yet. I have a new mantra: "Do your job and keep quiet." Not easy for me, but necessary.
My Mac crapped out. I need to take it to the Genius Bar and see if they can pull anything off of it, so everything isn't lost. It's six years old and has worked pretty much non-stop in that time, so I'm not going to complain too loudly. Mike and Rae are graciously supplying me with a loaner to get me through until I can afford to replace it. I'll be going with an iMac next time, and I'll start squirreling money away for that as soon as the car is replaced.
As for the car, it's running fine, but we turned the 200,000 mile mark last week. I don't want to drive it through another winter; that would just be too much to ask of it. So sometime between the end of September and Thanksgiving, I'll be car shopping. I hope to replace the Jeep of Love with a similar, but newer, vehicle. I want something with the same engine, because that reliable little baby has run like a dream. I'm thinking 2003 or newer Cherokee or Wrangler, 4.0 liter inline six-cylinder, not yellow. Other than that, I'm easy.
I get nauseated really easy since the surgery. If I don't have a little food in my tummy, walking to the bathroom gives me motion sickness. It's weird.
I love Indian food. I'm new to it, and I don't think I like the super-spicey stuff, but I am really enjoying every bite. Trader Joe's has some terrific simmer sauces I can make at home, and their frozen naan is food of the gods. And yes, I think of James with every bite.
I spent all day yesterday at my dad's house. It was a beautiful day. I lounged in the backyard to get a little sun, something I haven't done in about 20 years. Dad is recovering pretty well from his knee surgery (he had the second one replaced about three weeks ago) and he's at the point now where he's ready to be running around but his knee isn't ready for that. Impatience, thy name is Glenn. We celebrated my sister Jenn's birthday, and her husband made lasagna. Wow ... just delicious. Is there anything that layers of pasta and cheese with a side of garlic bread can't cure?
Doctor says I can't go back to the gym for another week. I miss it, and my friends there, terribly. I think this weekend I will at least spend some time on a lounge chair at the pool. It's not exactly a workout, but it will at least get me back in the door!
That's it from me for the time being. What's new with you?
Monday, July 27, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
Alone?
So the gallbladder is gone. To say its removal was a bit more intense than expected would be an understatement, although I am incredibly grateful that Bex went through all the wacky stuff so I didn't have to. When my primary care physician first suggested the surgery, she said I'd go in on a Friday and be back at work on Monday, so I figured ... three days of badness, then normal life. No worries.
This is not how it worked out.
Now, don't panic. I'm fine. It just wasn't the walk in the park I thought it would be.
So Patrick picks me up on Thursday morning. There is truly no better way to go to the hospital on a warm summer day than in a convertible Mustang. Seriously ... it was a great trip. We walk in and are practically whisked away to my little private room. We sit and talk and get caught up for several hours ... they're running behind. No big deal, Patrick's mom will come later and drive me home if need be.
Eventually, it's time to head to the OR. I'm a little petrified, and then the drugs start coming. Oh, blissful narcotics, how lovely you are. I left the room around 2:30, and was back by 4. By 5, they were ready for me to leave. Ma Farbo would drive me to my dad's house, because Doctor didn't want me alone overnight. Doc also didn't want me driving for a week. This was news to me, since I'd been planning to be back at work on Monday. Aging divorcee learns new skills.
I get to Dad's and can barely move at more than a slow shuffle. I think Dad thought I was falling apart. He and Kathie were incredibly sweet to me, Kathie running off to fill my prescription for painkillers and Dad fixing me ice cream. The man truly knows his daughter! I was in bed by 9:30.
And up about every half hour. Damn, they must've pumped me full of fluids at the hospital, because I could not stop with the peeing.
Friday morning I woke up and had breakfast with Dad, Kathie and Mike. I played tough, but I felt like doody. I sat, read magazines, tried not to fall asleep, and waited for Eric to pick me up. Finally I couldn't stand myself anymore and took a shower. It was good to be clean.
Eric arrived and I was on my way, after hugs from Dad and air-kisses from Kathie. When we finally got to Chez Mags, it took forever to get me up the stairs. Lord, everything hurt. Eventually, I made it, and headed straight for bed. Eric went shopping, made me snacks and dinner and watched TV with me and let me nap. By far, this was the toughest day. I was not one with my noggin, what with the Vicodin being more powerful than my own logic. I would start talking and then completely forget why. Getting up from bed hurt. Sitting on the couch hurt. Talking louder than a whisper hurt. And my poor friend stayed until midnight, until he was sure I was out of the woods.
Saturday morning, I woke up with only a little pain, and a strong sense of my head on my shoulders. This was new. So I only took Extra-Strength Tylenol and got through the entire day that way. It was wonderful to feel one with my own thoughts again! There were moments on Friday when I wasn't sure I would ever get my brain back. Anyhoo, I was visited by Di bearing food (and lots of it) and Shakespeare bearing my errands from Target, and it turned out to be a pretty stellar day. Nap a little, eat a little, think a little, heal a lot.
Sunday was more of the same. A visit from Cute Brian followed by Linda from the Gym made for zero boredom and a ton of happiness. Brian brought waffles (who can resist a boy who brings waffles?) and Linda showered me with delicious and beautiful things, including sunflowers and Trader Joe's Sea Salt Brownies. Seriously, do not knock them until you try them; they are ambrosia.
And today I've been on my own. Curled up watching television, doing a little writing, doing a little knitting, and doing a lot of napping. It's been a good day, and I've been thinking about something Eric said to me at one of those moments when, evidently, my head was working on Friday. "This is it," he said. "This is the first big thing post-Christopher. The thing that makes you realize that you're not alone. The thing that makes you realize you don't need him to make it through." And he's right. Throughout all of this craziness, I have not for one moment felt alone. Whether it was a visit or a phone call or a Facebook comment or a happy thought you've sent my way, I know you're out there, loving me. I know I'm not alone. In fact, I'm so much better than simply not alone; I am full of life and love and people who just won't let me forget that.
So even though for the moment I have boo-boos on my belly (and blisters surrounding them because I'm pretty much allergic to everything in the world) and am missing an organ, I'm still whole, complete and perfect, just as I am. In no small part because you're along for the ride.
This is not how it worked out.
Now, don't panic. I'm fine. It just wasn't the walk in the park I thought it would be.
So Patrick picks me up on Thursday morning. There is truly no better way to go to the hospital on a warm summer day than in a convertible Mustang. Seriously ... it was a great trip. We walk in and are practically whisked away to my little private room. We sit and talk and get caught up for several hours ... they're running behind. No big deal, Patrick's mom will come later and drive me home if need be.
Eventually, it's time to head to the OR. I'm a little petrified, and then the drugs start coming. Oh, blissful narcotics, how lovely you are. I left the room around 2:30, and was back by 4. By 5, they were ready for me to leave. Ma Farbo would drive me to my dad's house, because Doctor didn't want me alone overnight. Doc also didn't want me driving for a week. This was news to me, since I'd been planning to be back at work on Monday. Aging divorcee learns new skills.
I get to Dad's and can barely move at more than a slow shuffle. I think Dad thought I was falling apart. He and Kathie were incredibly sweet to me, Kathie running off to fill my prescription for painkillers and Dad fixing me ice cream. The man truly knows his daughter! I was in bed by 9:30.
And up about every half hour. Damn, they must've pumped me full of fluids at the hospital, because I could not stop with the peeing.
Friday morning I woke up and had breakfast with Dad, Kathie and Mike. I played tough, but I felt like doody. I sat, read magazines, tried not to fall asleep, and waited for Eric to pick me up. Finally I couldn't stand myself anymore and took a shower. It was good to be clean.
Eric arrived and I was on my way, after hugs from Dad and air-kisses from Kathie. When we finally got to Chez Mags, it took forever to get me up the stairs. Lord, everything hurt. Eventually, I made it, and headed straight for bed. Eric went shopping, made me snacks and dinner and watched TV with me and let me nap. By far, this was the toughest day. I was not one with my noggin, what with the Vicodin being more powerful than my own logic. I would start talking and then completely forget why. Getting up from bed hurt. Sitting on the couch hurt. Talking louder than a whisper hurt. And my poor friend stayed until midnight, until he was sure I was out of the woods.
Saturday morning, I woke up with only a little pain, and a strong sense of my head on my shoulders. This was new. So I only took Extra-Strength Tylenol and got through the entire day that way. It was wonderful to feel one with my own thoughts again! There were moments on Friday when I wasn't sure I would ever get my brain back. Anyhoo, I was visited by Di bearing food (and lots of it) and Shakespeare bearing my errands from Target, and it turned out to be a pretty stellar day. Nap a little, eat a little, think a little, heal a lot.
Sunday was more of the same. A visit from Cute Brian followed by Linda from the Gym made for zero boredom and a ton of happiness. Brian brought waffles (who can resist a boy who brings waffles?) and Linda showered me with delicious and beautiful things, including sunflowers and Trader Joe's Sea Salt Brownies. Seriously, do not knock them until you try them; they are ambrosia.
And today I've been on my own. Curled up watching television, doing a little writing, doing a little knitting, and doing a lot of napping. It's been a good day, and I've been thinking about something Eric said to me at one of those moments when, evidently, my head was working on Friday. "This is it," he said. "This is the first big thing post-Christopher. The thing that makes you realize that you're not alone. The thing that makes you realize you don't need him to make it through." And he's right. Throughout all of this craziness, I have not for one moment felt alone. Whether it was a visit or a phone call or a Facebook comment or a happy thought you've sent my way, I know you're out there, loving me. I know I'm not alone. In fact, I'm so much better than simply not alone; I am full of life and love and people who just won't let me forget that.
So even though for the moment I have boo-boos on my belly (and blisters surrounding them because I'm pretty much allergic to everything in the world) and am missing an organ, I'm still whole, complete and perfect, just as I am. In no small part because you're along for the ride.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
The unmitigated gall!
Sometimes, it seems nothing goes smoothly. This is one of those times.
As you already know, since about last November my gallbladder and I haven't been getting along. I had scheduled surgery to have the sucker removed this Friday. I was nervous - hey, anesthesia is a scary thing - but I was pretty sure I'd be fine. It's a common operation, zip in, zip out, done. All was rosey in my world.
Until last Friday when the surgeon's office called. He's not available on the July 17; we can either make it July 16 or 24.
Great. Making arrangements wasn't easy in the first place. I have people taking off of work to take care of me, and now I have to re-arrange their schedules and my own. Thankfully, I have wonderfully flexible friends. But that's not where the headaches end. While I was on the phone with the surgeon, I asked them (for the second time) if I would need any pre-op testing to be done, and I was told the hospital would contact me but any testing would likely be done the day of surgery. It didn't seem right, but it's not like I was going to convince them otherwise.
Then I got the call from the hospital yesterday, confirming my surgery for Friday. No, I said, it's been rescheduled for Thursday. Well that will be fine, the OR is free, and as long as you've already had your blood work done ....
Wait, what?
Yeah, it should've been done last week or at the latest yesterday, in order for the results to come back in time for the re-scheduled procedure. And to top it all off, the referral I have from my primary doc is good for the admission date of 7/17 ... so before I let anyone cut into me, I figure I'd better get an updated copy, otherwise I really don't have a leg to stand on if the insurance questions anything.
Needless to say, I headed to Aurora this morning to have blood drawn and pick up a copy of the referral. Sounds like a simple thing, and it should've been, but the freakin' vampire who took my blood didn't believe me when I told her my veins can sometimes be challenging. Only after three tries and literal weeping (me, not her) was she able to get enough blood for the tests they need to run.
I am now out of patience. I look like a human pincushion, or a really messy addict. But my sister has assured me that on the day of surgery I'll get good drugs that will put me in a happy place.
As long as they can get the damn IV in, that is!
As you already know, since about last November my gallbladder and I haven't been getting along. I had scheduled surgery to have the sucker removed this Friday. I was nervous - hey, anesthesia is a scary thing - but I was pretty sure I'd be fine. It's a common operation, zip in, zip out, done. All was rosey in my world.
Until last Friday when the surgeon's office called. He's not available on the July 17; we can either make it July 16 or 24.
Great. Making arrangements wasn't easy in the first place. I have people taking off of work to take care of me, and now I have to re-arrange their schedules and my own. Thankfully, I have wonderfully flexible friends. But that's not where the headaches end. While I was on the phone with the surgeon, I asked them (for the second time) if I would need any pre-op testing to be done, and I was told the hospital would contact me but any testing would likely be done the day of surgery. It didn't seem right, but it's not like I was going to convince them otherwise.
Then I got the call from the hospital yesterday, confirming my surgery for Friday. No, I said, it's been rescheduled for Thursday. Well that will be fine, the OR is free, and as long as you've already had your blood work done ....
Wait, what?
Yeah, it should've been done last week or at the latest yesterday, in order for the results to come back in time for the re-scheduled procedure. And to top it all off, the referral I have from my primary doc is good for the admission date of 7/17 ... so before I let anyone cut into me, I figure I'd better get an updated copy, otherwise I really don't have a leg to stand on if the insurance questions anything.
Needless to say, I headed to Aurora this morning to have blood drawn and pick up a copy of the referral. Sounds like a simple thing, and it should've been, but the freakin' vampire who took my blood didn't believe me when I told her my veins can sometimes be challenging. Only after three tries and literal weeping (me, not her) was she able to get enough blood for the tests they need to run.
I am now out of patience. I look like a human pincushion, or a really messy addict. But my sister has assured me that on the day of surgery I'll get good drugs that will put me in a happy place.
As long as they can get the damn IV in, that is!
Friday, July 10, 2009
Paralysis
It happens, sometimes. That "stuck-in-a-rut" feeling that feels impossible to shake, when doing the things you know will make it better seem far too difficult to even try.
I've been that way with money. I used to manage it really well, and then I turned it over to my ex. When he left, it was like I just didn't know how any more.
I've been that way with people. When it's been awhile (years, sometimes) it can be hard to make that phone call, no matter how much I want to hear Julianne's voice at the end of the line.
And I've been that way with my health, and that's what petrifies me the most. It is so easy to slip back into my old habits, to let the comfort of a sedentary life lead me to time on the couch. It feels like paralysis, like I just can't do it. I can know beyond a shadow of doubt how much better I'll feel if I just get to the gym, or walk around town, or even vacuum really fast, but there I sit.
Yesterday was my first time back at the gym since June 30. That's almost two weeks, and for someone like me, that is not okay. I had my reasons, believe me. Last week the gallbladder spoke to me pretty loudly. I had a couple of days when only the Vicodin kept me from performing surgery myself. Never missed work (although I'm real happy I didn't get picked for a random drug test) but it was tough to get to the gym. Then it was 4th of July weekend, and I had lots of good food to eat and sleep to catch up on and fun to have. And then Monday, work came at me like crazy. Deadlines and blamestorming was the theme of the week, and I got caught in the crossfire. Un-fun. So I worked late Monday, which stretched into Tuesday, and by Wednesday I just wanted to go home and eat an entire pizza.
I could've done so many things differently. I could've tried taking a little walk when the gallbladder hurt, just to see if moving around helped at all. Hey, circulation is a good thing, right? I could've gone to the gym after work, regardless of how late I was stuck at the office. I could've shaken my groove thing on the elliptical or the treadmill instead of in class, since class and I couldn't coordinate our schedules. I could've done a lot of things, but instead I let myself wallow a little. I went home, ate delicious food, spent a lot of time in the bath. See, it's not like I spent my nights with my good friends Ben and Jerry; on the contrary, I still ate rather healthfully and deliciously. It was the moving my body that was missing.
So last night, I hit the gym again. Thursday night Salsa/Funk, surrounded by friends. In the middle of the last song (which incidentally helps us all tap into our inner pole dancer) it began to wash over me ... it's as much about working my soul as it is about working my body. I come here to sweat, and to get fed. So many good people, standing at the ready to shower one another with inspiration and encouragement, how could you not move? How could you not want to just let your body go and dance the hour away?
I'm not foolish enough to think that one night has put me back on track. And I'm a little nervous, because next weekend I have the whole surgery thing and that will require me to take things a little easier, at least for a few days. But I reminded myself of some important stuff last night: my connection to my friends (I love my John and Linda and Donna!) matters more than calories burned. The post-workout shower feels better than any other clean routine. And my body is meant to move.
So you have my word that I'm not gonna let paralysis take me over again. And when I feel it coming on, I'll call ya, or text ya, or e-mail ya. I'll let you kick me in the tail so one night doesn't turn into two weeks, because I know I'm worth it. And I know you think so, too.
I've been that way with money. I used to manage it really well, and then I turned it over to my ex. When he left, it was like I just didn't know how any more.
I've been that way with people. When it's been awhile (years, sometimes) it can be hard to make that phone call, no matter how much I want to hear Julianne's voice at the end of the line.
And I've been that way with my health, and that's what petrifies me the most. It is so easy to slip back into my old habits, to let the comfort of a sedentary life lead me to time on the couch. It feels like paralysis, like I just can't do it. I can know beyond a shadow of doubt how much better I'll feel if I just get to the gym, or walk around town, or even vacuum really fast, but there I sit.
Yesterday was my first time back at the gym since June 30. That's almost two weeks, and for someone like me, that is not okay. I had my reasons, believe me. Last week the gallbladder spoke to me pretty loudly. I had a couple of days when only the Vicodin kept me from performing surgery myself. Never missed work (although I'm real happy I didn't get picked for a random drug test) but it was tough to get to the gym. Then it was 4th of July weekend, and I had lots of good food to eat and sleep to catch up on and fun to have. And then Monday, work came at me like crazy. Deadlines and blamestorming was the theme of the week, and I got caught in the crossfire. Un-fun. So I worked late Monday, which stretched into Tuesday, and by Wednesday I just wanted to go home and eat an entire pizza.
I could've done so many things differently. I could've tried taking a little walk when the gallbladder hurt, just to see if moving around helped at all. Hey, circulation is a good thing, right? I could've gone to the gym after work, regardless of how late I was stuck at the office. I could've shaken my groove thing on the elliptical or the treadmill instead of in class, since class and I couldn't coordinate our schedules. I could've done a lot of things, but instead I let myself wallow a little. I went home, ate delicious food, spent a lot of time in the bath. See, it's not like I spent my nights with my good friends Ben and Jerry; on the contrary, I still ate rather healthfully and deliciously. It was the moving my body that was missing.
So last night, I hit the gym again. Thursday night Salsa/Funk, surrounded by friends. In the middle of the last song (which incidentally helps us all tap into our inner pole dancer) it began to wash over me ... it's as much about working my soul as it is about working my body. I come here to sweat, and to get fed. So many good people, standing at the ready to shower one another with inspiration and encouragement, how could you not move? How could you not want to just let your body go and dance the hour away?
I'm not foolish enough to think that one night has put me back on track. And I'm a little nervous, because next weekend I have the whole surgery thing and that will require me to take things a little easier, at least for a few days. But I reminded myself of some important stuff last night: my connection to my friends (I love my John and Linda and Donna!) matters more than calories burned. The post-workout shower feels better than any other clean routine. And my body is meant to move.
So you have my word that I'm not gonna let paralysis take me over again. And when I feel it coming on, I'll call ya, or text ya, or e-mail ya. I'll let you kick me in the tail so one night doesn't turn into two weeks, because I know I'm worth it. And I know you think so, too.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Policies
So yesterday at the office, we were provided with our Social Networking Policy. In it, we learn ...
"Employees are prohibited from using the name ... in any online social networking and blogging activities without express permission" from the undisclosed company for which I work.
Additionally, even while we are forbidden to name said company, we are prohibited from posting material that is "obscene, vulgar, defamatory, threatening, discriminatory, harassing, abusive, hateful or embarrassing to another person or entity."
So let me get this straight: I can't tell anyone where I work (which, incidentally, is not the CIA) but I also can't make fun of anyone or use the eff word? Seriously?
In an effort to comply, I have removed the name of the undisclosed company for which I work from this here blog and my social networking activities. But yikes, it seems a wee bit Big Brother-ish to me. Here's my favorite line in the policy:
"Employees have no right to absolute privacy when they post on a social networking site, regardless of where the employee accesses the Internet."
Except when they wrote it, it wasn't punctuated quite as well.
Not meaning to complain too much here. I still love my job. But isn't it enough that I occasionally pee in a cup for them? Doesn't my pride in my company preclude their fear that I might say "company name" and "did you see the way she tucked her skirt into her panties?" in the same body of work? These are the questions that keep me up at night. Those, and "Why is the cat standing on my chest?"
Hope my undisclosed company has an answer for that, too.
"Employees are prohibited from using the name ... in any online social networking and blogging activities without express permission" from the undisclosed company for which I work.
Additionally, even while we are forbidden to name said company, we are prohibited from posting material that is "obscene, vulgar, defamatory, threatening, discriminatory, harassing, abusive, hateful or embarrassing to another person or entity."
So let me get this straight: I can't tell anyone where I work (which, incidentally, is not the CIA) but I also can't make fun of anyone or use the eff word? Seriously?
In an effort to comply, I have removed the name of the undisclosed company for which I work from this here blog and my social networking activities. But yikes, it seems a wee bit Big Brother-ish to me. Here's my favorite line in the policy:
"Employees have no right to absolute privacy when they post on a social networking site, regardless of where the employee accesses the Internet."
Except when they wrote it, it wasn't punctuated quite as well.
Not meaning to complain too much here. I still love my job. But isn't it enough that I occasionally pee in a cup for them? Doesn't my pride in my company preclude their fear that I might say "company name" and "did you see the way she tucked her skirt into her panties?" in the same body of work? These are the questions that keep me up at night. Those, and "Why is the cat standing on my chest?"
Hope my undisclosed company has an answer for that, too.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Holiday week
This is one of my favorite weeks of the entire year. It ranks right up there with Christmas, and My Birthday Week. Independence Day, Fourth of July, the halfway point of summer ... good times, for sure.
It dates back to my childhood, when the neighbors would host a huge block party and everyone would come together for potato salad, relishes, deviled eggs and Toots' famous fruit salad. We'd graze all day long, play games on the grass and as the sun dipped into the horizon we'd light sparklers and shoot off fireworks while Mom played vinyl recordings of Sousa marches on the stereo, the speakers propped up in the windows so we could all hear.
As I got older, it became a time of road trips with friends or vacations with family. It was always different, but it was always wonderful. There is magic to this time of year, if you ask me. There was the time Kelly, Patrick, Kristi and I piled into Patrick's two-door Escort and followed a battery in the area surrounding Black Earth, Wisconsin. There was the weekend I met my ex, which was a great weekend even though it resulted in heart-shattering love. There was the blistering sunburn from a canoe trip that wouldn't end, Disney World with the family, and South Haven, Michigan with my family who isn't my family.
This year I'm staying home, curling up with friends, taking the train into Chicago and letting the magic happen. With each year, I get a little further away from the fragile girl who once loved an unworthy boy and get a little closer to the strong woman who can kickbox with the best of 'em and still cries at that one Folger's commercial where the older brother comes home from college at Christmas.
Last year at this time, Chris was filing the divorce papers. This year, I'm a happy divorcee, with so much love in my life I can't even begin to measure it. It's a holiday week, stretching out before me, waiting for me to dive in.
Sploosh.
It dates back to my childhood, when the neighbors would host a huge block party and everyone would come together for potato salad, relishes, deviled eggs and Toots' famous fruit salad. We'd graze all day long, play games on the grass and as the sun dipped into the horizon we'd light sparklers and shoot off fireworks while Mom played vinyl recordings of Sousa marches on the stereo, the speakers propped up in the windows so we could all hear.
As I got older, it became a time of road trips with friends or vacations with family. It was always different, but it was always wonderful. There is magic to this time of year, if you ask me. There was the time Kelly, Patrick, Kristi and I piled into Patrick's two-door Escort and followed a battery in the area surrounding Black Earth, Wisconsin. There was the weekend I met my ex, which was a great weekend even though it resulted in heart-shattering love. There was the blistering sunburn from a canoe trip that wouldn't end, Disney World with the family, and South Haven, Michigan with my family who isn't my family.
This year I'm staying home, curling up with friends, taking the train into Chicago and letting the magic happen. With each year, I get a little further away from the fragile girl who once loved an unworthy boy and get a little closer to the strong woman who can kickbox with the best of 'em and still cries at that one Folger's commercial where the older brother comes home from college at Christmas.
Last year at this time, Chris was filing the divorce papers. This year, I'm a happy divorcee, with so much love in my life I can't even begin to measure it. It's a holiday week, stretching out before me, waiting for me to dive in.
Sploosh.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Life in the tropics
Ahh, summer. Sometimes it seems to come overnight. Sometimes, it actually does come overnight.
See, a week ago, it was in the 60s. We had what felt like three months of April. Rain, chilly temps, and only an occasional bout of sunshine to lull us into a false sense of security. Then last week the mercury started to rise and BAM, summer slammed into us like the ball hits the fat kid in dodgeball. Our forecast? High 80s, low-to-mid 90s for two weeks straight. Don't know when it will break, because we can't forecast out that far. But I'm not complaining, seriously. I complain all winter long, and give up my bitching rights during the summer. I'm reveling in it.
Sure, I have no A/C in the car, but I can undo the duct tape and get some wind blowing while I drive. Sure, I can cool my apartment with one window air conditioner, even though I have a second one, because plugging both of them means I blow a circuit. Love me, love my wiring.
Anyway, so it's hot. Big deal, it's summer in Chicago - the perfect time to just shut up and enjoy it! And that's exactly what I'm doing.
Last weekend, I had a house full of love. Chris and Janie Early and their little spud Liam stayed with me for a few nights, and we had a blast. Didn't do much, honestly. Went out to breakfast, sat, talked, ate good food, sat and talked some more. My favorite activity with them is just the three of us adults and coffee. On their last morning with me, Janie got up, started the coffee, and brought me a cup. Such a simple, beautiful luxury - receiving coffee in bed from someone who loves me. I'm still smiling about it now.
I wasn't prepared for how empty my home would feel when they left. No more baby giggles, or stories to read, or conversations that flow into the night. They left a little love behind, though - scratch paper so I wouldn't need to write notes on coffee filters, ink for my printer because I was out, a rug to go by the litter box and an array of things that smell pretty. Maggie treats, really - things I wouldn't buy myself but make me smile every time I use, smell or see them. Good friends know that it's the little things that keep you smiling weeks after they leave.
Speaking of people I love, there's a lake house in North Carolina full of them! Clan Rice/Carlson/Bathje's annual beach sojourn landed in NC this year, to dovetail off of Mike and Rae's GeekCon and spend time with Grandma. Yes, I'm jealous. Yes, I miss them. Knowing they are all there, except for me, Chunk and Ryan makes me sad for me but happy that they're all there. And I know they'll keep posting photos and fun stuff as the week wears on, right? RIGHT!
And things continue to bump along in my life. I have a disgusting summer cold so I sound like I smoke three packs a day and ought to be at the senior center playing canasta. Still hitting the gym regularly, although I slowed down a little this week with the feeling like crap thing and all. My deal with myself, though, is that if i go on Saturday mornings and I do my strength training and cardio, I get as much time by the pool as I want. Hard work followed by luxury is a very good idea!
Long story short, life is grand, summer is wonderful and the only thing between here and perfection is being able to breathe clearly. But I'm sure that'll happen soon.
See, a week ago, it was in the 60s. We had what felt like three months of April. Rain, chilly temps, and only an occasional bout of sunshine to lull us into a false sense of security. Then last week the mercury started to rise and BAM, summer slammed into us like the ball hits the fat kid in dodgeball. Our forecast? High 80s, low-to-mid 90s for two weeks straight. Don't know when it will break, because we can't forecast out that far. But I'm not complaining, seriously. I complain all winter long, and give up my bitching rights during the summer. I'm reveling in it.
Sure, I have no A/C in the car, but I can undo the duct tape and get some wind blowing while I drive. Sure, I can cool my apartment with one window air conditioner, even though I have a second one, because plugging both of them means I blow a circuit. Love me, love my wiring.
Anyway, so it's hot. Big deal, it's summer in Chicago - the perfect time to just shut up and enjoy it! And that's exactly what I'm doing.
Last weekend, I had a house full of love. Chris and Janie Early and their little spud Liam stayed with me for a few nights, and we had a blast. Didn't do much, honestly. Went out to breakfast, sat, talked, ate good food, sat and talked some more. My favorite activity with them is just the three of us adults and coffee. On their last morning with me, Janie got up, started the coffee, and brought me a cup. Such a simple, beautiful luxury - receiving coffee in bed from someone who loves me. I'm still smiling about it now.
I wasn't prepared for how empty my home would feel when they left. No more baby giggles, or stories to read, or conversations that flow into the night. They left a little love behind, though - scratch paper so I wouldn't need to write notes on coffee filters, ink for my printer because I was out, a rug to go by the litter box and an array of things that smell pretty. Maggie treats, really - things I wouldn't buy myself but make me smile every time I use, smell or see them. Good friends know that it's the little things that keep you smiling weeks after they leave.
Speaking of people I love, there's a lake house in North Carolina full of them! Clan Rice/Carlson/Bathje's annual beach sojourn landed in NC this year, to dovetail off of Mike and Rae's GeekCon and spend time with Grandma. Yes, I'm jealous. Yes, I miss them. Knowing they are all there, except for me, Chunk and Ryan makes me sad for me but happy that they're all there. And I know they'll keep posting photos and fun stuff as the week wears on, right? RIGHT!
And things continue to bump along in my life. I have a disgusting summer cold so I sound like I smoke three packs a day and ought to be at the senior center playing canasta. Still hitting the gym regularly, although I slowed down a little this week with the feeling like crap thing and all. My deal with myself, though, is that if i go on Saturday mornings and I do my strength training and cardio, I get as much time by the pool as I want. Hard work followed by luxury is a very good idea!
Long story short, life is grand, summer is wonderful and the only thing between here and perfection is being able to breathe clearly. But I'm sure that'll happen soon.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Random accidents of kindness
I'm crazy.
But then, you already knew that.
It's been a little bit of a freak-out day, but I made myself take a step back and chill. There's lots of good stuff, too, in addition to the freaking, so let's learn to take the good with the not-so, okay
Okay.
The not-so: my gallbladder. But it's coming out, so no big, right? Well, one would think, but it's a bit of a logistical nightmare. See, my Patrick was going to pick me up and run me home afterward, but the surgery is scheduled for July 17 ... which just happens to also be the day he opens Guys and Dolls at the Paramount Arts Centre in Aurora. Very slim chance that he'll be able to get me home and get back to the theater in time for curtain.
So I've called in reinforcements - which I hate to do because I totally suck at asking for help - and a couple awesome people agreed to take the second shift on the Maggie Surgery Shuttle Schedule (not to be confused with the Space Shuttle Schedule; please don't send me that far away.) But here's where I got caught up in the vicious circle of dread (which is vicious and dreadful and, somehow, circular): I was never supposed to be here. I was never supposed to be weak or fragile or in need of someone's help. I'm the one who helps, not the one who needs.
This is one of those times when I curse the comfort I felt when I was married. I'd never have to worry about this stuff, because someone promised to care for me when I couldn't care for myself. And now I'm in a position where I feel like a burden to people who didn't sign on for this. When you go ice skating at age 16, or stay up talking until the sun comes up, you don't look at the person you're with and think, "hey, in 20 or 30 years, I'll be watching someone wheel her into surgery."
But that's where we are. We're in a place where things just aren't working out the way I thought they would, back when I used to play this movie in my head. Aging divorcee learns flexibility, right? Instead, I'm going to do my level best to just be grateful that I have friends who are so willing to help out, who don't even blink when I have a need that they can fill.
So you're on notice. On July 18 and 19, I'll be home. I might need something. I might just want you to check on me. I might need pancakes. So, you should feel free to stop by.
Now, on to the good: people. You amaze me. On Saturday at the gym, after the 8:15 class of Pam Hates Us and the 9:30 Salsa/Funk, Linda and I spent a little time talking to Donna. Donna is a bundle of energy. She's beautiful in every sense of the word. She personifies confidence. She's singularly ... Donna. So when she stopped me to tell me I remind her of her sister, because we have similar energy, enthusiasm and spirit, I was overcome. I'm just me, and most of the time I don't think that's anything to write home about. Turns out, there are people who don't agree. There are people who think I remind them of some of their favorite people.
Then, there are those to whom I am one of their favorite people. Take, for example, when my Wicked Step Mother emailed me earlier this week in a last-ditch effort to wrangle my ass to North Carolina. "Take the train to Springfield and we'll pick you up there," she said. "I'll even spring for the ticket." I cried like a baby when I emailed her back that I couldn't, work wouldn't let me off the hook, but I love that she wanted me there. I love that everyone in Clan Rice/Carlson/Bathje would move mountains if it would mean having me join them for Lake House II: the sequel. I also love that, unless it's planned for the week of my work's national conference next year, I will be there.
There are also those who have been there all along, save for a long-ish hiatus. My friend Eric and I were as close as two peas in a pod back in the early 90s, before my Second Act. But then I went back to school and built this new life and left a lot of the old behind. Some of it was easy to recapture - it's tough to stay clear of Kelly and Patrick for long - but others required Facebook to realign us as we're meant to be. And it became clear last Friday, sitting on the stage at the Geneva Underground Playhouse, following a hysterical night of sketch comedy ... we are still the people we've always been. Eric held court, surrounded by lovely artists (and me) and the snappy patter flowed. His little sister (and biggest fan) and I laughed and joked until our sides hurt. His wife and I traded barbs as if we've known each other for years. His friends treat me like one of their own. They share their peanut M&Ms and their leftover Chinese food with me. What could be better than that?
There are simple phrases people use with me, like "You've gotta cut that shit out," and "Stop apologizing for my choice to be your friend," and "Are you gonna eat that?" It all means "I love you" in the language of my friends. There are those who meet me for a night of theater or a morning of breakfast, who know it's fine to drop by and eat my food, who grill chicken and vegetables so I can eat and enjoy without worry, who let the wine flow freely, who sit with me in the dark, who call when the rescue a turtle from certain death, or for no reason at all ... and there are those who share their chocolate. They have no idea the profound effect they have on my life ... or at least they didn't until they read this.
It really is no accident, the manner in which your kindness has changed my life. My life is better because you are in it, and in the dark moments - both literal and metaphoric - you carry me through.
But then, you already knew that.
It's been a little bit of a freak-out day, but I made myself take a step back and chill. There's lots of good stuff, too, in addition to the freaking, so let's learn to take the good with the not-so, okay
Okay.
The not-so: my gallbladder. But it's coming out, so no big, right? Well, one would think, but it's a bit of a logistical nightmare. See, my Patrick was going to pick me up and run me home afterward, but the surgery is scheduled for July 17 ... which just happens to also be the day he opens Guys and Dolls at the Paramount Arts Centre in Aurora. Very slim chance that he'll be able to get me home and get back to the theater in time for curtain.
So I've called in reinforcements - which I hate to do because I totally suck at asking for help - and a couple awesome people agreed to take the second shift on the Maggie Surgery Shuttle Schedule (not to be confused with the Space Shuttle Schedule; please don't send me that far away.) But here's where I got caught up in the vicious circle of dread (which is vicious and dreadful and, somehow, circular): I was never supposed to be here. I was never supposed to be weak or fragile or in need of someone's help. I'm the one who helps, not the one who needs.
This is one of those times when I curse the comfort I felt when I was married. I'd never have to worry about this stuff, because someone promised to care for me when I couldn't care for myself. And now I'm in a position where I feel like a burden to people who didn't sign on for this. When you go ice skating at age 16, or stay up talking until the sun comes up, you don't look at the person you're with and think, "hey, in 20 or 30 years, I'll be watching someone wheel her into surgery."
But that's where we are. We're in a place where things just aren't working out the way I thought they would, back when I used to play this movie in my head. Aging divorcee learns flexibility, right? Instead, I'm going to do my level best to just be grateful that I have friends who are so willing to help out, who don't even blink when I have a need that they can fill.
So you're on notice. On July 18 and 19, I'll be home. I might need something. I might just want you to check on me. I might need pancakes. So, you should feel free to stop by.
Now, on to the good: people. You amaze me. On Saturday at the gym, after the 8:15 class of Pam Hates Us and the 9:30 Salsa/Funk, Linda and I spent a little time talking to Donna. Donna is a bundle of energy. She's beautiful in every sense of the word. She personifies confidence. She's singularly ... Donna. So when she stopped me to tell me I remind her of her sister, because we have similar energy, enthusiasm and spirit, I was overcome. I'm just me, and most of the time I don't think that's anything to write home about. Turns out, there are people who don't agree. There are people who think I remind them of some of their favorite people.
Then, there are those to whom I am one of their favorite people. Take, for example, when my Wicked Step Mother emailed me earlier this week in a last-ditch effort to wrangle my ass to North Carolina. "Take the train to Springfield and we'll pick you up there," she said. "I'll even spring for the ticket." I cried like a baby when I emailed her back that I couldn't, work wouldn't let me off the hook, but I love that she wanted me there. I love that everyone in Clan Rice/Carlson/Bathje would move mountains if it would mean having me join them for Lake House II: the sequel. I also love that, unless it's planned for the week of my work's national conference next year, I will be there.
There are also those who have been there all along, save for a long-ish hiatus. My friend Eric and I were as close as two peas in a pod back in the early 90s, before my Second Act. But then I went back to school and built this new life and left a lot of the old behind. Some of it was easy to recapture - it's tough to stay clear of Kelly and Patrick for long - but others required Facebook to realign us as we're meant to be. And it became clear last Friday, sitting on the stage at the Geneva Underground Playhouse, following a hysterical night of sketch comedy ... we are still the people we've always been. Eric held court, surrounded by lovely artists (and me) and the snappy patter flowed. His little sister (and biggest fan) and I laughed and joked until our sides hurt. His wife and I traded barbs as if we've known each other for years. His friends treat me like one of their own. They share their peanut M&Ms and their leftover Chinese food with me. What could be better than that?
There are simple phrases people use with me, like "You've gotta cut that shit out," and "Stop apologizing for my choice to be your friend," and "Are you gonna eat that?" It all means "I love you" in the language of my friends. There are those who meet me for a night of theater or a morning of breakfast, who know it's fine to drop by and eat my food, who grill chicken and vegetables so I can eat and enjoy without worry, who let the wine flow freely, who sit with me in the dark, who call when the rescue a turtle from certain death, or for no reason at all ... and there are those who share their chocolate. They have no idea the profound effect they have on my life ... or at least they didn't until they read this.
It really is no accident, the manner in which your kindness has changed my life. My life is better because you are in it, and in the dark moments - both literal and metaphoric - you carry me through.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Tidbits
I've been hitting the gym as if my life depended on it these days. Back to lifting weights, and some pretty heavy cardio. Add to that the tremendous calorie burn I get from jumping to conclusions and I'll be buff in no time. But for the moment, I'm perpetually sore. I can't wait for Saturday's workout, though. At 8:15 a.m. I'll report to Studio One for Strictly Strength with Pam, who will kick my ass. Then at 9:30, Laura will teach Salsa/Funk, which will also kick my ass. Then, if the weather holds, I will put on my bathing suit and head out to the pool, where I will spend the rest of the day. Guess which is my favorite part of that plan!
I'm a little melancholy over missing the Rice/Carlson vacation this year. Last year was such an amazing experience ... really, I feel like I brought my very best self home after that trip. I know staying back is the smart thing to do, financially speaking, but that doesn't mean I won't miss being with some of my favorite people in the world! Please please please have fun on my behalf, guys! Eat great food, relax, read, squish the babies and love each other a little extra to make up for my absence.
My dad turned 80 last week, and his part was last Sunday (in case you missed my previous post.) I had a wonderful time sitting next to my cousin and catching up. My father is an extraordinary man. It was amazing to spend an evening with so many people who love him.
Yesterday, I met with the surgeon who will be taking out my gallbladder. The surgery isn't scheduled yet, but will probably be by the end of the week. Yes, I will let you know. I'm a little nervous, but I felt better when he said I will probably go home by the end of the day. I hate hospitals, so this is good news. Consider yourselves notified: I may need those of you in geographic proximity to check in on me, and/or bring me movies or books or love.
On January 20, I get to squish a two-year-old. My friend Chris and Janie and their adorable little guy, Liam, will be staying at the Bieritz Rathunde B&B for a few days. Back when Christopher and I lived in a studio apartment in Oswego, Chris and Janie stayed with us. It's funny to me how a home expands to allow in as much love as possible. I can't wait!
That's it from me. What's new with you?
I'm a little melancholy over missing the Rice/Carlson vacation this year. Last year was such an amazing experience ... really, I feel like I brought my very best self home after that trip. I know staying back is the smart thing to do, financially speaking, but that doesn't mean I won't miss being with some of my favorite people in the world! Please please please have fun on my behalf, guys! Eat great food, relax, read, squish the babies and love each other a little extra to make up for my absence.
My dad turned 80 last week, and his part was last Sunday (in case you missed my previous post.) I had a wonderful time sitting next to my cousin and catching up. My father is an extraordinary man. It was amazing to spend an evening with so many people who love him.
Yesterday, I met with the surgeon who will be taking out my gallbladder. The surgery isn't scheduled yet, but will probably be by the end of the week. Yes, I will let you know. I'm a little nervous, but I felt better when he said I will probably go home by the end of the day. I hate hospitals, so this is good news. Consider yourselves notified: I may need those of you in geographic proximity to check in on me, and/or bring me movies or books or love.
On January 20, I get to squish a two-year-old. My friend Chris and Janie and their adorable little guy, Liam, will be staying at the Bieritz Rathunde B&B for a few days. Back when Christopher and I lived in a studio apartment in Oswego, Chris and Janie stayed with us. It's funny to me how a home expands to allow in as much love as possible. I can't wait!
That's it from me. What's new with you?
Monday, June 8, 2009
The Ripple Effect
On June 2, 1929, a pebble was dropped into the ocean. That pebble produced ripple upon ripple, changing the earth forever.
That pebble had a name: Glenn William Bieritz.
Yes, it's true ... on June 2 of this year, my father became an octogenarian, which I think is Latin for "Dude who's been around for 80 years." He's seen a lot, my dad. He grew up mostly without a father, was captain of the football team AND played in the band, served in Korea, got his pilot's license, survived a divorce, helped my mother battle cancer once and win and a second time and lose, helped four daughters grow up, worked 46 years for the same company (the last 16 without a single sick day) and is my brother's best friend and caregiver.
Last night, about 80 of my dad's best friends gathered in Naperville to celebrate this man. Ten tables of people who, for one reason or another, love my dad. Each table told a story of how Glenn has touched their lives. There were those who've been adopted into the family, those whose houses he helped build, those who have looked to him for guidance and those who simply admire his faith. Everyone in that room has been changed because they have known my dad.
I am awestruck by him. He is not perfect, and has never required that others be. He has never judged me, and I am sure the same can be said of most everyone he's ever met. He is simply an amazing man.
He is the most generous person I know, in every way. He listens. He supports. He shares is inimitable spirit with anyone who will share theirs with him. He cares equally for everyone. He gives of his time, his talents, his experience and his wisdom to everyone, without reservation. That is just who he is.
My dad has often referred to me as a "free spirit." I haven't always been sure of what that meant, but I have always had the feeling that he means it as a compliment. This is a man who can disagree completely with my opinions, but still give me time to explain them. As the tree-hugging hippy among a more straight-laced family tree, still he never wavered in treating my beliefs with respect, listening to my point of view even while he thinks I'm, frankly, nuts.
I admire a great many people in this world, but none more than my father. If you have someone like Glenn Bieritz in your life - or if you're lucky enough to have the genuine article - you know as well as I do that the world is a better place because he's here. The world could use more like him.
This pebble in the ocean, this man admired by so many, is the finest man I have ever known. Happy birthday, Dad.
That pebble had a name: Glenn William Bieritz.
Yes, it's true ... on June 2 of this year, my father became an octogenarian, which I think is Latin for "Dude who's been around for 80 years." He's seen a lot, my dad. He grew up mostly without a father, was captain of the football team AND played in the band, served in Korea, got his pilot's license, survived a divorce, helped my mother battle cancer once and win and a second time and lose, helped four daughters grow up, worked 46 years for the same company (the last 16 without a single sick day) and is my brother's best friend and caregiver.
Last night, about 80 of my dad's best friends gathered in Naperville to celebrate this man. Ten tables of people who, for one reason or another, love my dad. Each table told a story of how Glenn has touched their lives. There were those who've been adopted into the family, those whose houses he helped build, those who have looked to him for guidance and those who simply admire his faith. Everyone in that room has been changed because they have known my dad.
I am awestruck by him. He is not perfect, and has never required that others be. He has never judged me, and I am sure the same can be said of most everyone he's ever met. He is simply an amazing man.
He is the most generous person I know, in every way. He listens. He supports. He shares is inimitable spirit with anyone who will share theirs with him. He cares equally for everyone. He gives of his time, his talents, his experience and his wisdom to everyone, without reservation. That is just who he is.
My dad has often referred to me as a "free spirit." I haven't always been sure of what that meant, but I have always had the feeling that he means it as a compliment. This is a man who can disagree completely with my opinions, but still give me time to explain them. As the tree-hugging hippy among a more straight-laced family tree, still he never wavered in treating my beliefs with respect, listening to my point of view even while he thinks I'm, frankly, nuts.
I admire a great many people in this world, but none more than my father. If you have someone like Glenn Bieritz in your life - or if you're lucky enough to have the genuine article - you know as well as I do that the world is a better place because he's here. The world could use more like him.
This pebble in the ocean, this man admired by so many, is the finest man I have ever known. Happy birthday, Dad.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Ten on Tuesday
The Say it's Your Birthday, or another trip around the sun
Today is my mom's birthday. I got her the same thing this year as I got her last year. It's funny ... my mom and dad's birthdays are exactly one week apart, and growing up I always remembered Dad's, because I always forgot Mom's. One year, when I was away at college, my sister Jenn called to tell me it would "beehoove me" to call my mother and wish her a happy birthday. But I haven't forgotten it once since she died. Something about the melancholy that makes me remember, I suppose.
Walk Like a Man, or a second helping of melancholy
Yesterday, my friend Eric's dad died. Eric is an old and wonderful friend who knew Maggie 1.0 ... the version before college, before marriage, before responsibility. And now we're back in each other's lives, and I'm able to offer him a spongey shoulder through what is certainly a tough time. It's the ultimate in paying it forward, I think. When I was losing Mom, Mike was there for me, having been through it before. And now, with that experience under my belt, I'm able to to offer some small measure of comfort, if for no other reason than because I understand a tiny bit what he's going through. I hate it. I hate watching people I love hurt over losing someone. I want to make it better, and I can't. I can just be here when the tears come, baking cookies and buying oranges and listening to the stories. This is what friends gear up for, after all. (For the record, the song title here is the Springsteen song, not Motown. Don't know it? Clicque vous the title. The song has always reminded Eric of his dad, the inimitable Ward Schwartz. It speaks volumes about the man he was.)
Walk Right In, Sit Right Down, or but it's not all sadness
Later on this week, my friend Emily will be staying with me for a few nights. She wants to move here from Champaign, and she's going to be up here looking for work and a place to live and stuff. I really enjoy having friends stay with me, because they leave a little of the love behind when we say goodbye.
Sleep Like a Baby, or an Early visit
Emily won't be my only houseguest, either! One of my favorite families, Chris, Janie and Liam Early from Oregon, will be here in June. I have never met Liam, but I know Chris and Janie are completely awesome so I can't imagine their two-year-old son being anything but! I can't wait to bake them cinnamon rolls and show them my town and play with Liam and soak up every bit of love the three of them have to offer. They are amazing people with beautiful hearts, and it has been far too long since I've seen them. June 20 can't come soon enough!
Stop and Smell the Roses, or plenty of joy to go around
This weekend is the art festival in my town, and it's always awesome. I'll be wandering around looking at things I can't afford and admiring the handiwork of incredible artisans. You should come visit! (Amber, this means you!) Then the following weekend, my cousin Laura is getting married and my father's 80th birthday shindig will be hoppin'. See? So much to celebrate. In the midst of that which scares us or makes us sad, there are always reasons to move forward.
Life Less Ordinary, or sometimes it turns on a dime
My favorite Marine, Second Lieutenant Ryan I. Carlson, was to report to The Basic School in Quantico, VA sometime this fall. October rings a bell. Plenty of time to allow the family to get used to the idea. Plenty of time for him to make me fettuccine Alfredo. Plenty of time for me to visit him in Champaign again before he headed out to begin his Real Life. But as luck would have it, the U.S. Marine Corps (and for those of you playing at home, the "s" is still silent) had other ideas. He will now report to Quantico on June 2. He's got everything he needs - the love of his family, the credentials of an officer, and a killer tattoo - but I'm still not quite ready to let him go. However, if I correctly remember a conversation he and I had about a month ago, this might well mean he'll be home for Christmas. Maybe that's a fair trade. At any rate, he's my brother, my friend and my Marine.
The Glamorous Life, or my day as a Beverly Hillbilly
So on Saturday, my friend Linda and I visited the Vernon Hills Lifetime Athletic Club, a branch of our gym. This facility, however, is uber-posh. Glass doors on the showers. Luxurious poolside setting. Three-story rock wall. Spa-like yoga studio. Seriously, I couldn't get over myself. And Linda and I took advantage of everything, sunning poolside on padded teak chaise lounges and looking quite like movie stars. We earned it - after all, we did two hours of cardio with Donna - but man, did we feel pampered. I will go back every chance I get!
Beach Baby, or tie-dyed skin
Speaking of the gym, I went on Sunday, too. Back to my "home gym" in Schaumburg, to lay by the pool and spend a little time with Shakespeare. It was only about 70 degrees, but the sun was still doing its thing, so I sprayed on the sunscreen. And proceeded to miss about half of my exposed skin. I look sort of ridiculous. I feel completely stupid. Note to self: be sure you're covered! Pink is not a "healthy glow."
Puppy Love, or oh, for the love of Jane
Shakespeare was puppy-sitting over the weekend, and now I'm in love with a puggle named Jane. Even though she peed on my foot and stuck her tongue up my nose, I find her irresistible. Sweetest puppy ever. She's back with her "real" family now, and I miss her.
Doctor, My Eyes, or yes, I've made the appointments
On Thursday I consult with the doctor about the gallbladder. I'm hoping to get that sucker out sooner rather than later, but we'll see. Then next week (on my dad's birthday) I have the mammogram. Annual joy, what fun! This is just me, being accountable. I'll let you know what I learn. And while I'm on the subject (again) of modern medicine, this Saturday my sister Jenn begins chemo. If anyone can kick leukemia to the curb, it's Jenn, but any happy thoughts you'd care to send her way would certainly be appreciated.
Today is my mom's birthday. I got her the same thing this year as I got her last year. It's funny ... my mom and dad's birthdays are exactly one week apart, and growing up I always remembered Dad's, because I always forgot Mom's. One year, when I was away at college, my sister Jenn called to tell me it would "beehoove me" to call my mother and wish her a happy birthday. But I haven't forgotten it once since she died. Something about the melancholy that makes me remember, I suppose.
Walk Like a Man, or a second helping of melancholy
Yesterday, my friend Eric's dad died. Eric is an old and wonderful friend who knew Maggie 1.0 ... the version before college, before marriage, before responsibility. And now we're back in each other's lives, and I'm able to offer him a spongey shoulder through what is certainly a tough time. It's the ultimate in paying it forward, I think. When I was losing Mom, Mike was there for me, having been through it before. And now, with that experience under my belt, I'm able to to offer some small measure of comfort, if for no other reason than because I understand a tiny bit what he's going through. I hate it. I hate watching people I love hurt over losing someone. I want to make it better, and I can't. I can just be here when the tears come, baking cookies and buying oranges and listening to the stories. This is what friends gear up for, after all. (For the record, the song title here is the Springsteen song, not Motown. Don't know it? Clicque vous the title. The song has always reminded Eric of his dad, the inimitable Ward Schwartz. It speaks volumes about the man he was.)
Walk Right In, Sit Right Down, or but it's not all sadness
Later on this week, my friend Emily will be staying with me for a few nights. She wants to move here from Champaign, and she's going to be up here looking for work and a place to live and stuff. I really enjoy having friends stay with me, because they leave a little of the love behind when we say goodbye.
Sleep Like a Baby, or an Early visit
Emily won't be my only houseguest, either! One of my favorite families, Chris, Janie and Liam Early from Oregon, will be here in June. I have never met Liam, but I know Chris and Janie are completely awesome so I can't imagine their two-year-old son being anything but! I can't wait to bake them cinnamon rolls and show them my town and play with Liam and soak up every bit of love the three of them have to offer. They are amazing people with beautiful hearts, and it has been far too long since I've seen them. June 20 can't come soon enough!
Stop and Smell the Roses, or plenty of joy to go around
This weekend is the art festival in my town, and it's always awesome. I'll be wandering around looking at things I can't afford and admiring the handiwork of incredible artisans. You should come visit! (Amber, this means you!) Then the following weekend, my cousin Laura is getting married and my father's 80th birthday shindig will be hoppin'. See? So much to celebrate. In the midst of that which scares us or makes us sad, there are always reasons to move forward.
Life Less Ordinary, or sometimes it turns on a dime
My favorite Marine, Second Lieutenant Ryan I. Carlson, was to report to The Basic School in Quantico, VA sometime this fall. October rings a bell. Plenty of time to allow the family to get used to the idea. Plenty of time for him to make me fettuccine Alfredo. Plenty of time for me to visit him in Champaign again before he headed out to begin his Real Life. But as luck would have it, the U.S. Marine Corps (and for those of you playing at home, the "s" is still silent) had other ideas. He will now report to Quantico on June 2. He's got everything he needs - the love of his family, the credentials of an officer, and a killer tattoo - but I'm still not quite ready to let him go. However, if I correctly remember a conversation he and I had about a month ago, this might well mean he'll be home for Christmas. Maybe that's a fair trade. At any rate, he's my brother, my friend and my Marine.
The Glamorous Life, or my day as a Beverly Hillbilly
So on Saturday, my friend Linda and I visited the Vernon Hills Lifetime Athletic Club, a branch of our gym. This facility, however, is uber-posh. Glass doors on the showers. Luxurious poolside setting. Three-story rock wall. Spa-like yoga studio. Seriously, I couldn't get over myself. And Linda and I took advantage of everything, sunning poolside on padded teak chaise lounges and looking quite like movie stars. We earned it - after all, we did two hours of cardio with Donna - but man, did we feel pampered. I will go back every chance I get!
Beach Baby, or tie-dyed skin
Speaking of the gym, I went on Sunday, too. Back to my "home gym" in Schaumburg, to lay by the pool and spend a little time with Shakespeare. It was only about 70 degrees, but the sun was still doing its thing, so I sprayed on the sunscreen. And proceeded to miss about half of my exposed skin. I look sort of ridiculous. I feel completely stupid. Note to self: be sure you're covered! Pink is not a "healthy glow."
Puppy Love, or oh, for the love of Jane
Shakespeare was puppy-sitting over the weekend, and now I'm in love with a puggle named Jane. Even though she peed on my foot and stuck her tongue up my nose, I find her irresistible. Sweetest puppy ever. She's back with her "real" family now, and I miss her.
Doctor, My Eyes, or yes, I've made the appointments
On Thursday I consult with the doctor about the gallbladder. I'm hoping to get that sucker out sooner rather than later, but we'll see. Then next week (on my dad's birthday) I have the mammogram. Annual joy, what fun! This is just me, being accountable. I'll let you know what I learn. And while I'm on the subject (again) of modern medicine, this Saturday my sister Jenn begins chemo. If anyone can kick leukemia to the curb, it's Jenn, but any happy thoughts you'd care to send her way would certainly be appreciated.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Summer volume
I sing a lot. It's what I do. Especially when I'm home alone (which is a lot), I tend to crank the tunes and let it fly. I'm not bad, actually. In fact, a dear friend recently said "you have the voice of an angel." And while I don't agree with that assessment, I do acknowledge that I know where the tune is, and generally I can carry it.
So last night when I got home from work, I opened all the windows, jumped in the shower, and afterward hung out in my towel for awhile, tidying up Chez Mags and rocking to the tunage.
Alicia Keys' "No One" came up on the rotation. I wailed. Again, it's what I do.
I have zero reservations about singing. I figure I am no worse than the thumping-bass-jackass in the hoopty driving in the next lane, so I tend to be unabashedly vocal when in the confines of my own home.
"No one, no one, no one ... can get in the way of what I feel for you ... "
Just as I'm finishing the song, I look out the window. There are two people across the street, staring up at my window. Either they're wondering who is begin tortured up there, or they're trying to figure out who's singing so loudly. I giggled, went to the window (again, clad only in my towel) and waved down to them. I refrained from taking a bow.
So consider this your fair warning: if you're wandering the streets of Arlington Heights on a warm summer day, I won't apologize for what you might hear. And if you really love me, you'll let me buzz you in so we can do a duet.
So last night when I got home from work, I opened all the windows, jumped in the shower, and afterward hung out in my towel for awhile, tidying up Chez Mags and rocking to the tunage.
Alicia Keys' "No One" came up on the rotation. I wailed. Again, it's what I do.
I have zero reservations about singing. I figure I am no worse than the thumping-bass-jackass in the hoopty driving in the next lane, so I tend to be unabashedly vocal when in the confines of my own home.
"No one, no one, no one ... can get in the way of what I feel for you ... "
Just as I'm finishing the song, I look out the window. There are two people across the street, staring up at my window. Either they're wondering who is begin tortured up there, or they're trying to figure out who's singing so loudly. I giggled, went to the window (again, clad only in my towel) and waved down to them. I refrained from taking a bow.
So consider this your fair warning: if you're wandering the streets of Arlington Heights on a warm summer day, I won't apologize for what you might hear. And if you really love me, you'll let me buzz you in so we can do a duet.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Ten on Tuesday, big weekend edition
It took a long time to get my thoughts together. I'm still a little overwhelmed, but here's the rundown of my life since late last week. Those of you think a picture really does paint a thousand words will find the links helpful; you'll find the photos in my Mac galleries when you click on them.
Driving in the rain to the airport on a Friday afternoon
Yeah, that's not going to turn out well. It's just not. I left the office at 1 p.m., and didn't get to him, standing outside in a leather jacket and shorts, until almost 3. the airport is 38 miles from me. The math doesn't add up; welcome to Chicago. But we were undaunted! There was White Castle to eat! Pants to buy! And more food!
Our traditional first stop each time Rice visits is White Castle. When you live in Tucson, this is a luxury ... a necessity. A delicious diversion. I behaved ... I ordered nothing, and ate only a few of Mike's fries.
Once we had Mike moved into Chez Mags for the weekend, it was time for a trip to Old Navy. It was chillier in Chicago than originally forecast. And from there, we headed to Bahama Breeze for dinner. Big mistake. I cannot resist the deliciousness that is crab claws, and yet I know that two things I ought not eat with my gallbladder are rich things and fatty things. Crabmeat drenched in butter? Not smart. And yes, I paid for it later. Truly, though it was delicious, is was not worth it.
Attack of the Killer Gallbladder
I had such great plans for getting up on Saturday and going to the gym, but the pain and medication from the night before had other plans. Honestly, I had a horrible time getting back to life at all on Saturday; woozy, tired and borderline nauseous all day. Finally around 5 I fixed myself a cup of ginger tea and took a shower, which seemed to help. Good thing, because I had plans!
The Best Man
Yes, Saturday night I returned to see The Best Man at the Geneva Underground Playhouse. This time, I took Shakespeare to the theater; big fun! We started the evening with Chinese food (steamed chicken and broccoli for me; not taking any chances with my stupid gallbladder) and Mongolian beef for my lovely dinner companion. We enjoyed the show very much, especially Eric's performance - truly a stunning portrayal of a dying ex-President.
After the show, we were invited to Steve and Pat Lord's house to share in the cast party. Now I have a serious rule about how people who aren't cast members don't belong at a cast party, but Shakespeare was game (and she won the rock/scissors/paper contest) and several people seemed to want us there, so we went.
I am so glad we did. We were welcomed as if we'd been along for the ride from day one. I was touched by how warm and kind everyone was, genuinely interested in both Jess and I. Probably the most stunning facet of the evening, however, was the moment I met Angelicque Cate. I've known of her forever, because she was cast in a role I auditioned for back in 1980-something, and I've held the grudge ever since. But as we stood together in the same space, it became clear that some of life's baggage simply begs to be set down. It was time, and I thoroughly enjoyed her company. I guess you just never know.
As the night wore on and we gathered around the fire in the backyard, warmed by the good company and the red wine, I felt like I was part of something great. It was a wonderful feeling.
Sliding in the mud and loud alarms
Knowing I had to get up early the next day, however, I eventually had to leave the warmth of the fire and head to my car. But not before I slipped in some rather lovely mud in front of Steve and Pat's house and pretty much coated my left shoe in the stuff. Spa treatment for leather, right? Anyway, I got into the car, started it up, and realized it was 2:09 a.m.! My plan was to leave the house at 9 in the morning, and I was an hour away from home. At best, I'd get six hours of rest. But in reality, I got home at 3, took a shower and was in bed by 3:30. When the alarm went off at 8:30, it was SnoozeFest 2009.
Mike and I finally got on the road at around 10:30, and we picked up the Comfy Traveling Car (my sister's Grand Cherokee) at 11:30. By the time we had lunch (more Chinese) and actually got on the road, it was almost 1. But I'm not convinced we cared, because life, after all, is about the journey much more than it is the destination.
What up, Doudna?
Our first destination along this particular journey was the campus of Eastern Illinois University, where we went to school together a decade+ ago. Our purpose? Checking out the Doudna Fine Arts Center. As the Center's Web site says, "This newly renovated and greatly expanded facility boasts several public arts venues." Ask Mike and I, and we'll pretty much just tell you it's a beautiful, huge building with at least one theater that has near-perfect acoustics. Not that I walked up to center stage in the empty, dark theater to test them out or anything.
The Road to a Friend's is Never Long
Soon it was time to head to Brian and Patty Poulter's house. Following Patty's directions absolutely cracked me up. "If you reach the Golf Course, you have gone too far. If you reach Lincoln Lob Cabin, you are in 1843."
We arrived at their beautiful home, hugged the dogs and the Poulters, and got started with the business of catching up. So much time has passed, and yet the good times are still there, the humor still alive and the love still very much intact. Brian was my first favorite professor in college, and the first to take a chance on the 29-year-old transfer student by allowing me to edit a campus publication. I will always believe that had a profound effect on my college experience, and I will always be grateful.
It was an evening of delicious food (I have to recreate the strawberry appetizer thing; I dream of it now) and wine and conversation and doggy hugs. Stories of wrist rockets, Antiques Roadshow, motorcycle travels, don't be so stupid and the politics of education carried us through the evening. When it was time to turn in, I crawled onto a marshmallow (truly, the guest bedroom at Chez Poulter has the most comfy mattress in creation) and slept like a contented baby. Except I didn't wet the bed.
Touch Me in the Morning
That song is now pretty much a morning tradition, thanks to Patty telling us how Brian sang it to her one morning. We were up and out nearly on time, thanks to Patty's coffee and breakfast waiting for us. Then it was into the car and back North, with a stop in Champaign to celebrate Ryan's commissioning.
Mike and I met up with the family at the Alma Mater statue at just before 9 a.m. for the private commissioning ceremony. As we walked up, the recognition just sort of washed over the family as one by one they realized Mike was, indeed, here. It was a magical moment fueled by tears, and yes, I saw Ryan's lip quiver in what we can only assume is the Marine equivalent of crying. The support of family at the important crossroads of life is so critical, and I'm incredibly glad Mike was able to share in Ryan's day. Watching Ryan and his friend take their oath of service was powerful and meaningful. He's a Marine now, for sure, I kept thinking. He is no longer "ours" ... he belongs to our country.
After the private ceremony, Mike and I dashed off to feed the meter and get my camera before the full ceremony began. We hurried back to meet up with the family, because Ryan had something to say to everyone.
In the Words of a Marine
In the wee hours of the morning, Ryan had written something to his family. He related each piece of his uniform to the members of his family, and the ways we encourage, support and inspire him. As his sister Tori read his letter, Ryan's very real transition from child to adult seemed to wash over us. His turn of phrase was beautiful as he spoke about the people he loves most in this world. Most shocking to me, though, was when he included "and of course Maggie" in with his other stepbrothers and sisters. I know I'm not really family; I understand that there is no DNA evidence to support me being a part of it. And still, time and again, I learn that they just don't care. I'm theirs and they are mine, period.
Moments passed and it was time to head into the Joint Service Commissioning Ceremony. What a grand event! (Although, frankly, I think they needed a live band rather than a CD, but that's just me.) A large gathering of men in uniform - you'll get no complaints from me. We watched as each commissioned officer was presented to the crowd, and once again when they individually processed through the Arch of Sabers (which is every bit as cool as it sounds) and received their first salute. Nope, I didn't cry. I'm just not the sentimental type, remember?
Time to Celebrate
After the ceremonies were finished, it was time to relax. We gathered at Hessel Park (some of us took longer than others; Rice and I needed Dunkin Donuts and a change of clothes) to grill burgers and hot dogs and eat cake and enjoy a day in the sun with family, which included Ryan's dear friend Isaiah and his family, and that sweet Errin who made me laugh. It was a fantastic time to relax with family, squish the babies (complete with projectile vomit!), catch up with Cindy and enjoy the sunshine. The food was wonderful (there's just something about a burger on the grill) and the company even better.
Sometimes I am amazed at how seamlessly the Carlsons have accepted me as part of the family. Just a year ago, I met Cindy, and I knew who her kids were because I saw them at the wedding. I didn't meet them until after that, though. I met Ryan and Tori at the lake house last July, and I didn't meet J.J. until January of this year. But that didn't stop J.J. from asking me if I'd met her friend Chris at the wedding; I had to remind J.J. that I hadn't even met her at the wedding! It's awesome to me that they must feel like they've known me forever. What a privilege.
You Drive Me Crazy
Because all things must come to an end, pretty soon it was time for Rice and I to fire up the GPS and point the Jeep toward home. Because nothing in my life happens without a little bit of drama, I missed my turnoff for 47 and ended up taking some serious backroads to Montgomery. Mike used this opportunity to sleep. I used this opportunity to test out the accelerator. And I know this much for sure: I really like Kathie's car.
Soon we were home. Well, I was; Rice still had a flight in front of him. Our 3:30 a.m. alarms came pretty stinking early, but I think we both agree that it was worth it. I would do it again in a heartbeat, because there were countless perfect moments over the past four days that will be among my favorite memories for a long time to come.
Driving in the rain to the airport on a Friday afternoon
Yeah, that's not going to turn out well. It's just not. I left the office at 1 p.m., and didn't get to him, standing outside in a leather jacket and shorts, until almost 3. the airport is 38 miles from me. The math doesn't add up; welcome to Chicago. But we were undaunted! There was White Castle to eat! Pants to buy! And more food!
Our traditional first stop each time Rice visits is White Castle. When you live in Tucson, this is a luxury ... a necessity. A delicious diversion. I behaved ... I ordered nothing, and ate only a few of Mike's fries.
Once we had Mike moved into Chez Mags for the weekend, it was time for a trip to Old Navy. It was chillier in Chicago than originally forecast. And from there, we headed to Bahama Breeze for dinner. Big mistake. I cannot resist the deliciousness that is crab claws, and yet I know that two things I ought not eat with my gallbladder are rich things and fatty things. Crabmeat drenched in butter? Not smart. And yes, I paid for it later. Truly, though it was delicious, is was not worth it.
Attack of the Killer Gallbladder
I had such great plans for getting up on Saturday and going to the gym, but the pain and medication from the night before had other plans. Honestly, I had a horrible time getting back to life at all on Saturday; woozy, tired and borderline nauseous all day. Finally around 5 I fixed myself a cup of ginger tea and took a shower, which seemed to help. Good thing, because I had plans!
The Best Man
Yes, Saturday night I returned to see The Best Man at the Geneva Underground Playhouse. This time, I took Shakespeare to the theater; big fun! We started the evening with Chinese food (steamed chicken and broccoli for me; not taking any chances with my stupid gallbladder) and Mongolian beef for my lovely dinner companion. We enjoyed the show very much, especially Eric's performance - truly a stunning portrayal of a dying ex-President.
After the show, we were invited to Steve and Pat Lord's house to share in the cast party. Now I have a serious rule about how people who aren't cast members don't belong at a cast party, but Shakespeare was game (and she won the rock/scissors/paper contest) and several people seemed to want us there, so we went.
I am so glad we did. We were welcomed as if we'd been along for the ride from day one. I was touched by how warm and kind everyone was, genuinely interested in both Jess and I. Probably the most stunning facet of the evening, however, was the moment I met Angelicque Cate. I've known of her forever, because she was cast in a role I auditioned for back in 1980-something, and I've held the grudge ever since. But as we stood together in the same space, it became clear that some of life's baggage simply begs to be set down. It was time, and I thoroughly enjoyed her company. I guess you just never know.
As the night wore on and we gathered around the fire in the backyard, warmed by the good company and the red wine, I felt like I was part of something great. It was a wonderful feeling.
Sliding in the mud and loud alarms
Knowing I had to get up early the next day, however, I eventually had to leave the warmth of the fire and head to my car. But not before I slipped in some rather lovely mud in front of Steve and Pat's house and pretty much coated my left shoe in the stuff. Spa treatment for leather, right? Anyway, I got into the car, started it up, and realized it was 2:09 a.m.! My plan was to leave the house at 9 in the morning, and I was an hour away from home. At best, I'd get six hours of rest. But in reality, I got home at 3, took a shower and was in bed by 3:30. When the alarm went off at 8:30, it was SnoozeFest 2009.
Mike and I finally got on the road at around 10:30, and we picked up the Comfy Traveling Car (my sister's Grand Cherokee) at 11:30. By the time we had lunch (more Chinese) and actually got on the road, it was almost 1. But I'm not convinced we cared, because life, after all, is about the journey much more than it is the destination.
What up, Doudna?
Our first destination along this particular journey was the campus of Eastern Illinois University, where we went to school together a decade+ ago. Our purpose? Checking out the Doudna Fine Arts Center. As the Center's Web site says, "This newly renovated and greatly expanded facility boasts several public arts venues." Ask Mike and I, and we'll pretty much just tell you it's a beautiful, huge building with at least one theater that has near-perfect acoustics. Not that I walked up to center stage in the empty, dark theater to test them out or anything.
The Road to a Friend's is Never Long
Soon it was time to head to Brian and Patty Poulter's house. Following Patty's directions absolutely cracked me up. "If you reach the Golf Course, you have gone too far. If you reach Lincoln Lob Cabin, you are in 1843."
We arrived at their beautiful home, hugged the dogs and the Poulters, and got started with the business of catching up. So much time has passed, and yet the good times are still there, the humor still alive and the love still very much intact. Brian was my first favorite professor in college, and the first to take a chance on the 29-year-old transfer student by allowing me to edit a campus publication. I will always believe that had a profound effect on my college experience, and I will always be grateful.
It was an evening of delicious food (I have to recreate the strawberry appetizer thing; I dream of it now) and wine and conversation and doggy hugs. Stories of wrist rockets, Antiques Roadshow, motorcycle travels, don't be so stupid and the politics of education carried us through the evening. When it was time to turn in, I crawled onto a marshmallow (truly, the guest bedroom at Chez Poulter has the most comfy mattress in creation) and slept like a contented baby. Except I didn't wet the bed.
Touch Me in the Morning
That song is now pretty much a morning tradition, thanks to Patty telling us how Brian sang it to her one morning. We were up and out nearly on time, thanks to Patty's coffee and breakfast waiting for us. Then it was into the car and back North, with a stop in Champaign to celebrate Ryan's commissioning.
Mike and I met up with the family at the Alma Mater statue at just before 9 a.m. for the private commissioning ceremony. As we walked up, the recognition just sort of washed over the family as one by one they realized Mike was, indeed, here. It was a magical moment fueled by tears, and yes, I saw Ryan's lip quiver in what we can only assume is the Marine equivalent of crying. The support of family at the important crossroads of life is so critical, and I'm incredibly glad Mike was able to share in Ryan's day. Watching Ryan and his friend take their oath of service was powerful and meaningful. He's a Marine now, for sure, I kept thinking. He is no longer "ours" ... he belongs to our country.
After the private ceremony, Mike and I dashed off to feed the meter and get my camera before the full ceremony began. We hurried back to meet up with the family, because Ryan had something to say to everyone.
In the Words of a Marine
In the wee hours of the morning, Ryan had written something to his family. He related each piece of his uniform to the members of his family, and the ways we encourage, support and inspire him. As his sister Tori read his letter, Ryan's very real transition from child to adult seemed to wash over us. His turn of phrase was beautiful as he spoke about the people he loves most in this world. Most shocking to me, though, was when he included "and of course Maggie" in with his other stepbrothers and sisters. I know I'm not really family; I understand that there is no DNA evidence to support me being a part of it. And still, time and again, I learn that they just don't care. I'm theirs and they are mine, period.
Moments passed and it was time to head into the Joint Service Commissioning Ceremony. What a grand event! (Although, frankly, I think they needed a live band rather than a CD, but that's just me.) A large gathering of men in uniform - you'll get no complaints from me. We watched as each commissioned officer was presented to the crowd, and once again when they individually processed through the Arch of Sabers (which is every bit as cool as it sounds) and received their first salute. Nope, I didn't cry. I'm just not the sentimental type, remember?
Time to Celebrate
After the ceremonies were finished, it was time to relax. We gathered at Hessel Park (some of us took longer than others; Rice and I needed Dunkin Donuts and a change of clothes) to grill burgers and hot dogs and eat cake and enjoy a day in the sun with family, which included Ryan's dear friend Isaiah and his family, and that sweet Errin who made me laugh. It was a fantastic time to relax with family, squish the babies (complete with projectile vomit!), catch up with Cindy and enjoy the sunshine. The food was wonderful (there's just something about a burger on the grill) and the company even better.
Sometimes I am amazed at how seamlessly the Carlsons have accepted me as part of the family. Just a year ago, I met Cindy, and I knew who her kids were because I saw them at the wedding. I didn't meet them until after that, though. I met Ryan and Tori at the lake house last July, and I didn't meet J.J. until January of this year. But that didn't stop J.J. from asking me if I'd met her friend Chris at the wedding; I had to remind J.J. that I hadn't even met her at the wedding! It's awesome to me that they must feel like they've known me forever. What a privilege.
You Drive Me Crazy
Because all things must come to an end, pretty soon it was time for Rice and I to fire up the GPS and point the Jeep toward home. Because nothing in my life happens without a little bit of drama, I missed my turnoff for 47 and ended up taking some serious backroads to Montgomery. Mike used this opportunity to sleep. I used this opportunity to test out the accelerator. And I know this much for sure: I really like Kathie's car.
Soon we were home. Well, I was; Rice still had a flight in front of him. Our 3:30 a.m. alarms came pretty stinking early, but I think we both agree that it was worth it. I would do it again in a heartbeat, because there were countless perfect moments over the past four days that will be among my favorite memories for a long time to come.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Hello, gorgeous
I'm a firm believer that we all deserve someone in our lives who greets us like that. "Hello, gorgeous." It speaks volumes. It's at once affectionate and reassuring, especially when uttered at the gym when I've just suited up into my ugly black-and-cat-hair-colored yoga pants and green t-shirt.
"Hello, Gorgeous" says John from down the hall. He, having just come from the office, looks actively handsome, but finds me gorgeous. "Because you are," he tells me.
And he's not the only one. That's how Ryan answers the phone when I call. That's what Rae's been telling me since 1996. It's practically Amber's favorite nickname, and Shakespeare tells me all the time how much she loves my gorgeous face. Every now and then, when no one's around, I look in the mirror and say it.
I don't always believe it, but sometimes it's enough to know that you do. And for the record ... you're gorgeous, too.
"Hello, Gorgeous" says John from down the hall. He, having just come from the office, looks actively handsome, but finds me gorgeous. "Because you are," he tells me.
And he's not the only one. That's how Ryan answers the phone when I call. That's what Rae's been telling me since 1996. It's practically Amber's favorite nickname, and Shakespeare tells me all the time how much she loves my gorgeous face. Every now and then, when no one's around, I look in the mirror and say it.
I don't always believe it, but sometimes it's enough to know that you do. And for the record ... you're gorgeous, too.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Return of Ten on Tuesday
Not making any friends here
I made potato salad tonight. Not merely potato salad though ... no indeed. I made "patatas alioli," or my version of the garlic potato salad served at my favorite tapas place here in town. I have nothing to fear from any local vampires tonight. It will likely come out my pores tomorrow, but it was worth it.
Pride and stuff
This weekend, I'll be road-trippin' to Champaign to see my fake stepbrother Ryan be commissioned into the U.S. Marine Corps. I'm a little uneasy about this. I'm at once proud and thrilled and scared and excited ... it's a bit much. I couldn't love him more if he were my flesh and blood brother; yes, the Rice family has brought me more than my share of men who inspire that emotion. Yet another aspect of the good fortune brought to me when I chose to finish college at EIU.
Speaking of which ...
I'm driving down on Sunday and spending the night in Charleston with my photography prof and his wife, who is a music prof at EIU. I haven't walked around campus in years. I hope it recognizes me. I'm excited to see the new Doudna Fine Arts Center ... it was designed by one of my favorite architects, Antoine Predock. Look him up; be amazed. Anyhoo, Sunday looks like it's gonna be a pretty artistic sorta day, and then Monday I'll get up early, eat bacon, and head up to Champaign. Friends, family, celebration. Plus, I get to hold Izzy again. Neat!
I've got rhythm
But not everyone does. Seriously. Last night at the gym, my least favorite instructor subbed for my favorite instructor. It was like having a blind teacher for driver's ed. Kill me now. The woman can't keep a beat, much less keep a class motivated. I wanted to eat my own hand. I toughed it out, because I'm a nice person and I didn't want to just walk out ... but I didn't like it.
With each day, there's fresh hope
It sounds trite, but it's true. Every day is a new opportunity to make something better than the day before. I need to remember that. I'm not writing it out of some crazy self-righteousness; no, I write it because I forget, all too often. Each day, ladies and gentlemen, is another chance to make choices that are authentic to who you are. Each moment, in fact ... we can pick any moment - how 'bout now? - to be more than we were a moment ago.
I've been writing bad poetry
Now, I don't know how to describe good poetry. I know it when I read it. It's the stuff that resonates in me, that strikes a chord or otherwise changes me. But I've been challenging myself to try and write it, because when I was in college I had a professor who said anyone could be a writer if they had no limit to their words. Tell a story with a poem, he'd say, or better yet, a haiku. So I've been trying. I'm not a rhymey girl, so it's very free-form and flowy, and mostly very personal ... but it's mine and I'm writing it, so I love it for what it is.
I always liked Matthew the best
I have a history of involvement with the musical "Godspell." If you don't know it, just picture a 1960s love-fest version of the Gospel According to Matthew. I was lucky enough to be in a production of the show back in (seriously, I am aging myself here) 1989, and we took our show on the road a few years later, performing in countless churches and halls. It was an incredibly meaningful experience, and one that springs to mind all the time. Then, a few years ago, I came out of retirement to do the show once again, making different memories with a different cast. So it should come as no surprise that every year at this time, when the lilies of the valley are blooming and their fragrance tickles my nose, that I play this line over and over in my head: "Consider the lilies of the field. They don't work. They don't spin. Yet I tell you - Solomon in all his splendor was not attired like one of these." So don't miss it. Stick your face in a lilac bush. Bend your fanny over and smell your garden. Put your face to the sun and be grateful winter is over - even if your winter never gets colder than 40 degrees overnight in Tucson.
Look, I made a princess!
I took my 14-year-old niece shopping on Saturday for her very first dress for her very first dance. It is an aunt's privilege and responsibility to share this rite of passage with her baby girls. It was such a treat for me to spend the day with amazing young lady, who is truly going to be a sight to behold in her sparkly plum number. (Note to Kelly: she needs black sandals and black strapless bra. I have spoken. And I want to see pictures!)
Creepy
About four months ago, I called my landlord to tell him my medicine cabinet wasn't anchored to the wall. Weeks past, and nothing. I honestly forgot about it. Until I came home last night to see all the stuff that was formerly in my medicine cabinet all over my bathroom, and sawdust and stuff all over my everything. It's a little creepy to me that my landlord and at least one other dude (my landlord is a power tool; he doesn't use them) were hanging out in my bathroom without my knowledge. Had I known, I would've ... well, I would've at least put away some of the more private items that live in my medicine cabinet. Just ... creepy.
Before you know it
Soon, it will be summer. I have a list of stuff I want to see, do, eat, experience and enjoy. I have limited funds - no travel for me this year - but let's face it. Sweet corn is cheap. Fireworks are free. Bodies of water just hang out, waiting for me. So if you want to road trip to the shores of Lake Michigan, relax on a lounge chair at Amber's pool or the gym, grill something tasty, go to the drive-in, find Shakespeare in the park, ride a Ferris wheel, take a walk in the forest preserve or just sit in the grass and eat egg and cheese sandwiches and drink coffee, I'm game. Come along with me for summer, people. It'll be fun, guaranteed.
I made potato salad tonight. Not merely potato salad though ... no indeed. I made "patatas alioli," or my version of the garlic potato salad served at my favorite tapas place here in town. I have nothing to fear from any local vampires tonight. It will likely come out my pores tomorrow, but it was worth it.
Pride and stuff
This weekend, I'll be road-trippin' to Champaign to see my fake stepbrother Ryan be commissioned into the U.S. Marine Corps. I'm a little uneasy about this. I'm at once proud and thrilled and scared and excited ... it's a bit much. I couldn't love him more if he were my flesh and blood brother; yes, the Rice family has brought me more than my share of men who inspire that emotion. Yet another aspect of the good fortune brought to me when I chose to finish college at EIU.
Speaking of which ...
I'm driving down on Sunday and spending the night in Charleston with my photography prof and his wife, who is a music prof at EIU. I haven't walked around campus in years. I hope it recognizes me. I'm excited to see the new Doudna Fine Arts Center ... it was designed by one of my favorite architects, Antoine Predock. Look him up; be amazed. Anyhoo, Sunday looks like it's gonna be a pretty artistic sorta day, and then Monday I'll get up early, eat bacon, and head up to Champaign. Friends, family, celebration. Plus, I get to hold Izzy again. Neat!
I've got rhythm
But not everyone does. Seriously. Last night at the gym, my least favorite instructor subbed for my favorite instructor. It was like having a blind teacher for driver's ed. Kill me now. The woman can't keep a beat, much less keep a class motivated. I wanted to eat my own hand. I toughed it out, because I'm a nice person and I didn't want to just walk out ... but I didn't like it.
With each day, there's fresh hope
It sounds trite, but it's true. Every day is a new opportunity to make something better than the day before. I need to remember that. I'm not writing it out of some crazy self-righteousness; no, I write it because I forget, all too often. Each day, ladies and gentlemen, is another chance to make choices that are authentic to who you are. Each moment, in fact ... we can pick any moment - how 'bout now? - to be more than we were a moment ago.
I've been writing bad poetry
Now, I don't know how to describe good poetry. I know it when I read it. It's the stuff that resonates in me, that strikes a chord or otherwise changes me. But I've been challenging myself to try and write it, because when I was in college I had a professor who said anyone could be a writer if they had no limit to their words. Tell a story with a poem, he'd say, or better yet, a haiku. So I've been trying. I'm not a rhymey girl, so it's very free-form and flowy, and mostly very personal ... but it's mine and I'm writing it, so I love it for what it is.
I always liked Matthew the best
I have a history of involvement with the musical "Godspell." If you don't know it, just picture a 1960s love-fest version of the Gospel According to Matthew. I was lucky enough to be in a production of the show back in (seriously, I am aging myself here) 1989, and we took our show on the road a few years later, performing in countless churches and halls. It was an incredibly meaningful experience, and one that springs to mind all the time. Then, a few years ago, I came out of retirement to do the show once again, making different memories with a different cast. So it should come as no surprise that every year at this time, when the lilies of the valley are blooming and their fragrance tickles my nose, that I play this line over and over in my head: "Consider the lilies of the field. They don't work. They don't spin. Yet I tell you - Solomon in all his splendor was not attired like one of these." So don't miss it. Stick your face in a lilac bush. Bend your fanny over and smell your garden. Put your face to the sun and be grateful winter is over - even if your winter never gets colder than 40 degrees overnight in Tucson.
Look, I made a princess!
I took my 14-year-old niece shopping on Saturday for her very first dress for her very first dance. It is an aunt's privilege and responsibility to share this rite of passage with her baby girls. It was such a treat for me to spend the day with amazing young lady, who is truly going to be a sight to behold in her sparkly plum number. (Note to Kelly: she needs black sandals and black strapless bra. I have spoken. And I want to see pictures!)
Creepy
About four months ago, I called my landlord to tell him my medicine cabinet wasn't anchored to the wall. Weeks past, and nothing. I honestly forgot about it. Until I came home last night to see all the stuff that was formerly in my medicine cabinet all over my bathroom, and sawdust and stuff all over my everything. It's a little creepy to me that my landlord and at least one other dude (my landlord is a power tool; he doesn't use them) were hanging out in my bathroom without my knowledge. Had I known, I would've ... well, I would've at least put away some of the more private items that live in my medicine cabinet. Just ... creepy.
Before you know it
Soon, it will be summer. I have a list of stuff I want to see, do, eat, experience and enjoy. I have limited funds - no travel for me this year - but let's face it. Sweet corn is cheap. Fireworks are free. Bodies of water just hang out, waiting for me. So if you want to road trip to the shores of Lake Michigan, relax on a lounge chair at Amber's pool or the gym, grill something tasty, go to the drive-in, find Shakespeare in the park, ride a Ferris wheel, take a walk in the forest preserve or just sit in the grass and eat egg and cheese sandwiches and drink coffee, I'm game. Come along with me for summer, people. It'll be fun, guaranteed.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Time travel and the arts
So last night Cute Brian and I met up in Geneva to see my friend Eric's show, "The Best Man." It's a great script, a classic, really ... political intrigue in the 60's, but as timeless as can be. The production was pretty damn good - the first one at the new Geneva Underground Playhouse, of which Eric is Executive Director. In all the time I've known Eric (we go back ages, connected via community theater) I had never seen him perform. I'm not surprised that he was great, but I am awestruck by how stunning his portrayal of a dying ex-President was. I would gush, but it might embarrass him. Suffice to say that if you have time on your hands over the next few weekends and you find yourself in Geneva, you should go.
But believe it or not, that was not by any stretch the best part of the evening. No indeed, the best part of the evening was sitting in my cushy theater seat next to one of the most talented people I know and watching one of the other most talented people I know walk in the door, and then proceeding to sit with these two incredibly talented men while watching yet another talented friend wow us from the stage. Mike Vertenten, musician extraordinaire, happened to be in town from Austin, which he now calls home, and made it to the show. I hadn't seen him since March of 1991, and let's face it ... a lot has changed since then. But walking through downtown Geneva with these two men, the easy familiarity cut right through any awkwardness that might have been. I won't say it was as if time stood still, because it didn't. Mike V has a lot less hair now than he did back then (and so does Eric, but then he has a lot less hair than he did two weeks ago; that's a little thing we like to call "dedication to character") and we've all grown up quite a bit. But the beauty of it is, time didn't seem to matter. It wasn't such a big deal that we have to get re-acquainted with one another. It was enough to just show up, and want to be re-acquainted.
So Cute Brian left early - duty calls - and left three old friends plus Eric's wife and friend Nora from the show to talk into the wee hours of morning. It's entirely possible that if there weren't a matinee at the theater today, we'd all still be there, talking. So much to say, so much to listen to, so much love stored up over the years.
"The thing about Eric," Mike said to me as we walked to our cars, "is that over the years, he never wavered." We should all be so fortunate to have friends like that.
Two of my insanely talented friends: Mike Vertenten and Eric Schwartz.
But believe it or not, that was not by any stretch the best part of the evening. No indeed, the best part of the evening was sitting in my cushy theater seat next to one of the most talented people I know and watching one of the other most talented people I know walk in the door, and then proceeding to sit with these two incredibly talented men while watching yet another talented friend wow us from the stage. Mike Vertenten, musician extraordinaire, happened to be in town from Austin, which he now calls home, and made it to the show. I hadn't seen him since March of 1991, and let's face it ... a lot has changed since then. But walking through downtown Geneva with these two men, the easy familiarity cut right through any awkwardness that might have been. I won't say it was as if time stood still, because it didn't. Mike V has a lot less hair now than he did back then (and so does Eric, but then he has a lot less hair than he did two weeks ago; that's a little thing we like to call "dedication to character") and we've all grown up quite a bit. But the beauty of it is, time didn't seem to matter. It wasn't such a big deal that we have to get re-acquainted with one another. It was enough to just show up, and want to be re-acquainted.
So Cute Brian left early - duty calls - and left three old friends plus Eric's wife and friend Nora from the show to talk into the wee hours of morning. It's entirely possible that if there weren't a matinee at the theater today, we'd all still be there, talking. So much to say, so much to listen to, so much love stored up over the years.
"The thing about Eric," Mike said to me as we walked to our cars, "is that over the years, he never wavered." We should all be so fortunate to have friends like that.
Two of my insanely talented friends: Mike Vertenten and Eric Schwartz.Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Update-a-Palooza
Not what we planned, part one
I went to Champaign over the weekend to see Matt Fear's most recent theatrical event, "The Great American Trailer Park Musical", and to visit Ryan. I woke up feeling not quite myself, so I slept in a little longer and got a later start ... which screwed up my visit with Ry, because he needed family time so he was going to see Dad and Cindy. See? The whole thing didn't even start out according to plan, but it worked out awesome. I arrived in Champaign, crashed at Matt & Em's for a few hours and then headed for the theater. Ryan would meet up with us after for a drink or two.
The show was phenomenal. I don't care what the show is; if it's at the Station Theater in Urbana, you should go. I was seated next to a Really Cool Dude, who happened to be a professor at U of I. I know this because I was in my seat when Fear texted me. Yeah, we're dorks. Anyway, after the standing ovation at the close of the show, it was time for me to go sit outside and look pretty and the cast and crew to strike set. And as the night wore on, my tired set in. It didn't look like there would be cocktails in my future.
Not what we planned, part two
I was planning to hit the couch at Fear's for the night, but strike was going remarkably slowly and I was on a bench outside doing the head-bob-thing. So I called Ryan, who graciously agreed to give me his couch for the night. Ya gotta love family; he tells me honestly that the couch is mine any time I want it, and I believe him. Note to the family, however: the boy eats peanut butter on a spoon out of the jar. You may want to send him food.
It was awesome to see Ryan. I tried not to let on that I was a bit nostalgic ... this is the last time I'd see my baby "brother" as a college student. Next time, he would be the same guy, but with a degree and a career in the Marines. Crazy, really. We watched a bit of a movie and got caught up and he gave me a bit of the third degree, because that's what brothers do. And the next morning he was off to work as silently as if he weren't there at all. And Cindy? His apartment was pretty damn clean, especially considering he was not expecting me. Ya taught the boy well.
Nice to see you again, Mr. President
The owner and president of my company has been in the building this week. He was over by my cubicle today telling some of our board members what happens in our group, the communications creative team. "This is where the good stuff comes from," I heard him say, introducing us to the Suits. Which, of course, prompted me to introduce myself as Maggie Bieritz, Vice President of Good Stuff. I think they'll remember me.
Theatrical pursuits
My trip to Champaign kicked off a veritable plethora of theater-going. This weekend I'll be seeing "The Best Man" in Geneva; next weekend it's "Peter Pan" at West High and "Rocky Horror" in Wisconsin. Secretly, I'm loving it. It will be awesome to see so many friends in what I hope are fantastic shows. So guys? Don't screw up.
We put the "fun" in "funeral"
My Aunt Shirley died over the weekend. Visitation is tomorrow and wake on Thursday. She's the last of my mom's generation to kick it, and this soon after the five-year anniversary of Mom's hasty exit makes it feel a little more melancholy than maybe it ordinarily would. Aunt Shirley was crazy, funny, and really just an awesome lady. She was a nurse, a mother of six children, and always drank Pepsi. I can't help but wonder if she's hanging out with Mom and Uncle Perry now, wondering what all the fuss is about. I'll miss you, Aunt Shirl.
Pima County unFair
Mike went to the fair down in AZ on Sunday, and he couldn't resist calling me so I could hear my favorite band in the universe in the background. Kinda makes me wish I had Wilco tickets.
Well OUCH!
I have something wrong with my left foot. Don't know if it's a heel spur or an arch problem, but I have this burning sensation on the bottom of my foot. It's not pretty, and it's worse when I wear heels. But heels are pretty, and they make my legs look longer, so I wear them. Don't tell my doctor.
Itty bitty delicious things
I made a meatloaf, but I cooked it in muffin tins. Tiny, single-serving meatloaves; they're perfect! You should try it.
That's it for tonight. Sorry it's been more than a week, and sorry there aren't ten this Tuesday. But I love you. That counts for something, right?
I went to Champaign over the weekend to see Matt Fear's most recent theatrical event, "The Great American Trailer Park Musical", and to visit Ryan. I woke up feeling not quite myself, so I slept in a little longer and got a later start ... which screwed up my visit with Ry, because he needed family time so he was going to see Dad and Cindy. See? The whole thing didn't even start out according to plan, but it worked out awesome. I arrived in Champaign, crashed at Matt & Em's for a few hours and then headed for the theater. Ryan would meet up with us after for a drink or two.
The show was phenomenal. I don't care what the show is; if it's at the Station Theater in Urbana, you should go. I was seated next to a Really Cool Dude, who happened to be a professor at U of I. I know this because I was in my seat when Fear texted me. Yeah, we're dorks. Anyway, after the standing ovation at the close of the show, it was time for me to go sit outside and look pretty and the cast and crew to strike set. And as the night wore on, my tired set in. It didn't look like there would be cocktails in my future.
Not what we planned, part two
I was planning to hit the couch at Fear's for the night, but strike was going remarkably slowly and I was on a bench outside doing the head-bob-thing. So I called Ryan, who graciously agreed to give me his couch for the night. Ya gotta love family; he tells me honestly that the couch is mine any time I want it, and I believe him. Note to the family, however: the boy eats peanut butter on a spoon out of the jar. You may want to send him food.
It was awesome to see Ryan. I tried not to let on that I was a bit nostalgic ... this is the last time I'd see my baby "brother" as a college student. Next time, he would be the same guy, but with a degree and a career in the Marines. Crazy, really. We watched a bit of a movie and got caught up and he gave me a bit of the third degree, because that's what brothers do. And the next morning he was off to work as silently as if he weren't there at all. And Cindy? His apartment was pretty damn clean, especially considering he was not expecting me. Ya taught the boy well.
Nice to see you again, Mr. President
The owner and president of my company has been in the building this week. He was over by my cubicle today telling some of our board members what happens in our group, the communications creative team. "This is where the good stuff comes from," I heard him say, introducing us to the Suits. Which, of course, prompted me to introduce myself as Maggie Bieritz, Vice President of Good Stuff. I think they'll remember me.
Theatrical pursuits
My trip to Champaign kicked off a veritable plethora of theater-going. This weekend I'll be seeing "The Best Man" in Geneva; next weekend it's "Peter Pan" at West High and "Rocky Horror" in Wisconsin. Secretly, I'm loving it. It will be awesome to see so many friends in what I hope are fantastic shows. So guys? Don't screw up.
We put the "fun" in "funeral"
My Aunt Shirley died over the weekend. Visitation is tomorrow and wake on Thursday. She's the last of my mom's generation to kick it, and this soon after the five-year anniversary of Mom's hasty exit makes it feel a little more melancholy than maybe it ordinarily would. Aunt Shirley was crazy, funny, and really just an awesome lady. She was a nurse, a mother of six children, and always drank Pepsi. I can't help but wonder if she's hanging out with Mom and Uncle Perry now, wondering what all the fuss is about. I'll miss you, Aunt Shirl.
Pima County unFair
Mike went to the fair down in AZ on Sunday, and he couldn't resist calling me so I could hear my favorite band in the universe in the background. Kinda makes me wish I had Wilco tickets.
Well OUCH!
I have something wrong with my left foot. Don't know if it's a heel spur or an arch problem, but I have this burning sensation on the bottom of my foot. It's not pretty, and it's worse when I wear heels. But heels are pretty, and they make my legs look longer, so I wear them. Don't tell my doctor.
Itty bitty delicious things
I made a meatloaf, but I cooked it in muffin tins. Tiny, single-serving meatloaves; they're perfect! You should try it.
That's it for tonight. Sorry it's been more than a week, and sorry there aren't ten this Tuesday. But I love you. That counts for something, right?
Monday, April 20, 2009
Weekends, renewal and schizophrenic weather
It's 3:30 on a Friday afternoon. A dear friend calls to ask if you have any plans for the evening. No, you say, because ... well, you have no plans. And the next thing you know, you're headed to Michigan.
Shakespeare was celebrating full-time permanent status at her job. I was celebrating the spirit of spontaneity. Off we went, past the Schaumburg plow barn (won't be needing you tonight, boys!) and through the traffic, into the place Tim Allen taunts me with on a regular basis.
First stop: the Oasis. No, I don't remember which one, but it's the one that used to have a photo booth; it doesn't anymore, so we made our own.
Shakespeare was celebrating full-time permanent status at her job. I was celebrating the spirit of spontaneity. Off we went, past the Schaumburg plow barn (won't be needing you tonight, boys!) and through the traffic, into the place Tim Allen taunts me with on a regular basis.
First stop: the Oasis. No, I don't remember which one, but it's the one that used to have a photo booth; it doesn't anymore, so we made our own.
Me and Shakespeare in the loo. 
She claimed to be the Queen of Toilet Town.We gave a cheer crossing into Indiana, and again when we crossed into Michigan. Soon we would be at our destination - Camp Sokol, the Bohemian beach club where Shakes goes every summer. Completely deserted on this April night, it was peaceful and perfect.
The inimitable Jessica Keith, aka Shakespeare,
with the Lake Michigan sunset in the background.
Me, in the same spot. This is how I picture myself when I picture myself. Do I actually look like this, or do I look more like the yucky pictures I usually see of me?
The sunset. So intensely beautiful, it made me nostalgic for family time on a private beach just north of here. I miss you guys!
Shakespeare shows off her fire-building survival skills. I did gather some of the wood, but mostly
I was the relaxing half of the dynamic duo.
The rustling in the grasses creeped us out
until the firelight showed a trio of cats
and not a leprechaun axe murderer.
It was a little disconcerting how much this one
looked like my dead cat, Josie Lou.
Except this one was alive.
Other than that, she was a dead ringer.
Or a live ringer. Or whatever.
Simply put, we had a wonderful time. Although during the day it was very warm, the evening was very cold, but the fire was warm and the company was awesome. Sometimes ya just gotta give in to the spontaneity. Ya gotta go with the flow, feel the wanderlust and walk in the cold sand on a chilly April night. Because I'd rather huddle by the fire until midnight than wonder if it would've been fun from the warmth of my apartment.
Saturday brought baby hugs and squishes - I'm in love with Isabel Rose! (A rose, Izzy Rose, Izzy Rose!) My picture came out pretty blurry, but Matt took one so maybe I'm cute in it. Suffice to say that she has a perfect nose and yawns like a champ. Spent a bit of time driving around and enjoying the weather, visiting friends and shopping for groceries before a relaxing night at home. There's something about lounging around with the windows open and good music playing that just feels luxurious. Add to that the flavor of good bread, delicious cheese, fresh fruit and dark heavenly chocolate and you have a near-perfect night.
Fell asleep with the windows open so I woke up f-f-freezing! I can't manage in this ever-changing weather. It was 70 on Saturday, and about 40 yesterday. Don't even get me started about today. I'm moving somewhere warm.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Clever juxtaposition
I find it really rather beautiful that Isabel Rose Bathje, my newest niece, was born this morning at 4:45 ... the day after the fifth anniversary of losing Mom. (Again, she didn't wander off while shopping at Target; she's really most sincerely dead.)
Just another ride on this crazy roller-coaster we call life. One moment you're grieving over moments you'll never have with someone who left. The next, you're reminded that life goes on. That the universe is forever presenting to you people to love, opportunities to embrace and yes, babies to squish.
It's a little overwhelming sometimes, this love that comes at me from all directions. Sometimes I just have to stop and think about it, and remember to be smart enough to take it all in. Because it's a crazy ride, and I really don't want to miss a moment of it.
Just another ride on this crazy roller-coaster we call life. One moment you're grieving over moments you'll never have with someone who left. The next, you're reminded that life goes on. That the universe is forever presenting to you people to love, opportunities to embrace and yes, babies to squish.
It's a little overwhelming sometimes, this love that comes at me from all directions. Sometimes I just have to stop and think about it, and remember to be smart enough to take it all in. Because it's a crazy ride, and I really don't want to miss a moment of it.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
A journey of five years
Five years ago today, I awoke to a ringing telephone. In the wee hours I learned that my mom had been taken to the hospital by ambulance, with a terrible headache that just wouldn't let her go. You'd have a headache, too, if you had a tumor in your noggin.
By sunrise, she'd lost consciousness. By 9 a.m., she was gone.
I didn't rush to the hospital to get there before she went off the air. No, instead I took my time. I did my hair; she didn't like it when I looked unkempt. I chose my outfit carefully, and yes, I remember what I wore. I arrived in her room with the family already there, and mom appearing to be peacefully asleep, wearing the snowflake hat I'd purchased for her to keep her bald head warm. We gathered as a family - my sisters, my dad, uncle Walt, aunt Judy, nephew Alex and I - and said our prayers, shared hugs, and gave our final "I love you's" to Mom.
When I look back over the past five years, at the breakneck pace with which my life has changed, it's hard to believe I'm the same person. Sometimes, life throws us a curveball. How we choose to field it is up to us.
Consider, if you will, what has transpired in the past five years:
So here's to five years of growth and change. I think Mom would be proud.
By sunrise, she'd lost consciousness. By 9 a.m., she was gone.
I didn't rush to the hospital to get there before she went off the air. No, instead I took my time. I did my hair; she didn't like it when I looked unkempt. I chose my outfit carefully, and yes, I remember what I wore. I arrived in her room with the family already there, and mom appearing to be peacefully asleep, wearing the snowflake hat I'd purchased for her to keep her bald head warm. We gathered as a family - my sisters, my dad, uncle Walt, aunt Judy, nephew Alex and I - and said our prayers, shared hugs, and gave our final "I love you's" to Mom.
When I look back over the past five years, at the breakneck pace with which my life has changed, it's hard to believe I'm the same person. Sometimes, life throws us a curveball. How we choose to field it is up to us.
Consider, if you will, what has transpired in the past five years:
- I went from jobless to career back to jobless, worked a part-time gig that was more like a hands-on Master's program, and finally found a full-time job that I love which nets me a fantastic discount on jewelry.
- My husband left and I didn't think I could survive, but when people like you kept reminding me of how strong you think I am, I couldn't really let you down, could I? So I bounced back, foolishly sometimes, but always bouncing back.
- I've hit the road - not extensively, but I certainly hit it. I've been to Tucson twice, Disney World twice (hey, Margaret, you're divorced; what are you gonna do? "I'm going to Disney World!"), taken a few awesome road trips and spent a week at the beach with a family that has adopted me as its own.
- I can knit! I taught myself how because I wanted to make really soft hats for Mom to wear; she's just not the wig type. I didn't learn quickly enough - she was gone before I finished my first one - but I still consider my knitting to be her legacy. Sitting down with fiber I love and needles that feel good in my hands is like sitting down and having a chat with Mom. But not as noisy.
- I have a home that is all mine in downtown Arlington Heights, and I really love it. I'd forgotten how much I enjoy having my time and space to myself, not having to clean up after anyone, and being able to decorate however I want. My home is not a showplace, but it is definitely my home.
- Most importantly, I've reconnected with people who reflect my best self back to me. If there's one thing I've learned over the past five years, it's that your people are the foundation of who you are. You can tell a lot about people by the company they keep, and I hope that when you look at my network of lunatics and loved ones, you see deep love, uproarious laughter, intense devotion, family that transcends the bonds of traditional relatives, delicious food, tenderness and gentle encouragement.
So here's to five years of growth and change. I think Mom would be proud.
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