Off the grid

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

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

I QUIT.

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

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

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

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

The weather, and why I love my life

Summer came early to Chicago.

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

But I digress.

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

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

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

And the weather is just part of it.

Fit for a Princess

I have absolute princess withdrawals.

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

My first half marathon was on the horizon.

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

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

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

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

And ... scene.

So last night I did something different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rituals

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

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

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

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

And drink tea out of a pretty cup.

Making the best of it

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

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

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

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

Happy New Year

Yes, it's been awhile.

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

I am not complaining, just explaining.

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

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

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

I'm still here!

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

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

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

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

Never too old

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

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

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

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

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

Blogger is stupid, but I am thankful

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

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

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

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

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

And pie.

Southwest weekend

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kaylee, feeding bunnies.
Mike, feeding a donkey.

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

Dude in a real Stetson driving the horsies.

Did I mention that Kaylee got her face painted?

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

Big horsies.

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

I think my dog looks like Walter Matthau.

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

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

The view along my run.

More mountains, in the distance. Perfect blue sky.

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

Martha, Laverne and Shirley

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, brother

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

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

I am really lucky.

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

I was family. I am family.

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

We are the very definition of family.

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

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

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

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

An open letter to my physical self

I just wanted to say thank you.

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

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

I am one of those people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Needy and weak

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

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

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

Breathe

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only I’d remembered to breathe.

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

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

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

Someone saved my life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coming Home

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

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

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

I am loved.

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

This is what forgiveness feels like.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nostalgia

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

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

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

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

10 on Tuesday

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

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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