Food is a four-letter word beginning with "f"

And it is good.

This weekend, I travelled to Lake Geneva for some much-needed relaxation, a change of scenery, and to visit with friends.

I also ate some unbelievable food.

I arrived in late afternoon, because I was very procrastinatey in getting my run in on Saturday morning. So I got to Amber and Jeremiah's around 4 and hung out with them for awhile. Then it was time to visit Dale & Candy and have a few cocktails and some nosh.

He had eaten all the softshell crab by the time I arrived.

We had a great visit, actually had a civil conversation about politics, and had lots of laughs over old photographs. I got home far too late and woke up far too early, but it was nice to have a whole day stretching out with nothing planned.

Except breakfast.

Here's where things get interesting. A little place called Fiddelsticks in Elkhorn, Wisconsin ... I am in love. Our friend Laura met us, and at the restaurant I ran into a friend from the gym. (Odd, right?) I ordered the Benedict of the Day.



It was smoked chicken atop jalapeno cornbread, with the usual poached egg and hollandaise (translation: "Fat Sauce") on top. Bliss on a plate, served with breakfast potatoes.

I would marry this breakfast.

The rest of the weekend wasn't awful, food-wise. Stuffed peppers for dinner, an entire package of Toffeefay candy, the occasional latte. But I am sure that breakfast is why the scale didn't do anything significant this week.

Sigh. I miss that plate of food.

Grace

It is so much easier to give forgiveness and grace to others than it is to give it to ourselves.

I'm pretty good at coming clean with what goes on in the darkest corners of who I am. There are a handful of people with whom I have been raw and honest, authentic and forthcoming, with the real me. I'm an amalgam of a lot of thing, good and bad, and those who know me best know it all.

And yet, they forgive ... even when the bad is directed at them.

So why do we hold grace away from ourselves, like a carrot on the end of a stick we'll never reach? I don't have the answer. But I'm working on it.

Aging aunt seeks answers

You might recall a month or so ago when I wrote about my nephew's baby, Alexandria. She was welcomed to our world three months before she was due, and sadly she left us as quickly as she arrived. She died yesterday, in the arms of her dad.

As a tiny preemie, she developed an infection in her intestines that her little body just couldn't fight. My nephew Alex, and his girlfriend Cameron, had only about six weeks to be parents to this precious child, and I am proud of the parents the became during that time. I'll be honest: I didn't have a lot of faith in that. They are so young - still teenagers, forgodsake. What are they thinking?

So I went about my business, in my own judgmental way. See, that's the thing with judgment: you don't always realize you're doing it until you're proven wrong.

If you know me at all, you know that admitting I am wrong is my least favorite thing to do. I would rather have a simultaneous root canal/mammogram than admit I am wrong. But when it comes to this ... this precious life and these young but wise parents ... I got it all wrong.

When the time came to make tough decisions - choosing to let L'il Al go rather than keep her hooked to machines that might allow her to live but would most definitely result in a short, painful life - Alex and Cam chose to let her slip away. I admire them for that, because I'm not sure I could do it.

And here's where I divulge my own feelings, because it's my blog. First, I feel ashamed. Ashamed that I didn't trust Alex and Cam to be parents. That I was angry with them for getting pregnant in the first place, and for not putting Ali up for adoption in the second place. I'm ashamed that I didn't walk my own talk; I didn't lead with love.

I feel guilty. Guilty because I didn't meet her. I saw photos, I kept up to date on her growth, but I couldn't work my schedule around to make it up to Park Ridge to meet my own great niece. In order to go, I needed to be with either Alex or Cameron, and it was hard to make that happen. I should have tried harder, because when time ran out I was sick and couldn't go. I had a song picked out to sing to her, I knew which book I was going to read to her, but she died before I had the chance. I will need to find a way to make that right in my soul. I have no idea how I'm going to manage that, and I fear I will always feel broken because I failed her.

Sometimes, I feel angry. Why is it that things that seem to come so easily for others come so hard for my family? A man as young as our Alex should never have to be as strong as my nephew is having to be. We lost mom before we were ready; two of us sisters experienced the heartache of divorce; my twin brother has cerebral palsy; now this loss? Yes, it makes me angry. And, as my sister Jenn reminds me, cancer rears its ugly head for the Bieritz clan more often than we'd like. Mom dealt with it twice and it killed her. Dad and Jenn have both gone the chemo route to hold leukemia at bay. Anyway, I'd like our family to catch a break, thankyouverymuch. And yet I know that's ridiculous; it seems like we have a lot to bear, but I'd still not trade it for another life, or another family. It's made us who we are, and we are damn strong.

I also feel an intense gratitude for my family. I have always said that when the chips are down, you should never bet against us. Over the past month and a half, I have watched my family become even more amazing than I knew. I've watched Alex manage his work, his spiritual growth and being a father. He has done it mostly with grace, and I'm so proud of him. I've seen the rest of us become more accepting, and rally behind one another.

I don't know what I'm supposed to learn from all of this. I may never figure it out. But there is something I know for sure. L'il Al is already having a ripple effect. The people who know her story are living in the moment, with the realization that nothing is guaranteed. The moment may be all we have.

I will always wish that I had made an opportunity to have a moment with her. I take comfort in the knowledge that while she was on the earth, she knew great love from great people. And when my days on earth are over, I will finally have my chance to sing to her.

In happier times, Alexandria JoyAnne Adams rests in the arms of her father, Alex.

Resolute

Okay. I made some.

Resolutions, that is.

This year, I took a different approach. I'm not focused on health or weightloss; instead, I'm working on being a better person, all around. In the not-too-distant past, I was given some unsolicited advice that made me doubt myself. The incident gave me that horrid feeling in the pit of my stomach that said, "hey, you're not smart enough to make decisions for yourself."

But it did give me the opportunity to reflect and realize that I do that. I give advice, and/or opinions/ all the time. Without being asked. Unsolicited, and perhaps unwelcome. So in 2013, I'm going to try not to do it.

It'll be a challenge, to be sure. I may spend a bit of time being silent when otherwise I'd be running my mouth! (And let it be noted that this does not pertain to my Facebook page; I often give snippets of advice there, and that won't change.) I think it will be a worthwhile exercise, and in the end I expect to discover that I've listened more, allowed things to be less about me (imagine that!) and strengthened friendships in the process. We'll see how it goes.

I'm also going to drink more tea. That one'll be easy.

All I want for Christmas ...

The world is a ridiculous place right now. In the wake of national tragedy, people are - as people often do - acting like morons. So what's a girl to do?

Think about cool stuff, that's what. It's time for the inaugural "Things Maggie Wants for Christmas" wish list. This year, on Planet Maggie, I will dream of these things under the tree.

Either one; I'm not particular.

Frankly, I can't believe I've made it this far without getting one for myself. I came close this year, and then I fell off my own fiscal cliff. So, Santa ... please?

A new race? Why, yes, thank you.

The Soldier Field 10 Miler is on my race bucket list, and this year is the year for me. I know what you're thinking. "But, Mags, you're not even a football fan!" And you're right, I'm not. But this race is a unique opportunity to finish 10 miles on the 50 yard line at Soldier Field. I've never been to Soldier Field, and I think this would be a completely groovy way to see it for the first time. Besides, a 10-mile race in May will keep me training strong through the spring. So ... yeah. Registration for this sucker under the tree would be fab, thanks.

These; size 9.

I am in love with Frye boots. I have wanted these since about eighth grade. Santa just doesn't take me seriously.

It's an ugly watch, yeah. But it's also a run computer and heartrate monitor. 

It's a watch. It keeps track of my heartrate. And it knows where I am. This is important to a runner, because it also knows how far I've gone, how fast I'm running, and when I'm sleeping or awake. (Scratch that last part; just making sure you're paying attention.) It's actually a somewhat important piece of information for a runner, and much as I'd love one, I haven't gotten around to getting one for myself yet.

For leftovers. Glass, because plastic is evil.

I can't tell you how often I reach for something to put leftovers in, and it's plastic. Which is okay, unless the leftovers are warm. Or if, God forbid, I want to heat up the leftovers in the container. Enter, glass containers.

That's it; the all-encompassing wish list for 2012. Five things I will buy myself just as soon as I win the lottery. As for world peace - which I desperately want, and I think it's on everyone's list - I will just have to work on it in my own little way. I'll smile at people who cut me off in traffic and I'll try to remember that everyone has a story, and the only one I really know is my own.

A week from today, the present-opening will be over and we'll be back to our "normal" lives. And yes, there will be more sadness, fear will grip us once again and we will wonder how to go on. But we don't need to know how; we just need to do it.

Ever forward! Happiest of holidays to you all.

The holiday blues

I hesitate to write this. It's difficult, sometimes, to be raw and honest with yourself. It's even more difficult to be raw and honest with anyone who might happen upon this post. But it's also something that I think needs to be said, and needs to be shared. So here goes.

I spent the better part of this week wallowing in what I consider to be a state of  low-grade state depression. I called it "the blues", I called it "a funk", but we know what that translates to: depression. I've been prone to that horrid beast from time to time over the years, and I recognize it when it knocks on my door.

Back when I was in the early stages of divorce, my doc put me on an antidepressant to help me get through. It was a godsend; with good friends and a little chemical help, I survived that tough time. When I started exercising, my body began to offer up its own, natural assistance, so I was able to slowly wean myself off the meds. Thankfully, I've been able to regulate my moods naturally since then; I have only rare periods of feeling depressed. But this week, it hit me, head on.

I was ill-prepared for it, because hell, it's Christmas, the Most Wonderful Time of the Year! But there it was, anyway - the beast that caused me to look with disfavor upon everything. It didn't help that a trusted friend offered me unsolicited advice without bothering to ask any questions - like whether I wanted advice, or if I'd thought about things from another perspective (I had, and that knowledge would have changed the tone of the convo entirely). Anyhoo, here I was, swamped in sadness and wanting nothing more than a way to let it go.

In those moments when I felt like I'd never stop crying, I had the presence of mind to remember that those feelings would pass. I did not allow myself to go home and eat raw cookie dough, which is totally what I wanted to do. Instead, I went home and headed out for a run, in the fresh air. It helped, though I still felt weepy. It must be noted that my friends and family did (for the most part) exactly what I needed from them. They listened, made me laugh, opened up the safe airspace for the "airing of grievances", and checked in with me, offering a touchpoint of reality to ground me and surround me with love, which I desperately needed.

The truth of it is, sometimes it happens. Sometimes, sadness just is, and you need to give yourself the grace to get to the other side of it.

Today I woke up in a different frame of mind. Incredibly, I managed to not let the sadness get to me, and I found a way out of the sadness. I let myself feel it; I let myself cry and sleep and wallow, and then - in the form of my own little holiday miracle - the fog lifted. It took a few days, and during that time I remained focused on my many blessings, my goals and my big awesome ideas.

I don't feel like a new person. I feel like authentic Maggie, with an easy smile and a joyful heart.

Of happiness. And monkeys.

A few months back, my sister Jennifer related a story to me from Dr. Henry Cloud. Cloud is a leadership consultant, clinical psychologist and by all accounts a pretty smart guy. Anyway, Jenn had listened to a message Dr. Cloud had given to the congregation at Willow Creek, and it resonated with her. As she spoke, I understood why.

The story goes that years ago - back when we did a lot more testing on animals than we do today - a study was done with monkeys. The animals were caged, alone, and exposed to extreme stress. Scientists measured the changes in the monkey brains (which, incidentally, are not the same ones Harrison Ford and Kate Capshaw were served in "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom") when they were stressed. Simply put, it wasn't pretty. However, when the stressors remained the same but the monkeys were put together, the stress indicators within their brains dropped by 50 percent. Cut in half.

The message, and this particular illustration, was all part of a talk on happiness. I may not be a clinical psychologist, but happiness is something I know a whole lot about. I am one of the happiest people I know.

It wasn't always like that. I can think of a number of times when I was anything but happy. The biggest difference between then and now? Monkeys.

I'm proud to say that I am one of Jenn's monkeys, and she is one of mine. But it goes beyond that. I have a network of monkeys! I have people in every area of my life who help make the bad times better, and who always make the good times awesome. I have monkeys who are local and monkeys overseas; long-term monkeys who have been around as long as I have, and monkeys who are new but no less monkey-like. It took monkeys to bring me through some extraordinarily tough times, and I hope to be a monkey to help others in a similar way.

If you aren't living a joyful life, please look around and ask yourself: where are my monkeys? Put in the effort to spend time with people who make life better. Put yourself on the road to true happiness. It's not like once you get there it's smooth sailin' - bad times assault us all from time to time - but the truth is, having people around you to help you through them is enough of a reason to ... well ... get through them. I could illustrate by sharing about the time I was served legal documents while a good friend was visiting, but I won't go there. Today.

Suffice it to say that, had she not been there, the way I reacted might have been vastly different. Having her there changed how I handled every challenge from there forward, because it taught me to seek out support when things suck.

There will always be things that suck. How you get through them depends on your monkeys.

New life and the relentless pursuit of awesome

This week has brought some crazy shit. Most notably the fact that I am a great aunt.

Well, I've always been great at being an aunt. (Don't argue with me; I will seriously cut you if you disagree.) But now, there's a whole new generation. My nephew, Alex - the only niece or neph who is an actual blood relative - has a baby. He and his girlfriend became parents early yesterday morning.

The baby - Alexandria, she's called - is tiny. She is wee beyond wee, arriving almost three months before the world was quite ready for her. She will be hanging out in the neonatal ICU for as long as the doctors say, and my bet is that we'll measure that time in months. But the point is that she's here.

Life simply will not wait until we're ready for it. Life happens while you're making plans. Sometimes, life happens while you're sticking your head in the sand ... waiting for something to blow over ... hoping things will get better.

And then, this happens. A new life is created, and you gotta fast-forward into reality. This reality includes a tiny, fragile human in need of support and love (and probably a really cool playlist; do preemies like music?)

Her parents need support and love, too. (And they'd probably appreciate music, come to think of it.) They are young, and they have chosen to become parents at such a tender age. Am I wild about my nephew having this responsibility at a time when getting to an 8:00 class should be his biggest worry? Nope. But there are only two things that actually matter here:

1. He is my family.
2. I love him.

So I have a choice. I can either let go of the vision I had for his life and allow him to create his own ... or I can be a bitter, middle-aged woman with an alienated nephew. I can choose awesome, or I can choose something so much less than that.

I think you know where this is going; I choose awesome.

We are called to love; we are called to abandon judgment; we are called to treat one another with kindness. And that starts with family.

So ... welcome to our world, Alexandria. I hope we can manage to give you the love, encouragement and joy that I believe is your birthright. Now your only job is to grow strong.

Thankful

Thanksgiving is almost here.

It's my favorite day of the year, and not just because of the stuffing (although that's a big part of it). It goes back to celebrations when I was a child, meals around the table at our neighbor's house, more food than any one group of people could possibly consume and desserts that rivaled anything the finest pastry chefs could present. It's memories of "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" and the Macy's parade (complete with Santa losing his pants).

It's family ... that big, big family made up of everyone you love. It's waking up early the next day to go shopping, and it's taking a moment to really consider everything you have to be grateful for.

It's almost Thanksgiving, and with that in mind, I feel compelled to list those things I'm grateful for, right this very moment.

• My family - the people I'm related to, and the ones I've chosen (and who choose me right back).
• Music. My life's soundtrack is varied and beautiful.
• Coffee.
• The way 2012 has been filled with opportunities to travel.
• Warm socks.
• Pumpkin muffins, soup, bread, etc.
• Home. Right now, and for the next few years, home is my sister Pat's house. It really feels like home these days, and for that I am extremely grateful.
• My cat, Benld.
• My dog, Pork Chop. He lives in Minnesota.
• The ability to be active. Sometimes my body aches, but at least it's because I'm moving!
• Makeup. Heaven knows I look like a better "me" with a little concealer and a sweep of mascara.
• The iPhone. And my iMac. i'M happy with them. 
• Being busy. There was a weekend, last winter, when I had nothing planned. How weird is that?
• Pandora radio. 
• Making a list, and checking it twice.
• Simple kindnesses.
• A good night's sleep.
• Four-day weekends.
• Gratitude.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood

I try super hard not to be judgmental. Really, I do. I'm pretty much a "live-and-let-live" kinda gal, with a few exceptions. I'm reasonably tolerant of people I don't agree with, and I work hard to let things roll off my back.

That being said, there is one thing I have difficulty not judging: taking the easy way out.

People who regularly follow the path of least resistance are just not my kind of folk. I'm not saying you always need to make things harder for yourself; that's just silly. But often, when there's a way that's easy and maintains status quo, and there's a way that requires maximum effort, the growth opportunity is in the latter.

By way of example, almost a month ago I hiked up a mountain. In Hawaii, I climbed out of Diamond Head Crater. It was an incredible experience. The only way to see some of the best views on Oahu is to take yourself up, up, up the pathway to the top. As you approach the summit, you come to a literal fork in the road. (Not flatware, mind you; a choice of right or left.) If you go left, you take a winding, easy (for a mountain hike) set of meandering steps up to the top. If you go right, you face 99 steep steps through the mountain itself, with no landing on which to take a break. Because there are people behind you, once you take that first step, you gotta commit to the whole thing.

I went right.

It was tough! But I wanted to be able to say I did it, and I knew I could take the alternative path down to enjoy the view. When I reached the top, I felt like I'd really accomplished something. I had done the work, and I was rewarded with incredible vistas from my perch high atop Diamond Head.

The view would have been virtually the same, had I taken the other route. But it would not have felt the same to me. It would not have held the same significance.

I think life is like that. I observe a lot of people who do what's simple in the moment, and they continually miss the lessons that can only be learned through the struggle. Sometimes you have to feel the pain in order to grow. You have to put yourself through something extraordinary if you want to have an extraordinary life. You have to make sacrifices; you have to give something more.

The rewards are there for those of us who are willing to take ourselves up on the challenge.

Once on this island

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

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

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

Our view from the lanai at the Princess Kaiulani.

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

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

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

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

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

On our way to the Polynesian Cultural Center.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The view of the sunset from Duke's Waikiki.

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

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

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

And climb.

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

From the top of Diamond Head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that's not including the gorgeous sunset.

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

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

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

Me, poolside. Oh, how relaxed!

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

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

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

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

The view from breakfast at 'Ama 'Ama.

Ridiculously beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The view from my chair on the beach.

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

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

Menehune! These mischief-makers are everywhere.

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

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

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

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

And so I leave you with ...

Aloha,
Maggie

The spirit of Aloha

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

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

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

Scenes from a Hawaiian restaurant

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

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

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

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

Aloha

Love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trivial matters

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

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

It was so worth it.

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

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

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

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

Reflecting

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

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

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

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

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

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

Balancing act

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

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

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

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

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

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

On moving and being moved

It appears that Maggie Bieritz has changed her residence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moving - on, forward, out, etc.

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

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

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

I changed them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I need ...

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