A Work In Progress....

Because I am me...

2011-06-17T20:53:00.003-05:00

After hearing a lot of friendly advice about the game of love, I've come up with my own theory:

There are one of four scenarios that can play out:

#1: You can do nothing, and the something that you want to happen will happen. (i.e-"the moment you stop looking, there he/she is!"

#2: You can do nothing, and nothing will happen (which has been me in the past, and certainly the countless Eleanor Rigbys who are out there in the world. "Ohhhh, look at all the lonely people.....")

#3: You can do something, and the something that you want to happen will happen.

#4: You can do something, and nothing will come of your trying.

And I don't believe that anyone, anywhere can accurately predict which of the four will manifest itself into my life, nor anyone else's. Regardless of experience, none of us knows the future; none of us truly has a grip on the seeming randomness of the universe.

I am the girl who would rather take action than none at all, the girl who chases the robber she knows will get away rather than sit stunned and victimized, the girl who grabs at all the shiny things around her and gets in over her head rather than the one who allows time to wash over her passively, because the weight of passivity is heavier to me than all the disappointments of the world can ever bear down.

That is me.

-C.

Mr. Spock Would So Call Your Bullshit

2011-06-08T18:29:00.003-05:00

A brief recap of the Dating Blitzkrieg of 2011:

Sifting through an average of 20 profiles of prospective dates a week...

Engaging in no less than 50 email conversations therein since January 1st...

Going out on 13 first dates in five months. Twice, there were 3 in 3 consecutive days...

Crashing two speed dating events, at one of which I ran into a guy I dated 5 years ago who didn't seem to remember me. (Thankfully, he only had 8 minutes during which to tearfully bore me to death this time instead of 3+ hours)....

Going out on 3 second dates out of the original 13.....

Having one of the second-daters state we should stop dating when I asked why he wouldn't tell me his last name (after date 3 and when he asked me out for date 4)...

Having another of the second-daters evolve into a 4-months-long on-and-off thing that, looking back, I really only persisted with in the hopes of having someone around to have decent sex with on my birthday (which, by the way, was June 1st, and the answer to your next question is, sadly, NO!)....

Having the last of the second-daters be this warm, funny, kind-hearted man who has similar life goals as me and is good to his mother and really loves animals and is a musician which I soooo dig and is tall and handsome to boot, say to me, upon cancelling our plans for a third date (paraphrasing, of course):

"Hey, C. We've gone out a couple of times, had so much fun, I think you are an amazing person and we have this great connection. So let's not see each other any more because that's all too much for me to deal with right now."

I got a D in Logic and Critical Thinking, pal, but I was awake in that class long enough to call that a fallacy of logic.

Heavy, heavy sigh. Heavy-ass, mother-fuckin' sigh. I'm calling for a dating moratorium for the month of June. At least.

-C.

I know, I know...

2011-05-01T20:23:00.002-05:00

...I say I'm coming back and I disappear. Sorry, loyal readers.

There has been a lot going on. There has been illness; nothing life-threatening, just a bad flu bug that felled me for nearly 10 days. Nothing like Mom Nature reminding you that your body is not always ruled by your will. I don't recall the last time I even had the flu. College, maybe? I spent 3 whole days of the last month lying on my couch, achy and exhausted, sipping water-downed Gatorade and wondering how anyone managed to get through a flu season before TV series came out on DVD. Ah, it was a time known as the Dark Ages...

There is dating. Lots of dating. 2011 is becoming The Year of the Date. I'm embracing the meeting of new people if for no other reason than I've got some great bar stories. I mean, you can't go to a speed-dating event in a city of several million but manage to see a guy you went out with six years ago and not have a great story, right? It's coming, it's coming...

There is also a new job. In specialty. Internal medicine and oncology. I saw an opportunity and leapt at it. It seemingly fell through, but I kept my eye on the ball. And the effort paid off, big time. I've been in this game for 9 years now, in a profession where the average burn-out time is 4. I've scrimped and studied, sandwiched school time between multiple jobs, put aside my social life and my sanity in the hopes of acheiving something special. There have been countless times that the effort seemed for naught. Lots of moments when I looked at the body of a dead pet and fought against the urge to run the other way. I persisted, blindly much of the time, running on the fumes of faith, believing that all the work and sacrifice might some day be worth it despite the many, many indicators to the contrary. Now I'm on the other side, with a remarkable career opportunity in front of me, and it's mine. And I'm ready and eager and going for it. There are exciting changes coming around, and I'm riding the crest of the wave. And loving, loving, loving it, maybe all the more because the path to here was such a challenging one.

Right now, I'm staring down the barrel of a 60-hour work week, a little daunted, but how many people get to spend a 60-hour work week doing something that they love? Really, folks, how lucky am I?

-C.

I'm baaaack (but quietly-shhh!)

2011-03-28T18:18:00.002-05:00

Hi, kids!

So I'm making my way back into the blog-o-sphere. It's been awhile. I started blogging initially to try and present myself in a more open and cohesive fashion, and it was a great way to exercise some writing muscles while keeping the near-and-dear a little nearer. I loved it. I found it freeing. I found it relaxing. I found it taxing, and scary, and strenuous, and sweet.

Then I got tired. I got a little weary, too. I needed some cyber-space, if you will. Strange to say, I mean, it's the INTERNET, C., how does that possibly crowd a person? Yet it did, and I pulled back, focused on my non-cyber pursuits (work, school, dating, creativity, friends, pets, events and non-events). As of late, though, I've been itching to make my way back to it. Touch base via this medium and stretch the muscles of mind and hand once more. That said, my perspective is a bit different now. I'm not willing to put my thoughts out there for any random internet-loper to stumble across. I want to discuss more personal matters without fear that doing so will interfere somehow with my professional life, and I've found that, a few years and some life-lessions later, I feel in myself more free and more coherent than I did when I first dipped my toe in the blogging pool. So instead of presenting a tightly edited version of me to the world, I'm looking to loosen up a bit but in front of a more select audience.

If you are looking to remain a "A Work in Progress..." reader, know that I will be making this a private blog soon. I'm still figuring out how that works-do I send invites to be accepted, or just wait for you guys to message me? I'll keep you posted, trusted readers. Take it easy, or just take it any way you can get it! *wink*

-C.

e-dating

2010-06-02T23:48:00.002-05:00

So here's what I find interesting about online dating. Say you are in a social setting. You see someone. They see you. There is spark, attraction, a lil' sumpin' sumpin'. Then you talk, find out a name, a little about who they are and what brought them there. And then, maybe, you get a number, you give one, you go out. Then you take the steps necessary to get to know each other. At least, that's what we hope for.

The online thing is different. You have a profile. You add visual appeal with digital photos. You write a little something about yourself, present the best possible you. There are lots of templates for you to note particulars about yourself, like whether or not you like kids, or sushi, or the latest Coen Brothers' film. You look at other profiles; you gather information. You make contact, you make small talk, you make a plan to meet. And then you go out.

You go out. You meet for the first time, the FIRST time, with a load of information that you would not have if you had met in, say, a bar, or church, or work, or whereever people meet in the non-virtual world. You have the information, but not truly, in my humble opinion, a sense of who the person is. It's like being on a second or third date and a minus-one date all at the same time.

I'm not judging the merits of this process. Just saying that it is very, very different than what most of us are used to, or had planned.

Thinking about this makes me want to eat a big stack of pancakes. I'm not entirely sure why.

-C.

Back to the juggling...

2010-03-11T09:25:00.002-06:00

...of jobs, that is.

I went to a friend's birthday celebration last week, which happened to be at the last restaurant that I worked at 8 years ago. I was a server there for two years, in the time right before I fell into animal services. It was a decent enough gig; fun people to work with, good food & brew, and it paid the rent with fewer hours than I put in now. Of course, having a chunk of cash in my pocket usually meant that it got partied away. Given that I missed out on a lot of partying in college (working 2+ jobs & taking classes full-time), I felt justified in making up for it in my mid-to-late twenties here in Chicago. Boy, did I ever make up for it! (See prior posts' hintings at tequila misadventures).

Anyway, I was chatting it up with my old manager, going over old times (isn't it interesting how the distance of time can make even the mundane seem nostalgic?), and I told him about my leaving my green apron job, and about going to school, and about how I missed having the flexibility of a second income. Then he offered me my old job back part-time. I was really surprised; I know that the downturn of the economy has not been kind to the restaurant industry. That, and more and more people are turning to second jobs to save their ship. But the offer was sincere-I got confirmation yesterday that I'll start retraining Sunday.

Bring the black pants, the black shoes, a supply of pens & a notepad. The shirt and the gumbo apron will be provided.

On the one hand, I've really enjoyed the time that freed up once I scaled down to a single full-time job. I'm a little sad to know that there will be less of it available to me for knitting, movies, coffee with friends. That said, there are school expenses coming up, vet care to pay for (discounted does not mean free, yo), not to mention wanting to take more writing and theatre classes down the line. I worked damn hard to get myself out of debt and have no intention of seeing that build up again. It's been my experience that you can have time, or you can have money, but only rarely do you have both. So then comes the compromise, so then comes the striking of a balance. I'm ready to concede the one for the other, for the time being.

And you know, going back to something you did before gives you the opportunity to see where you came from, and how you've changed. I'll visit my late 20s self and see just how different, and just how similar, the late 30s self is to her.

Plus, the gumbo is great there. Good, good stuff. Come by to see me and have a bowl-just don't forget to tip!

-C.

Doing better...

2010-02-08T13:20:00.002-06:00

Got a B on my latest Anat/Phys exam, and am feeling better about the whole thing. I've got very little margin of error left, though, since I did so poorly on the initial exam which will pull down my average considerably. But I'm on the right path.

Lots to do. School is challenging, as is the job. I'm trying to take on some volunteer work with a local performing arts troupe, and I'm in two book clubs and learning how to knit socks.

Busy. Busy. Busy. And it's a good busy, which I have to remind myself when I feel stretched thin.

-C.

Not a great start

2010-01-24T15:58:00.003-06:00

My semester is less than 2 weeks old, and I'm already in a pickle. Remember the whole drama with the video project for Surgical Prep & Assistance 3? I thought that once I past that hurdle that I would be golden. Executing all of the clinical tasks has been the most challenging part of my schooling; all the theory has been in the way of online tests & emailed assignments, and since I read pretty well, I've scored virtually straight A's.

Now I've got Advanced Anatomy & Physiology pounding me down. My first quiz was a B; my first test (taken today) was (gulp) a 60%. That's big fat D, friends and web-neighbors, the lowest grade I've gotten since Art History 110 back at CSU (which is where I fell asleep during lecture EVERY SINGLE CLASS).

I'm assured that I can still pass the class, so long as I average 70% or better overall, and a 70% or better on the final exam. While I'll be doubling my efforts, I cannot help but be discouraged. In large part, because I know that, very simply, I've not been as motivated as I have in the past. I was much more productive & focused when I was working two jobs; the constant movement forced me to be highly organized & efficient (not to mention somewhat reclusive, which is not healthy emotionally but boy, you can sure get things done). Now that I'm down to a single job, and I've had some time to have some fun, all I want to do is knit, play with my pets, read for fun, and hang out with my friends.

But I've got to do well in this class. Forget my G.P.A., or even learning for the benefit of my patients. It would be $460 to repeat the course.

Just because I'm not motivated by greed does not mean I can't be motivated by money.

Peace,
C.

EVENTS... and everyday (and yarn, lots of yarn...)

2010-01-01T19:17:00.006-06:00

It's a brand new year, y'all. I know this because I'm currently nursing a hangover. Three vodka drinks isn't much for most partygoers, but New Year's is about the only time I ever go all out with the drinkin' thing these days. (Oh, and at office holiday parties were the boss shells out a boat-load of cash for top-shelf hooch, and where I decide that since the beer list really sucks and the boss DID shell out all that cash that it would be okay to drink tequila even though the last time I drank tequila back in '01 I woke up trapped under my bed still drunk and crying and praying to God to let me survive being trapped under my bed while promising to never, never, NEVER drink the evil tequila drink again and making good on that promise for many years after and making many, many people laugh at the why-Colleen-doesn't-drink-tequila-anymore story while dodging offers of free shots and being perfectly happy to drink beer instead since it is my drink of choice but damn, that tequila sure goes down smooth even after a nearly 9 year break especially when it is top-notch stuff and then the next day waking up not under my bed but properly in my bed but too hungover to move much or even knit and yet still not regretting hopping off the no-tequila wagon and realizing that God is often very good at forgiving us our drunken promises....)

Oh, yeah, where was I? New. Year. Right.

So it's a new year, which is ripe for reflection and resolution. About this time, we watch the news and see all the Big Events that took place in our world. Events like:

-the inauguration of a new president

-the impeachment of a governor

-the deterioration of our economy

-the bravery of a pilot

-the loss of the Olympics

-the death of a music star

-the death of a movie star

-the death of a Senator

-the deaths of servicemen/women

-the health care debate

-H1N1

-Octomom, Jon & Kate, Balloon Boy's parents, and the hundreds of other losers who pathologically crave attention, even negative attention. And, sadly, they get it.

And then there is the reflection of the smaller events that shape our lives, like:

-the adopting of new pets

-taking a break from school

-changing jobs (full-time ones)

-paying off debt

-quitting jobs (part-time ones)

-the deaths of pets

-taking a writing workshop

-the deaths of friends

-starting back at school

-the birth of a niece

-online dating

-learning a hobby

Last year, I took up yarn. I decided that I needed a hobby, a constructive way to relax, and chose to learn crochet. First, I learned how to make a slip knot:

"Hold the end of the yarn in your left hand, then use your right hand to make a loop of yarn about 6" aways from the end of the yarn. Pass the top strand of yarn under the loop, then pull a new loop up through the first loop."

Then, a chain stitch:

"Make a slip knot and place it on the crochet hook. Loop the working yarn around the hook and slide the hook through the slip knot, pulling the wrapped yarn through the slip knot."

The single crochet stitch. The double crochet. The half-double crochet. The oft-ignored triple crochet. Increasing, decreasing, fastening off. I made big messes, I had to tear things out & start over. And with each stitch, each task performed well and each mistake, I learned more and more, and soon and sure enough I was pumping out projects. Dishcloths, scarves, baby blankets. A kicky beret (why don't we use the word "kicky" more often?). A coin purse, a pencil case, a cozy for my Ipod.

It occurred to me, as I was thinking about the new year while punching out another scarf for a friend, that all of the projects that I've worked on, they start off with a Big Idea, but are then created one loop at a time. Kind of like how our lives aren't defined, truly defined, by the Big Events of the news, or even by the not-as-big events of our lives, but by the everyday. The little things, the mundane things. How we act at the bus stop, the grocery store, at our jobs and in our homes. These are the things that make up the fabric of our lives. The loops and stitches that build them. Like:

-performing a task well for its own sake, not because someone is watching us

-sharing a moment with your co-workers, all of you working towards a common goal

-enjoying a good movie

-enjoying a good book

-hearing that song on the radio that always puts you in a better mood

-laughing with a friend

-eating a good meal

-drinking that really great cup of coffee

-listening to the purr of a contented cat, or the happy bark of a playful dog

-engaging in a flirtatious glance across the proverbial crowded room

-hearing "Thank you", "Please", and "Excuse me". And saying them.

-a smile, a giggle, a hug, a kiss. Moments, just moments, but they are what build our lives. For me, for the new year, I want to master the art of living every day, instead of just focusing on "events".

Here's to wishing everyone here a blessed, kicky 2010, filled to the brim with a million fabulous little moments. See you at the yarn sale.

-C.

A sigh of relief

2009-12-06T18:38:00.003-06:00

I found out today that my final video project for Surgical Prep & Assistance 3 passed. I can't say exactly how relieved I am. It was a 90 minute video of me checking in a surgical patient, performing a physical exam, discussing anesthetic agents, pain management, stages & plane of anesthetic depth, going over the parts & function of anesthetic equipment. Oh, yeah, and placing an IV catheter, performing a surgical shave & prep, inducing & intubating a patient, cleaning & maintaining all aspects of surgical equipment, demonstrating a sterile scrub, going over suture materials & patterns, etc., etc., etc. Talking & showing with a camera on me, and with no notes of any kind. It was a matter of learning the material, then writing a script, scheduling time for filming, executing the tasks at hand, and the entire project was pass/fail.

Did you read that right? Nine different task categories, separated into 4-7 sub-tasks each, and the whole of it PASS-FRICKIN'-FAIL! Meaning that despite my ace-ing Levels 1 & 2, and ace-ing all the written material in the class this semester, and having checked off all my clinical tasks at the practice, I could have failed the entire class if even a small portion of my video was deemed inadequate. To say the least, it was a really stressful semester.

But I passed; nay, my instructor Dr. Badass (I mean, Dr. Black, respectfully) even pointed out that I was very thorough in my execution and explanations. Which I'm taking to mean I didn't merely pass, but excelled.

'Cause I'm a veterinary medicine rock star, y'all. Oh, yeah, am I feelin' it.

Now, on to Food Animal Management & Advanced Anatomy. Then I have to find some horses, apply a tail twitch, draw some blood, & clean the sheath. (And, in case you are wondering, that means what you think).

Peace,
C.

Clowns and Tragedy

2009-11-15T17:01:00.005-06:00

I found out that another former co-worker of mine (from Starbucks, this time), has passed away unexpectedly. He was most recently the manager of the Starbucks near my practice, so I saw him on a semi-regular basis. The day before I found out, I went in that Starbucks for a quick early-morning cuppa, and I do remember thinking it was weird that he wasn't there. But I figured that maybe he was just on vacation.

I recall working one night with Mark at the Wrigleyville store. Mark was one of those upbeat people, sometimes annoyingly so, but I knew by then that a lot of strife lay beneath that persona. Opera was playing on our sound system. I think I commented on one of the arias, bragging about my season tickets to the Lyric, wanting to sound so sophisticated & worldly, so much more so then the milk-stained green apron I was donning would imply. Then I thought out loud that another piece sounded like it was from La Traviata.

"Oh, no," Mark said, "This is I Pagliacci. The tragic clown." Then he talked about the opera itself, the particular production, the tenor, the history of the piece and other pieces by the composer. I was impressed, and a little embarrassed at just how little I knew, and by my presumption that he would not.

I saw I Pagliacci this past spring. It was fantastic, and I wish I had taken a minute to talk with Mark about it. It would have been a lively discussion; I can hear, in my head, his booming voice and boisterous laugh.

The tragic clown. Ironic, Mark, given the circumstances of your passing, (too sorrowful for me to state here)that I will now always associate that image with you.

-C.

Glad I was there...

2009-10-04T20:42:00.002-05:00

I was in the middle of my fifth hour of overtime this Saturday when a client was talking to me about her dog. She & her husband had recently adopted him from a local rescue, and she was peppering me with questions about diet, nail trimming, behavior. She looked down at her scruffy little mutt, who looked up at her and licked her hand. She had never had a pet before, she said.

"And I had no idea how much joy he could bring into our lives."

Then she smiled a big beautiful smile. Her eyes were lit from the inside, and I smiled back at her, knowing exactly what she meant.

Thank God for moments like that. Really. Thank you, God.

-C.

Big Ups, Big Downs

2009-09-27T16:13:00.002-05:00

I saw Mikhail Baryshnikov dance last night. At 62, he is still amazing. The venue was fabulous, the seats were excellent, the company lovely, thank you very much. I got a free glass of red wine & some grapes and brie to boot. I would love to wax poetic about what a sublime experience it was, because it really was, it really, truly was, but this week has been bogged down by bad news. An old friend of mine, who I once worked with as a vet assistant but recently lost touch with, has died.

She was 5 weeks away from turning 33.

The news just took the wind right out of me. She will never eat avocados again, or rock out to 80s punk, or take great care of sick doggies, or have a baby boy to name Diego, or any of the other things that she loved, loved, loved with such uninhibited passion that it makes it even harder to believe that she is gone. How can someone so young, and so full of life, just not be here any more?

I've lived long enough to know that it's pointless to look for sense where there is none, but God, the knowing of that doesn't ease the sting. I just hope that the spirits of all puppies and kitties that she cared for in this world enveloped her in her final moments, leading her soul to a peaceful place.

Goodbye, Michelle. You were so loved.

-C.

Culinary Observations

2009-09-20T16:54:00.005-05:00

1. While I never really crave steamed veggies, once I start eating them I really, really enjoy them. The same is true of writing and going out when it is cold.

2. I follow the 3-second rule in my house. Well, more like a 5-second rule.

3. I once forgot to put the flour in my oatmeal cookie batter before I baked it. Despite the fact that it was a gelatinous mess, it nonetheless made a delicious dessert when topped with French vanilla ice cream. Proof that most mistakes can be turned around if you are creative about it. (And also, that ice cream can fix just about anything).

4. As with wine, there is a coffee, a tea, and a beer to go with just about any cuisine. And as with wine, coffee, tea, and beer, it matters less that it is "right" one than it be one that you enjoy. So if you want Folger's instead of espresso, or your red wine on the rocks with your fish, knock yourself out.

6. That said, you should try an espresso at least once before committing to your Folgers, and try the red wine at the proper temperature before you insist they bring you a glass of ice. Reserving final judgment until other points of view are examined is just good sense. (And please, just admit that a chocolate martini is not a REAL martini).

7. Don't be too committed to your likes and dislikes. I didn't eat salad before I was 14, didn't like broccoli until I was 22, or eat hard-boiled eggs until I was 34. Last year I tried Brussels sprouts again and love them. Giving things a second (or third) chance keeps that door open to new experiences.

8. If there is such a thing as too much garlic, I haven't gotten there yet.

-C.

Stargazing

2009-09-14T19:51:00.003-05:00

I went to see "Stars of the Lyric Opera" at Millennium Park Friday night. Once a year, the Lyric parades out a few of their featured singers of the season with their orchestra in this free-to-the-public concert downtown. It used to be at the Grant Park venue, but since the opening of Millennium Park in '02 they have performed at the far superior Pritzker Pavillion. These concerts are always super-crowded, but I attend virtually every year. I've had season tickets to the Lyric for several seasons now, but there was a time in the not-too-recent past (Remember Bennigan's? I try not to.) when all I could afford was a free concert in a park. A big part of what brought me to Chicago was what it offered to me in the realm of the arts, and watching and listening to singers like Renee Fleming and Ben Heppner in the fresh air, grass under my toes, surrounded by a few thousand fellow Chicagoans, helped tide me over to the time when I could afford a ticket to the real deal.

I was sitting, this past Friday, on the Great Lawn of the Pritzker, under a massive metal lattice that holds the sound system, listening to excerpts from "The Barber of Seville" (one of my favorites!) and "Tosca" (which I'll get to see in November). A couple of my friends had joined me. The lawn was not too damp, and the chill in the air present but not overwhelming. At one point, as a duet from "La Boheme" rose from the stage & filled the air with the achingly sweet sounds of Mimi & Rodolfo's doomed love, I looked up at the sky, and a thought occurred to me.

I'm just about done with this place.

Because, at that moment, it wasn't the Chicago skyline I wanted to see. I've spent countless moments looking up from downtown and seeing the magnificence of the Aon Center, the Hancock Building, that curvy Streeterville high-rise whose proper name I can't ever remember (but I do know that there, a 450 square foot condo costs 1.5 million dollars), and now Trump Tower cutting its own way through that swath of steel and glass. At that moment, with Puccini's brilliance swimming through my ears, I wanted to look up and gaze at the stars, to take in the glory of the heavens, not the swaggering of man's puny creations. And do you know how many stars I could see from my spot on the Great Lawn of the Pritzker Pavillion in downtown Chicago at 9 o'clock at night?

Three. Just three. The city lights, well, they just drown them out.

I'm about ready. I've been there, done that, bought the T-shirt, got the autograph. I am just about ready to take this, all of this, the memories of concerts and ball games and cab rides and broken hearts, of museums, parks, street fairs, Lake Shore Drive, of dreams that died, dreams that rest, dreams that awoke in me new as babes, of boats and green river water and the bridges, the bridges that rose, that fell, that burned oh so bright as I lit them behind me, and carry it all with me somewhere else.

Some place where I can look up at the night sky and, without straining, take in the stars.

-C.

Restless

2009-08-23T16:03:00.002-05:00

Feeling a little restless as of late. I think it's in large part because of school starting in two weeks. If things had gone as planned, I would be graduating at the end of this semester. But life happened, things changed. Some of it beyond my control, some of it by my saying that a compromise was worth the making. And I feel that I'm on the right track. I still love what I do and still feel like I make a positive contribution to my patients' lives.

And then there is the part of me that could walk away from veterinary medicine. Forever. The part of me that is tired of dealing with sickness, of navigating workplace egos, of continually acknowledging that however positive my contribution is, it is still a small one in the grand scheme of things. And there is another part of me that sees that I could always be doing something different, finding new challenges in other fields, trying on a new life and seeing how it fits. That restlessness keeps me moving forward and motivates me to explore new possibilities, and I've considered it a good quality to have.

But it makes it very hard for me to sit still and focus. I guess that's the price you pay for curiosity.

-C.

Still Here

2009-08-16T13:25:00.002-05:00

Yeah, I've not been on top of this blog as late. Seems like when I have time, there isn't much of interest to report (I mean, my diabetic cat's fructosamine levels and urine glucose just isn't that exciting even to other vet folk; he's doing very well, BTW), or if something's going on I'm just too engaged to stop and take note of it all here. I manage to update my Facebook status daily (sort of my mini-blog, i.e. "(I) remember the time before email", "(I) bought a new pair of Crocs today
", etc. I am keeping reasonably on top of the photo blog; I do take a daily picture, but usually cannot post daily.

Some highlights of the summer:

-I'm down to one job. (See previous related post). It's been lovely. I've spent time with friends, watched movies & shows on DVD, crocheted, learned to knit (not very well), gone to restaurants and festivals and plays and just RELAXED, something that has been more and more difficult with the past several years' blitz of double-jobbing with school part-time. And because I eliminated my debt (see other previous related post), the finances have been well-cushioned against the loss of second-job income. I'll look into getting some part-time work in the fall (maybe at the new vet emergency practice opening soon).

-I took advantage of my downtime by enrolling in an intensive one-day only writing workshop at the Stage Left Theatre company, taught by my playwright friend Margaret. A group of writers got together in the early morning, did several writing exercises, each created a scene, and then turned them over to actors & 2 directors for rehearsal & performance that night. The experience was exactly what I needed. Often, I find myself discouraged when I write, because things are never as perfect as they are in my head. Here at this workshop I didn't have time for self-doubt. And it reminded me just how much I love and miss the collaborative nature of theatre. It's amazing to bear witness to a group of professionals coming together to create something bigger than the sum of its parts. Now, on to fitting this life in with the day job...

-I signed up for Zipcar. For a low annual fee, plus a variable hourly rate, I have access to cars around Chicago. I've lived without my own car for the entire time I've lived here, and I have no interest in carrying that burden. But there are times when a car is very useful, and if I am going to do time at a large-animal practice (required by my school), then I'll need access to a car to hike out to the western suburbs where these practices are located. For now, I'm just getting used to making short trips (say, to PetsMart for cat litter, or Trader Joe's for groceries), until I can get some friend of mine to help me navigate that most evil of evils, the tollways. Any takers? Oh, yeah, and where are the hazard lights in cars these days? Things are very different since I drove my '79 AMC Concord...

-School resumes in three weeks. Surgery Prep & Assistance, Level 3, which I'm taking for the second time. I'm nervous because this is the hardest course I'd taken (hence, the repeating of it). Wish me luck, as I'd hate like hell to get stuck here.

Life is good here, hope it is on your ends, loyal reader(s).

-C.

Habits

2009-07-14T20:58:00.004-05:00

List of things I feel compelled to do every single day:

1. Journal (3 pages in the A.M.-usually takes place on the train/bus)

2. Drink coffee.

3. Eat a banana.

4. Go for a walk.

5. Crochet. (Or knit.)

6. Do a sudoku.

7. Refill my Brita pitcher.

8. Check my friends' blogs.

9. Take a picture for my "Year in Pictures" blog.

10. Update my Facebook status.

Are there 10 things you have to do every day?

-C.

Catching Up on Rest

2009-07-06T20:42:00.003-05:00

I've meant to sit at this blog more often, and now I've actually got the time. But I'm finding myself busy with rest and relaxation-visiting with friends, enjoying the summer, watching old TV shows. And crochet. Lots and lots of crochet.

I'm around, and I'm resting. Hope you are enjoying some free time, too.

-C.

Notice

2009-06-13T21:52:00.002-05:00

I gave notice to the green apron company. My last day was going to be this coming Thursday, but they found a transfer from the 'burbs and didn't really need me, so my last day is tomorrow. I've been wanting to write something about this latest move of mine, but I'm still punching two clocks and I'm just so tired that I'm finding myself with little energy to devote to things like this blog. That's a big part of why I'm leaving.

I'm not currently enrolled in school, and soon I will be working one full-time job and that's it. I'll be back here to write more, as I will have the time to go with my motivation.

After I get some good sleep in, of course. Goddamn, but I deserve it.

-C.

Life, Sans Rodents.

2009-06-10T20:38:00.002-05:00

I euthanized my rat Giggle today. She had mammary tumors, very common in female rats. She developed them about 6 weeks ago, and I gave her anti-biotics and anti-inflammatory meds to help stave it off. But I knew she wouldn't last much longer; in fact, she held out longer than I would have guessed. Cancer is pretty aggressive in rats.

I think that she will be my last rodent pet. They don't live very long, and they aren't as easy to treat as cats and dogs when they are ill. Frankly, I'm looking forward to not having to clean cages on top of scooping litter boxes, too. But I'll miss Giggle. She was a good rat.

Not much else to say about that.

-C.

Happy, indeed.

2009-06-01T20:47:00.002-05:00

Today is my birthday. I know this because Facebook reminded me that today was my birthday, and also because the Secretary of State of Illinois sent me a letter telling me that my driver's license would have to be renewed. It isn't likely that I would forget my birthday (I never have before) but still, it doesn't hurt to have a reminder here & there.

I requested the day off & got it. (Unpaid, of course, but sometimes time is better than money & more on that subject later). I woke up at 5:15 a.m. to the sounds of Chicago Public Radio, smiled, then slept for a few more hours. I made it to the DMV shortly after it opened and was blessed with a series of very short waits. I passed my eye test (barely-I need new contacts but since I only drive about 4 times a year I'm not worried and neither should you be). The man behind the counter asked if I was still at the same height & weight. I told him to add twenty pounds to the old figure, with a laugh. That number is still not accurate but I figure that I'm a voting, tax-paying, law-abiding citizen so this really is the only time I give my government the finger and screw 'em if they can't take a joke. The picture on my renewed license is pretty bad, but I'm comfortable enough in my hot-babeness to blow it off. I take comfort over vanity these days, and that is the gift of being in my officially late-30s.

I drank some great coffee and decided to forgo an over-priced steak burger (my original lunch plans) in favor of cheap Cajun in Evanston. As I trekked to my bus stop I noticed that there were blooming lilac bushes behind the shield. Lilacs are one of my favorites; in color and in fragrance they have no match. I whipped out my camera and snapped some pictures, and noted more blooming lilacs as the bus took me up Sheridan Road to Howard, as the Purple Line dropped me off on Davis Street in Evanston. I shopped for books and ate gumbo on Church Street with the scent of them in my hair. I was blessed with even more visions of lavender and violet as the Purple Line took me back to Howard, and as the Red Line carried me into downtown Chicago, past the Loop, into a diner where a friend awaited me with cake and hugs. I saw more delicate blooms as I trekked into Andersonville, shopped some more, met with another friend, walked the mile home. I'm uploading some of the pictures now, for my photo blog, and I am leaving a window open tonight as I sleep; I hope that the scent fills my nose in my slumber, slipping into my dreams as I rest and ready myself for another week of challenge and change.

Happy birthday. Indeed.

-C.

Not There Yet

2009-05-19T18:56:00.002-05:00

So in my rush to get my debt paid off, I called American Express to get the most current balance & mailed the check ahead of time, rather than wait for my statement to arrive. I had the cash, so why wait?

Alas, though the check was indeed in the mail, it wasn't fast enough. The billing cycle turned and I was charged interest. I now owe American Express...$1.98. Then I will be officially debt-free.

My friend R. said that I should write the check for $2, then ask for a $.02 refund. I'm considering it.

-C.

Ode to a Mouse (part deux)

2009-05-15T20:38:00.002-05:00

I euthanized my other mouse, Mischief, today. Starting with her cagemate, Oops!, a few months ago, I've said goodbye to all of my rodent pets except for one. It's been a rough go, and the last rodent standing (Giggle the rat) has developed problems of her own. Her days are numbered.

Mischief was a great mouse. She was mostly black, and the black became gray on her belly and muzzle as she got older. When her Oops! became sick and was having difficulty moving from her bed inside a plastic igloo to the food dish just outside it, Mischief took food out of the dish and ran it to the igloo so that Oops! could eat. Maybe I'm over-anthropomorphizing here, but I was really touched by what appeared to me to be concern and generosity from one creature to another.

It reinforces my theory that the littlest creatures get it right sometimes, maybe more often then the bipeds with the brains. Peace, Mischief. You were a way cool mousie.

-C.

Worthwhile

2009-05-09T21:41:00.002-05:00

All the hours put in, all the posts about how much I work, how tired I am, blah, blah, blah.

It's all been worth it. Know why? Because yesterday I wrote two checks, and with the stroke of a pen, a couple of envelopes, one bus trip, and a single postage stamp, I am completely debt-free. I don't have much, but I owe nothing, and it's a glorious feeling to have.

Hopefully soon I'll be more energetic, therefore articulate enough to really put into words how pleased I am right now. But the long work-weeks are still stretching onward, so I only have a moment to sit here and punch in a few jumbled sentences, for I've more yet to accomplish. And now that I have this moment to enjoy, I'll be doning the blue scrubs and the green apron with a renewed spring in my step, looking forward to a few more glorious moments of accomplishment yet to come.

Sometimes, all the hard work can pay off. Big time.

-C.

And the busy stay busy...

2009-04-20T10:00:00.004-05:00

Just finished another long work stretch. I'm logging in around 57 hours a week between the two jobs, and average about 1 day off per 15 worked. The economy may be in a slump, but my finances are the best they have ever been. I just wish that it didn't take so very much to be that way, but given how many of my friends and family are struggling right now, I can't really complain.

Cubs season has begun, which means lots of green apron time. The coffee job has been my saving grace for the past 18 months that I've held it, but the big guns are making it more and more difficult to be flexible. More availability is required now than when I started back, and juggling responsibilities is getting tougher. I'm hoping that, with all of the extra time put in, I can reach my goals sooner rather than later. Fingers crossed, and support soles firmly in place, I persevere.

The demands of the jobs have also negated my taking another semester off from school. I'm looking to re-enroll come fall, with a new projected graduation of December 2010. Not what I had in mind, and my impatience is sulking in the corner, stamping her feet. But I remind myself daily that it is a marathon, not a sprint, and that I have a whole lifetime to build this career. The important thing is to see that it is done well, and if that means taking a little longer than originally thought, so be it.

My photo blog has been great fun, and a wonderful distraction for when the work-worlds bear down on me. I'm also getting into crocheting (2 dishcloths down, and a scarf in progress) and jewelry-making (I can custom-size bracelets to fit my scrawny wrists!). Next up is knitting....

As for the urban zoo, it has gotten even smaller. My hamster Kenya passed away last week; she had developed an abscess near her amputation site over a year ago, but medication had kept it at bay for much longer than had been anticipated. The night before she died she seemed perky enough, though a little slow, and ate her Cheerio treat and ran her wheel as she always did. She was inspiration in a plastic pear, and I'll always be grateful that I took her in.

My guinea pig Puppy also passed away suddenly. This happened about 6 weeks ago; I didn't post anything because, coming about so soon after the dual loss of Pickle & Panda, I just felt overwhelmed. He was seemingly quite healthy, and I was watching him like a hawk, given what had happened to my other two. He was fine in the morning, but had a distended abdomen come evening (at which time I started him on meds) and was gone the next day. A co-worker found info on something colloquially called "guinea pig bloat", a condition where bacteria can build up in their intestinal tract causing a blockage; its cause is not clear, though stress and food conditions are implicated. I'm not sure if his parsley just wasn't clean enough or what, but I miss him and his squeaky demands for attention. I'm not looking to take in any new critters for a while; I like having my urban zoo, but multiple pets mean multiple loss, and I'm feeling a bit leery at the moment.

Off to run errands now. If you can't hit a moving target, than I'm as impenetrable as Superman...

-C.

Sunday, April 5, 2009

2009-04-05T17:57:00.002-05:00

It is the beginning of April, and it is snowing as I write this.

Chicago, you never cease to crack me up.

-C.

Just waving as I fly by....

2009-03-29T16:54:00.002-05:00

Staying uber-busy. Work. Train. Make cash while making lattes. Learn to twist yarn into fun and hopefully useful things. The photo blog is staying afloat. So am I.

And if any one likes Monte Cristo sandwiches, the Golden Nugget on Clark south of Diversey serves a mean one. That's it for now.

-C.

...because they hold the rest of you up.

2009-03-22T18:56:00.003-05:00

It occurred to me late last week that if I'm to spend upwards of 55+ hours a week working on my feet that I should actually buy shoes that fit well instead of settle for ones that are a half a size too small because they are BOGO at Payless.

Sometimes common sense ain't too common 'round here. On the up side, I really love my new Crocs.

-C.

Into What Woods

2009-03-15T18:22:00.003-05:00

I went to a show called Into the Woods today. Two friends of mine were performing, and it was an overall lovely production in which they both did a lovely job.

Watching theatre these days is always a little bittersweet for me. I miss it, very much. I spent a lot of time very intimidated by the idea of "big city" theatre, when the truth of the matter is that it isn't any better or worse at this level, just that there's more of it. Perfectionism can be a dangerous trait to have when you allow it to keep you from trying. And trying again after that.

Then I stumbled into veterinary medicine, and I love it here. Truly I do. How blessed am I to have found multiple fields of interest (theatre, writing, vet med) that I adore and am passionate about and engaged in? I never wanted to be the person who spent 40 hours a week doing something that they hated, or even something that they were "okay" with. It's all or nothing, full-throttle big-guns passion or zilch for me. That's just who I am.

But like I said in another blog, you may be able to have it all, but not all at once. I work at a vet hospital full-time, and am working towards a degree. I'm working a second job to pay for that. That leaves little time to tread boards or even to scribble down a lot of the dialogue that rattles in my head. I hope that some day I can find the time to strike a better balance in doing all of what I love.

And that there will exist opportunities for me therein when I am ready. We'll see.

-C.

Resting in the Tiredness

2009-03-12T23:19:00.002-05:00

Been a long week. Lots of hours put in. My feet are screaming at me. I can barely make a complete sentence, out loud or on paper.

And I love it. I love this kind of tired. The tired that comes from putting in my time, giving it my all, unencumbered by the anxiety and tension that has made the last five years of my life so painful. My eyelids are heavy, but I will sleep a calm sleep tonight.

Because I am simply tired, no more than that, and what a remarkable difference it is. And how humble and grateful am I in the now? How rested will I truly be come the morn?

-C.

Rainy Day Sweater

2009-03-07T10:07:00.002-06:00

I have a rainy day sweater.

It is at least 12 years old, an olive-green tunic-style oversized sweater that I think I may have brought with me from Colorado when I moved, or perhaps purchased shortly after I arrived in Chicago. It is frayed at the bottom and at the ends of the sleeves, where the elastic has worn down so badly that they hang over the tops of my hands. Oversized clothing is particularly unflattering on a tall girl, and the color does nothing for me. The style is very dated and the fraying is more prominent with every washing, but I won't throw it out. It has become my rainy day sweater, and I wear it on chilly rainy days when I can sit in my chair by a window, sip coffee or tea or cocoa, stare out the window at the rain, and ponder...nothing.

It's been a week of the tying of loose ends, the catching up on things previously set aside, the looking forward to see what my future will ask of me, the getting of some much-needed rest. There is relief, excitement, anxiety, reflection, anticipation. Many tasks have been completed, and there are many remaining on my list.

But for now, I'm just a girl in a ridiculously large, badly frayed, butt ugly, old-ass sweater, looking out at the rain falling down, the puddles growing on the sidewalks, the pedestrians with their umbrellas blown out, the buses splashing gutter water onto the pavement. It's a good place to be.

-C.

Taking Stock

2009-03-04T10:07:00.002-06:00

I cleared out my work locker yesterday. It was my last full day (though I'll be helping out a bit here and there with chart-auditing as a gesture of good will), and forgot until the end of this last day, after going over the last of my lab tech duties to delegate, after eating company-paid Jimmy John sandwiches and marble cake in farewell (thanks, all) and after paying my final vet bill (Ramona & Hazel needed eye meds and anti-B's), that I really needed to empty my locker. I've had that locker for nearly 4 years (got it a few months after I started), and I guess I was so used to having it and using it that I hadn't given much attention to leaving it.

There was a lot of stuff in that locker. I'm a pack-rat; I save just about everything and I will fill any space I'm given to maximum capacity. Here's an abridged list of what was in that locker:

-a dozen or so slip leashes.

-fat & skinny Sharpies (you need both, trust me on that)

-a spare pair of socks (because you know at some point something foul I mean FOUL will get stuck in your sock we work with animals after all)

-some articles from various newspapers that I had saved to read later

-my toothbrush, toothpaste, and contact lens solution

-a few back issues of industry magazines, like Trends and Veterinary Technician

-a can of green beans and a can of crushed pineapple (both of which I had brought in on separate occasions to go with my lunch but instead opted to do without and decided to just leave them in my locker rather than lug them back home just in case I was at work and thought that my lunch or someone else's could use either green beans or pineapple or maybe both and all of my co-workers laughed yesterday when I showed them those cans but I gotta tell you that there could have been an instance when green beans or crushed pineapple would have been useful nay even needed and then in that instance I would have been like King Arthur pulling Excalibur from the stone except the sword would be beans/fruit and the stone would have been my crowded locker oh scoff ye naysayers but if some situation comes along in life and you slap your forehead wishing you had a can of Del Monte brand no-salt added cut green beans and/or Safeway brand crushed pineapple in juice and there is none to be found oh you will think of me oh yes the image of my face cackling with self-righteous glee will dance before your eyes haunting you like a spector and you will have finally experienced humility in its purest form)

Anyway.

I sorted through this and more. What belonged to the hospital I put away in its proper place. What was good and useful to me I brought home, to be sorted through later.

And what was no longer needed and no longer useful I discarded. And so it goes.

-C.

The Socks and Underwear Question

2009-02-27T17:44:00.003-06:00

I went shopping yesterday. My list was simple: socks, underwear (not to be confused with lingerie-we're talking here about the most utilitarian and cheap option for every day, wear-under-my-work-scrubs-and-remember-that-I-work-at-an-ANIMAL-stop-HOSPITAL-stop use), an inexpensive sports watch (to double as a timer for taking heart/resp rates), and simple-but-still-cute earrings. I trekked over to Target after work, hopping a bus filled with Lane Tech high school kids as the time coincided with the end of the school day.

By the way, the phones that high school students now carry simply amaze me. How did I ever manage, at the age of fifteen, to get from Point A to Point B without handheld games to play, text messaging, digital camera imaging, and Web access combined with an actual working PHONE that you could gab on incessantly at any time and for any reason? I mean, Christ, I just got a cell phone myself in '05 (age: 32!), and my only real criteria was that it be a flip phone so that I could pretend that it was a communicator from the original Star Trek TV series. All of the above just goes to prove that I am a) getting old, and b) a huge nerd.

Anyway.

I found 12 pairs of socks, 8 pair of underwear, and the sport watch. No go on cute earrings, so I consoled myself with a $7 wallet that matched the purse I was carrying. I got home, unwrapped, laundered, put away. It all gave me an enormous sense of security and satisfaction. The socks & underwear shortage that has been bouncing around my "to-do" list can now be checked off. I won't have to worry about getting new ones for a while. No matter what happens in the near future, I have plenty of socks and lots of (very basic) underwear. I looked around and made a quick mental list of some other life "staples" of which I have a surplus.

1. Toothpaste-3 tubes, Crest brand (sale + coupon = happy penny-pinching me)
2. Coffee, tea, and espresso (most of which is courtesy of my part-time gig, and if any of you loyal readers out there are lumping "espresso" with "coffee" then I highly recommend getting thee to a local snobby coffeehouse and having the proprietor explain to you the vastly important difference. I would do so myself, but I am a professional barista, after all, and I'm currently not on the clock).
3. Lubriderm lotion (which should be sold by the vat come winter-time as without a twice-daily slathering my poor skin peels off in chucks. Yes, it's as ugly as it sounds.)
4. Silk brand vanilla soy milk (sale + aseptic container = happy non-dairy drinking me)
5. Batteries (AA for the flashlight, D for the radio)
6. Light bulbs
7. Clicky pens (freebies from drug reps, theatre companies, the dry-cleaner. And yes, it must be a clicky pen)

So much abundance. So much preparedness. Not ready for everything, she is, but ready for so much. And now, socks matched, underwear folded, and all of it put neatly away, she can move on to the next "to-do" list item.

Tomorrow.

-C.

Not much new to say....

2009-02-11T20:23:00.002-06:00

....I just need a new "most recent post". That's all.

-C.

Double Whammy

2009-02-07T13:10:00.003-06:00

My guinea pig Pickle passed away last night. I wanted to write a little something about him, but I'm afraid that that is going to have to wait. I'm still a little stunned from having lost two pets so unexpectedly and in quick succession. In contrast to Panda, who was very timid with people, Pickle was a delight to handle and didn't shy away from attention. Everyone who came into contact with him took note of that, and his unusual extroverted nature produced a number of photo opportunities of which I took great advantage.

I just can't look at any of them now. Not yet. Not for a while.

-C.

Oh, all right....

2009-02-04T19:02:00.006-06:00

Once you have been tagged...

1. Choose the 4th folder where you store your pictures on your computer

2. Select the 4th picture in the folder

3. Explain the picture

4. Tag 4 people to do the same. No cheating!

This was from November. In it I am dressed and ready to go to Lyric Opera; I have had season tickets for a few years. I had missed the season opener (Manon) because of my going to Colorado when my Uncle Joe became gravely ill. Now I was gearing up to go to Porgy and Bess, which was really exciting for me as it is considered the greatest American opera, I had never seen it performed in full, and it was the first time EVER that it was being performed at the Lyric. I had just gotten a great haircut and was wearing my "bowtie" earrings. I had brought back a maroon sweater of Uncle Joe's with me after he passed; I decided to wear it to Porgy and Bess in his honor. Then I decided that I should have pictures to remember it all by.

So...I tag Troy, Tiffany, Melissa, & Mary (it can be your first blog entry!).

-C.

Strange Sorrow

2009-02-02T16:02:00.002-06:00

One of my guinea pigs died last night. I'm not entirely sure what happened, but she wasn't eating well, and sometimes guinea pigs can develop serious problems if they lose their appetites. Or she could have had a problem that caused her anorexia and led to more problems. I didn't even realize that something was wrong until the situation was dire. And now her cagemate is ill, too.

Her name was Panda. She was the most adorable little black and white smooth-haired piggy I'd seen. I thought of lots of names for her but when I came up with Panda it was just too perfect. Panda was a very neat piggy, and kind of fussy, and very, very shy with people. She also squealed louder than anything whenever she heard the rustling of the bag that held her parsley, or for that matter, any bag rustling at all. She was less a companion for me than she was for my one-eyed piggy Pickle, and I'm afraid that even if he gets through all this mess Pickle will be heartbroken to have to live without her.

I'm sad that she is gone, and sadder still because in retrospect I think that I may have missed important signs that she was ill. Pet health is not just my responsibility in my home, but it is also my job, so I'm doubly hard on myself here. More than anything, though, I'm really sad because I can only find one picture of her. I lost most of my pictures when I fried my old desktop computer over a year ago, and it looks like I didn't take any new pictures of Panda since then.

I just took for granted that she would be here for a while longer.

-C.

Currently.....

2009-01-29T19:11:00.002-06:00

Currently reading:

Goddesses in Everywoman: a new psychology of women by Jean Shinoda Bolen, M.D. Found it in Myopic Books, a used bookstore in Wicker Park. Claims to combine Jungian archetypes with a feminist model, using Greek mythology to illustrate such. Intriguing concepts, and for $6.50 to boot. Hey, I'll give just about anything a chance if I'm compared to a goddess. Remember that.

Currently listening to:

Awake: the Best of Live by Live. I love this band. Their second release, Throwing Copper, was in constant rotation during my college years. Very masculine sound that neither crosses the line into misogyny nor indulges in cloying sentiment. That, and I totally crush on their drummer. I'm cheap like that, it's true.

Currently watching:

Battlestar Galactica on scifi.com While a friend & I concur that consistency is not really there, BSG is still one of the best-written dramas on TV right now. Good dialogue, sweeping plot twists, strong female characters, and sci-fi nerdiness equals enthralled me.

Currently focusing on:

Relaxing. I'm not good at that. I've been working so hard on working so hard that really taking time out to read for pleasure, to listening to music I like, and to watch a TV show for kicks actually takes focus and effort. I'm in a strange position where I have to work on relaxing.

And isn't the point of relaxing to not be working?

-C.

Blatant Solicitation # ?

2009-01-25T20:00:00.002-06:00

As I was heading to my opera this past Wednesday afternoon (Puccini's MADAME BUTTERFLY, which has some lovely arias but not so interesting characters and little for the singers to do acting-wise but that is a whole other blog entry entirely), I noticed that Brent Books (at 309 W Washington Street ) is going out of business (see A Year in Pictures blog for visual reference). It made me really sad, because I would always stop by on my way to my opera because I love books and I love indies and the prices and selections were good. The place had charm and books-what wasn't to love? And now, they are going out of business. Another indie bites it.

Hey, I do like the big "B" bookstores as much as the next Gentle Reader, and I buy about half of my pet supplies cheaply at the ginormous national pet supply chains that will remain herein nameless, and I work for the green apron company that has stores on every other block and is known for decimating their indie-coffee competition, so I suppose that I can't really rail too hard against the homogenization of American business as I contribute enough to their well-being myself, but whenever a non-big business goes belly-up the part of my soul that loves variety and hates rote just dies a little. A lot of little businesses that I've loved have gone belly-up in my time (Poor Richard's, Cafe Boost, Stone Lion Bookstore, just off the top of my head), so that's a lot of little pieces of my soul. That adds up, for sure.

So I'm thinking this week of heading over to Women & Children First (indie & feminist bookstore, www.womenandchildrenfirst.com), and to A Taste of Heaven cafe and bakery, both in Andersonville. Pause Coffee near the Berwyn station (don't tell my SB boss!). That little Indian/Pakistani place down the street whose name I don't recall but has fantastic & cheap dal makhani and is definitely NOT a chain. Maybe you could join me? Maybe, just in spirit, to an indie place in your neck o' the woods? If you're spending the bucks anyway, why not spent it local? Keep it in the 'hood, so to speak. Think of it this way-you could be helping the little business survive, contribute to your local economy, keeping the rich from just getting richer simply by virtue of being rich, AND be saving my soul. God knows, it needs it.

-C.

To the Broken Helmet Bike Guy...

2009-01-21T19:08:00.003-06:00

...on the corner of Dearborn and Madison, at around 5:30 p.m. tonight. I saw that car hit your bike, and I saw your head hit the road. Did you hear that woman screaming? That wasn't me; I think it was the CTA worker who ran to you to make sure you were okay. I didn't occur to me to scream, as everything happened so fast that by the time I realized that a car had hit you, that your head had hit concrete, and that there was a woman screaming because of all of that, I also saw that you were getting up, that you were nodding to your friend that you were okay, and that your helmet was in bits and pieces across the intersection. Tires were already crunching those remnants of helmet by the time everything registered, and now it is that sound that's ringing in my ears as I write this.

I'm glad that you are okay. I'm glad that you were wearing a helmet. I'm glad that you were biking with a friend, and I think that he took down that car's plate number-it sounded like he got at least part of it. I hope you get how lucky you are. And I hope this stops you from veering in and out of busy traffic on your bike. Because you may be nimble and you may be quick but jumping over that particular candlestick over and over and over again only ends up burning your ass. And sometimes a helmet isn't enough. Do you get that now? Does everyone who saw you get that?

Does everyone who is reading this get that? Please say yes.

-C.

Another List

2009-01-15T19:18:00.002-06:00

10 things that I love

1. The smell of freshly-brewed coffee
2. The sound of a purring cat
3. Baked potatoes
4. Post-It Notes
5. Drawing blood (on animals only; humans are just icky, no offense)
6. Libraries
7. The scent of aftershave
8. Purses & handbags (you don't have to try them on)
9. Stimulating conversation
10. A good night's sleep.

-C.

Two Weeks Here

2009-01-12T07:54:00.003-06:00

A friend of mine (and fellow blogger) recently wrote a blog entitled "Two Weeks". The gist was just how much can happen in so short a period of time. Very eloquent, T.

Two weeks ago I had a gnawing feeling in my gut. It's the same gnawing feeling that has been rumbling in my belly for a few years. I was trying to figure out how to continue life as it had been, with the gnawing sensation in my belly, that I could subdue occasionally, but that never really went away, that I had come to recognize as the physical manifestation of my anxiety. The source of that anxiety was constant and unmoving, and I couldn't seem to thicken my skin or develop enough detachment to rid myself of the gnawing feeling. I realized, in a moment two short weeks ago, when the rumbling moved from my belly and into my head, flowing out of my twisted face in the form of uncontrollable tears, that the only thing that I could really change was my proximity to the source of this anxiety. And so I made a decision to move forward.

The decision itself defies common sense. I get that. But I also know that the knot in my belly is gone, that every morning since the making of that decision I've woken up easily, without having to smack the snooze button a dozen times, dreading being pulled from my slumber. (Well, there was that Sunday morning last week, but I blame the wine and fondue-fest of the night before. :-) My body and heart are telling me that this is the right choice, and for once I'm telling my brain to step aside and listen to them. You know that cliche, "The weight of the world being lifted from your shoulders"? It is truth. I feel lighter and breathe easier, and so I stand by my illogical choice.

I welcomed another furry beast into my home. It had been over 2 years since I said good-bye to my Tully, and I was finally ready to find another kitty to love and care for. Three is the right number of cats for me; the three that I had in my home (Gracie, Sam, Tully) 7 years ago, when I started my journey in vet medicine, are gone now. Two of them were under the age of 6 when they died. I grieve for their departure, but weep in gratitude for all they taught me. About the fragility of life and how to live in every moment. About the simplicity and absolute necessity of joy. About the capacity that I have in my heart, that I can channel through my mind and through my hands. I make a difference in my work because of their continued presence in my soul, and as I sit here laughing over my new cat Fido's antics I am happy and oh so grateful that grief does not have to mean an end to joy. Not if you don't let it.

There are other developments. For some of us, things have gone back to normal. Sadly, normal, in these circumstances, does not equate good. I don't know what actions to take, and am wondering if maybe there is no action to take. What I can say for sure is my role in things will not be as it has been in the past. For my own sake, I will no longer sit idly by while the elephants in the room trample the furniture and suffocate me with their sheer numbers. I can find freedom from anxiety. I can invite joy into my home. And I can speak the truth of things. I will not be afraid of honesty, however painful it may be. Pain only hurts; duplicity destroys from within. I'll survive the pain of truth to see it prevail. Some of you will be on board with that.

And some of you won't be, and more's the pity for you.

-C.

The Simplest Prayer

2009-01-07T20:08:00.001-06:00

Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Such a simple concept. Really, really tough to follow. Really tough.

What to Do with Fifty Bucks?

2009-01-05T18:44:00.006-06:00

Remember that question from just before Christmas? Should I donate it to charity? Splurge in something for myself? Spread more good karma? I did all three at The Anti-Cruelty Society of Chicago this weekend, and his name is Fido:

(Actually, the adoption fee is $55, but my found-wallet reward did cover the bulk of that! www.anticruelty.org)

Two New Projects

2009-01-03T15:54:00.003-06:00

I've got two new documentary-style projects in the works, both of them in blog-format. The first is entitled "A Year in Pictures". For every day of 2009, I will be posting a digital photograph. It is based on a project that I read about a while back, where a woman took a picture every single day (on an old-school 35 mm, no less). She found that, amidst the pictures of her feet and other banality, that she had captured very special moments that she would not have otherwise. Now that I have a digital camera and am in the habit of blogging regularly, I decided to create a similar project for myself. This documenting of the year will also carry particular resonance with me, for reasons that some of you are aware of and that will become public soon enough.

The second is a journal entitled "The CTA Diaries". I have wanted to explore for myself the relationship between rider and transit in Chicago as it has fascinated me since before I even moved here. Hey, the "El" is legend outside these borders, you know? This particular project, though, is on hold for a bit, as I'm still deciding on the slant, and on whether the blog will be public (as I don't think I am comfortable with strangers knowing my transit-riding schedule, just in case).

Anyway, hit the links to your right if you are curious, and leave comments at will. Thanks!

-C.

Resolution

2009-01-01T05:30:00.002-06:00

It is Thursday morning, January 1, 2009. The dawn of a new year. I'm sitting at my laptop, which is on top of my plywood makeshift desk, in my dining room that is really more of an office, sipping Starbucks Christmas Blend coffee out of a mug that boasts a panoramic picture of the Chicago skyline. It is way early, and I'm hitting both jobs today. The Starbucks gig promises to be a bit on the hellish side, what with a full 8 hours (time & a half with the holiday, but murder on my poor back and knee) and the hockey game at Wrigley Field (please tell me that drunken Blackhawks fans behave better than drunken Cubs fans? Please?). But it's all good. It is all so very, very good.

Yesterday was the year's close, a time of reflection. Today is a new year's beginning, a time of resolution. And what is my resolution for 2009?

Simple. To enjoy it.

In looking back on the last several years, I can make lists of numerous accomplishments. I see where hard work and fortitude have served me well. I see areas of my life that need improvement, where I can endeavor to strike some balance, gain better perspective. But what I don't see a lot of is joy.

As a child, you are capable of experiencing joy in the virtually all things that surround you; much of the time that joy is brought right to your eyes and to your hands, and it is easy and carefree and without struggle. Things are different as an adult, as the necessities of living and demands of ambition make compromise necessary, and the randomness of the universe reveals to me every day that nothing, absolutely nothing, is promised us or owed us or offered with any kind of guarantee. As such, one never experiences the same kind of burden-free glee as an adult that they could as a child.

I realize now, though, that joy is like hope, in that it is a choice. You choose to feel the joy in your life just as you do to see the hope. In my efforts to improve, gain, maintain, I think I've missed out on a great deal of the joy that is being alive. You know, that whole breathing-not-being-dead thing I talked about yesterday. Well, today, on this first day of a new year, as I look forward to new challenges and to the necessity of change, I hereby resolve to choose, every single day, to enjoy the life that I have been so blessed to live.

And if a drunken Blackhawks fan pukes on my shoes today, hell, I've got a great story to tell in a bar or on this blog, right? That is the power of choice.

-C.

Reflection

2008-12-31T09:15:00.002-06:00

Good-bye, 2008. It was nice knowing you. I can't say that I will miss you-you were a tough-ass year. But the tough-ass years are still years that I'm breathing, and since the alternative to breathing is not breathing, i.e. being dead, than I say yes, I will take the tough-ass years, and the breathing, and the bullshit that comes with the breathing-not-being-dead thing.

This year I turned 35. This birthday really knocked me on my ass, emotionally speaking. My friend M. says that birthdays that end in "0" & "5" are prime for intense introspection, and yes, that certainly has been the case with me.

On turning 20-Yeah, I'm not a teen any more, okay? I am now an adult. Did you hear me-AN ADULT! *snort*

On turning 25- Oh my God, I have accomplished NOTHING with my life! I am failing at life! AAAAAAAAAAAANGST! *additional snort*

On turning 30-Good-bye, angst-ridden 20s! Don't let that door smack your ass on the way out! I am at the dawn of a new decade! Hello, 30s, you gorgeous time, you!

On turning 35-Damn, I can't stop the ride here, can I? I'm not a kid anymore, am I?

On my 35th birthday, I was in a cheap motel room in Indianapolis, on a quest for adventure and newness and some sense of clarity, because, seemingly without my consent, I and my needs had changed. The things that I relished several years ago I had no desire for in the here and now, and I was finding myself yearning for things that I thought I would never want, like a quiet street to walk down, someone to walk beside me down that street, and maybe, just maybe, a tiny hand in mine, one attached to a tiny creature that I was certain, for years and years, I would never, never welcome into my life.

People change. You know that, I know that. We say it when friends move on to new lives, when opposites attract, when your boss has a mid-life crisis and ditches his wife for his secretary, when the perfect couple whose wedding you danced at break apart. But who really expects the person that radically changes, I mean full 180-degree type change, to be you? And what do you do in the face of that change?

You reel, but only for a moment. Because 35 is here, time keeps moving whether you move or not, and you know that now much better than you did at 20, at 25, at 30. You reflect, you ponder, you plan.

And you hope. Because 2008 is over, and 2009 is coming. Because you've survived every single one of your mistakes and are better for having made them. Because there have been as many triumphs as mistakes and you're together enough to see that. Because the choice is hope or despair, and it is a choice, and what other choice would you make?

Not to mention that 35 looks really goddamn good on me. My hot-babeness prevails. Score.

See you next year.-C.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

2008-12-28T11:06:00.002-06:00

I got the card out on time for this one, so don't anyone bother to leave a message for him. His head is big enough as it is.

Enjoy your dollar's worth of candy, Daddy.

-C.

On Christmas Eve's eve...

2008-12-25T13:15:00.003-06:00

..., the day before yesterday, I found a wallet in the snow. I found a way to get it back to its owner. She was very nice and gracious. I found this unusual, because it has been my experience that honesty must be its own reward as most people do not know how to be grateful when you do something nice for them. A sad commentary on the state of humanity, yes?

She offered me money, which I initially turned down. I didn't do it for money-I did it because it was the right thing to do, and because my mom would be mad if I didn't do the right thing (see November 8th's entry for further elaboration on fear and my mom :-), and because I would like for someone to do the same for me. I'm no angel, and I'm not trying to get into heaven. I just don't want to be the kind of person I dislike; in short, a thoughtless, selfish asshole. That really is my main motivation in life, to not be an asshole, and most of the time, I like to think that I'm successful in that venture.

But this nice woman insisted that I take the money, and said "Merry Christmas" over and over. So I slipped the ten-dollar bill into my pocket, and wished her a merry Christmas, too. I went back to work, and wanted to tell my co-workers about the nice lady and the nice gesture. I reached into my pocket to examine the ten-dollar bill...

...and discovered that it was wrapped around two twenties. Fifty bucks, just for being a non-asshole.

The thing is, I'm feeling a little bad about the money. If I had known that it was that much, I would have been more adamant about not taking it. I'm not sure what I should do with it. Maybe donate it to charity? Buy a round for friends? It just seems a little weird to have profited by doing the right thing. But it's also really nice that someone appreciated the right thing being done. Doesn't happen enough in life.

"..and to all, a good night."

-C.

Simple Observation

2008-12-20T13:44:00.001-06:00

Head count at the last party I went to:

Couple, couple, couple, couple....

...and me. Sigh.

-C.

Got a few bucks?

2008-12-15T17:12:00.003-06:00

*Okay, folks-blatant solicitation forthcoming. You are warned*

So, a friend emailed me about a local theatre company needing money. If you have been a long-time reader of my blog (from my myspace days), you may remember my mentioning Margaret Lewis, and my esteem for her work (go hit the link to your right for the myspace blog if you need a refresher). Margaret has written some fine plays for a company called Stage Left Theatre, and I have a lot of respect for these people and the work they do. And they are currently strapped for cash.

And yes, everyone is strapped. I get it. The animal shelters are popping at the seams with relinquished pets, friends are getting laid off, my Starbucks partners are having their labor hours cut, things are tough all over. It ain't easy to try and find money for the arts when you are worried about your mortgage, your retirement, the food on your plate and the plate under your food.

But the arts are important. Crucial, even, for in times of both prosperity and strain it is through these expressions that we relieve our stress, look inward for peace, outward for guidance, and find ways to connect to one another, recognizing both the uniqueness and commonality of the human experience. Is that worth a few bucks to you? Can you scrounge a bit together to help these artists? Even if each of you out there can spare just a little, than that's more than they had a few days ago. Together, it can make all the difference in the world, both to those needing to express something, and to the audience who needs to experience that expression.

And hey, some day I'm hoping to not have to work two jobs and go to school all at once, and I'll be writing more than just a blog twice a week, and if Stage Left isn't there for me to submit my scribble to, than I'm going to be up a creek. So, you see, I'm being a little selfish here in my solicitation. (Why don't you write in the "memo" line of your check that yours truly can turn a word or two, while you're at it?) :-)

Find information at www.stagelefttheatre.com

-C.

I wonder...

2008-12-10T20:42:00.001-06:00

From the wall of A Taste of Heaven cafe/bakery:

"What if the Hokey Pokey really IS what it's all about?"

Discuss.

-C.

Finding Your Self Online

2008-12-07T20:53:00.004-06:00

Lately, I've been acutely aware of the fantabulousness of networking websites. Are you on Facebook? MySpace? Friendster? Do you blog at Wordpress? LiveJournal? Blogger? Hell, just do a Yahoo! search on someone & chances are you'll find a little tidbit about their life. Unless, of course, they have a stupid common name like Christopher Burgess, who still owes me money in addition to being impossible to Google effectively. (Are you reading this, Chris? Do you remember how much you owe me? Well, I do, I surely do, so why don't you do a little Swiffering of your karma here & send me a check already? It's never too late to repay a debt, you know?).

Anyway.

My point is, the vastness of the World Wide Web has made it possible for me to touch base with many, many people that I would not have had the chance to otherwise. From high school through college, to my early days in Chicago, to different jobs I've held, different circles I've navigated, there are a plethora of rekindled connections, all neatly bundled up with pictures and contact info and insights into the persons that they are now. And with each new email, friend request, message in the "inbox", I find myself getting back in touch, too, with the person I was when I knew them, way back when (but not so long ago to be forgotten).

Another blessing. Another line on my "grateful" list. It just keeps getting longer and longer.

-C.

More Randomness...

2008-12-02T17:52:00.002-06:00

10 Random Things:

1. I do not use speed dial unless I programmed the phone myself. It's a leftover neuroses from my days as a telemarketer. I dial my own numbers, every time.

2. My first moment onstage was in a Christmas play at my church. I was in second grade. My brother played a teenager learning about the meaning of Christmas, my sister was an angel (who quoted from the New Testament), and I was one of a dozen caroling children. Neither of my siblings remember this, though our father does.

3. When I like a movie, I will get the DVD and watch it over and over and over again. For example, I saw BATMAN BEGINS in the theater 3 times, and nearly 20 times on DVD at home before I got sick of it. Same with TV shows.

4. I have no tattoos, and only one piercing in each ear. I do, however, still want to streak my hair bright blue. Right before I shave it off and go bald.

5. I have a phobia about hypodermic needles, and had to force myself to touch them the first year I worked in vet medicine. Every now & again, I still stop and get a little nauseous in the middle of a blood draw.

6. I can fall asleep just about anywhere. In every class from junior high through college, on several bus and train rides in the city, at the opera, in the middle of a good book, at my night job at Kinko's 10+ years ago. The amount of caffeine in my bloodstream has made no difference in this propensity. Trust me, I've tried.

7. Ice cream is my favorite sweet, and I will eat just about any flavor that doesn't have chocolate. If I crave chocolate, it is the ultra-dark, 85% cacao, high end stuff, and that I only eat by itself. Ice cream and chocolate don't mix for me.

8. As the child of a mixed-race couple, I am mind-boggled by people who feel at home with their own "kind". I have never felt that way and have no frame of reference for that mentality whatsoever.

9. I love classical opera, but not so much contemporary musicals, the symphony, or the ballet.

10. I still believe that I can have it all. Just not all at once.

-C.

Christmas Carding

2008-11-30T18:32:00.002-06:00

I'm getting together my list of recips for my annual Christmas card list. Last year, my plans were somewhat thwarted by my zapping my computer in an attempt to upgrade its memory. (Yes, I can draw blood on multiple species, but cannot install simple computer cards without evoking lethal channels of static electricity. It is good to remember one's place in the world.)

Anyway, I'm hitting everyone up for current addresses, etc. Getting ready to type out a letter, which I no doubt will also post here when the time comes. What pictures to paste into the document, how to approach the narrative, who to send it to and in what manner, who gets what card out of the dollar store options I've brought home. It's always such a chore, getting it all together. But it is also so fun and uber-rewarding to sit down & take stock of all the people in this world who mean so much to me.

That includes you, by the way. I'm glad you show up at this blog.

-C.

Giving Thanks

2008-11-27T21:23:00.002-06:00

What I am grateful for:

1. Family
2. Friends
3. Pets
4. Work
5. School
6. Fortitude
7. Clarity
8. Art
9. Sustenance
10. Hope

-C.

Memorial

2008-11-25T02:59:00.003-06:00

Joe's memorial was Saturday. There was prayer & Bible readings, Scottish bagpipes & Irish songbirds. My sister compiled a wonderful montage of photos of Joe throughout his life & put together the music. A very kind pastor talked about the celebration of life.

Then we got to a part called "A Brother's Thoughts":

For the past few weeks, I have been trying to get my thoughts together enough to make an acceptable memorial service for my big brother. Let me start by first giving my thanks to all of you present here for this service. I want to express my appreciation to Pastor Greg Ralston for his kind words and support to our entire family. I also want to express my gratitude for the support of my wife Tokuko, my daughter Regina, my son-in-law Sherman, my granddaughter Caitlin, my daughter Colleen, and the rest of our family. They provided the highest degree of what "family" truly means, both to me and my brothers' children. Thank you.

Most of the people here knew my brother as George---not me. He has been and forever will be known to me and my family as "Joe". Joe was born Nov 4, 1931, the first-born of the family. He had it pretty good for the first 6 years, than our sister Mary Jean came along. Then 2 years later, his life changed forever!! The "baby" of the family, his little brother, was born. THAT'S ME!! No more going out to play with his friends----he had to watch "the baby", or else take "the baby" with him!

Joe was a story-teller and I know many of you have heard a lot of stories about him and me. No one could tell a tale like him. Believe me, they were all true! Most of the stories ended with him getting a spanking from Mom, because in Mom's eyes, the "baby" could do no wrong! (THAT'S ME AGAIN!)

We had what I would call a special brother to brother relationship. We were there for each other on many different occasions. Even though I was gone from New York, spending 20 years in the Navy before settling here in the Springs, we knew we could count on each other for whatever assistance was needed. As an example, my wife became pregnant with our first child in Dec 1965. Since I was deploying to Vietnam for an unspecified time, I called Joe in New York and asked if he could care for her while I was gone. Understand, my wife was from Japan and they had not met yet. Without hesitation, Joe said "Of course I'll take care of her. That's what brothers are for." I took my wife to New York, introduced her to her brother-in-law and left. I returned to New York in Oct 1966 and met my 2-month son for the first time. "That's what brothers are for".

In 1998, Joe called me. He had entered into a disastrous second marriage and he found himself alone, saddened and just about to give up on life itself. He said "Tommy, I need you." I immediately went to New York. We talked for 3 or 4 days...that's all we did was talk. I convinced him he should relocate to Colorado Springs, where he could live with me and my wife and our family. He agreed, and in May 1999, he became a member of our household. After all, "That's what brothers are for."

For the past 9 1/2 years, we were together almost every day. Joe got involved in meeting some fantastic people here and truly enjoyed his new life (except he continued to rout for the Buffalo Bills and not the Broncos!)

As much as I truly believe that Joe is in a better place, with his beloved wife Regina, our Mother and Sister, I still am feeling a deep loss. Joe was my hero when I was growing up, and although his passing was rapid, he showed an uncommon sense of pride, dignity and class.

"Big brother, thank you for who you were. I love you and miss you. We'll be together one day. Put the coffee pot on."

-C.

The Crime of Surviving

2008-11-23T19:57:00.002-06:00

I just read a very depressing article in The New Yorker about a 90-year-old woman who tried to kill herself when her home was foreclosed upon. I'm filing it away with a depressing article in Harper's from 2 years ago about a woman in her 80s who had to glue her own dentures together because Medicare doesn't cover the replacing of dentures even though she cannot eat solid food without them. And another one that I saved but couldn't finish reading (from the Chicago Tribune) on elder abuse in nursing homes.

These people were not deadbeats. They were hardworking people who lived good lives, raised good kids, paid their bills, and expected better from the systems that they contributed to for years. What is wrong with us? Why does the richest nation in the world take such shoddy care of its elders? Forget talking about the economic downturn; these problems have been here for decades, and it is reprehensible. Why do we punish our own people when they have the audacity to survive?

And what exactly can I do in light of all of this? I'll have to get back to you on that.

-C.

Same Life, but Not

2008-11-17T19:46:00.003-06:00

There has been a dramatic shift in my psyche since my trip to Colorado. Would you all think me terrible if I said here that it was one of the best trips of my life? Yes, I went back to say good-bye to my cancer-riddled uncle, who died while I was there (and, if anybody is up for the story, Joe chose the right time to leave to the very hour. The very rightest hour to go. Bless you, Joe, and thanks.). It was painful and exhausting and I smoked and stopped exercising and had a headache that lasted 2 weeks. (See blog entry entitled "Joe" for more on this grief). But I found a clarity that has been missing from my life for years. It's not easy to elaborate on here. Next to impossible, really. I'll just say that I look at my life now, and it is much the same. Same people, same environs, same aspirations, same challenges. And the same me-same body, same heart, same mind, same hands.

Same life, but a very different living. Does that make any sense? My living of my life is different. Beautifully so, and it is such a blessing that I nearly feel guilty for taking the good that came with the bad.

Nearly, but not quite. Certainly not enough to deny myself any good that is offered me, however it offers itself.

-C.

Random Thoughts

2008-11-12T21:11:00.006-06:00

#1- Guthrie's Tavern on Addison is one of my favorite Chicago haunts. They have board games (Yahtzee!). They have delivery menus from a couple of dozen nearby restaurants & don't care if you order out. They don't care if you bring in chicken wings from the nearby Jewel instead of ordering out. They have cheese sticks & mini-pizzas on site if you don't want to order out or go to Jewel. And today they introduced me to Beamish genuine Irish stout, which is brewed in Cork, Ireland & is almost as good as Guinness (I cannot say better because that would be blasphemy). Love Guthrie's.

#2-Southport Lanes & Billiards is another great place. They have many pool tables, which is fun even though I suck at pool. They serve Guinness on draft and breaded & deep-fried green beans which is just a freakin' genius idea because they taste amazing especially when you are craving cigarettes and will not smoke. Not to mention being able to kid yourself into thinking that at least you are eating veggies.

#3-In trying economic times, it is good to be a lightweight (in drinking terms). I have had two beers and am ready for bed. I don't get bragging rights but I have more cash left in my pocket than the hardcore drinkers that have to down 4 or 5 to relax. And no hangover. So there.

#4-My friend Mark is a very talented writer, very funny. You should visit his Wordlustitude blog (wordlust.blogspot.com), hit the links to his online columns (so that he can stay employed)and also buy his book. I am saying this because it is true & not because he bought the last round & the fried green beans. Thanks, buddy, by the way.

#5-There are more random thoughts but I do have to go to bed so that I can hit my snooze button the requisite dozen times before getting up, tripping over a cat bed, & going to work. More puppies & kitties will need me in the morning, and maybe a turtle, guinea pig, ferret, rabbit, rat, iguana (I love them even though they are mean, or maybe because), hamster, or bearded dragon.

But please, no birds. Birds freak me out.

-C.

Thanks, Guys!

2008-11-09T10:37:00.010-06:00

A big sloppy kiss in thanks to everyone who wished my mom a happy birthday. (Except for you, poetry-writing boy. Buy her pearls? You're supposed to help get me out of trouble, not deeper in. See if I give you any more discounted coffee...).

In addition to helping make my mom's birthday special, we also succeeded in exercising one of the many tasks that I manage not to shirk, which is to embarrass my poor mother with my wacky-crazy daughterness as often and as thoroughly as possible. Somehow, I find myself never too distracted to do that. I've embarrassed my mother in her home, in cars, in parking lots, in front of strangers, friends, family; on planes, at schools (remember Mrs. Harris?), in numerous department stores, at least 3 different shopping malls, on 2 continents; in print, picture, and video. Now, I've done so in cyberspace! Isn't technology a marvel?

Happy birthday, Mom! I'm so glad you were born; aren't you glad I was?

aishite imasu.

-C.

Here is another reason why I am a jerk:

2008-11-08T12:58:00.002-06:00

Today is my mother's birthday. I am not allowed to tell you how old she is. I would love to, because my mom looks around 10-15 years younger than she is, and hell, I think she should brag. But she is modest and doesn't want people in her business, so I will not tell you here how old she turns today.

Why not just go ahead & post her age, you ask? That's easy-I am afraid of my mother. She is 4 foot 11ish, about 96 pounds, and I am afraid of making her angry. I will use words like "fuck" & "asshole" with gleeful abandon, but I will not post my mother's age on this blog because I do not make my mother that angry without suffering her wrath. Those of you who scoff-you live in ignorance. Those of you who are gravely nodding know my mother (or a mother like her), know me (or are like me), and accept my humility without question. Good for you; it means that your eyes and brains work well.

Today is my mother's birthday, and I forgot to send her a card. I called in a tearful apology, and she has forgiven my slight, but I do not forgive myself. Not yet. Am I being too hard on myself? M. has said yes, my sister said yes, Kat would say yes, many would say yes. I do not. I allowed my stressful week (month?) to distract me from a very important responsiblity, which is to remember my mom on her special day. She doesn't want jewelry, she doesn't eat candy, she's not big on fancy wrappings or grand gestures. My mom (like most moms) just wants to be remembered, to get a simple card (on time!!!!), and have it left at that. Not much to ask, but too much for stressed-out C. to deliver, and this is unacceptable. This is another reason why I am a jerk, and I must address that and will.

So I am calling upon you, loyal audience, to help me make my amends. Anyone, everyone, who is reading this blog, I need you to leave a comment wishing my mother a happy birthday. Allow your voice to make up for my thoughtlessness. Even if you know my mother & wished her a happy birthday on your own. Even if you don't know my mother except through me. Even if you have no idea who I am, much less who my mother is, but stumbled on this blog just for a way to pass the time, or goof off at work, or as a stop to your porn site-WHATEVER!!! If you are reading this, post a comment saying:

"Happy Birthday, Tokuko!"

Do it, please. Do it now. It will take 2 minutes, and don't forget to check your spelling. Me & mine are fussy about spelling. Thanks.

-C.

I am also an enormous jerk...

2008-11-06T18:01:00.003-06:00

...and that is not the word I wanted to use here, but my dad did ask me to clean up the language, and as I've put a card or two of his late in the mail (in the past, thank you!), I figured that I could help make it up to him with a curse-free blog entry. You're welcome, Dad; hope you like it.

But I really am a jerk (insert foul language of your choosing here). I have had a busy week. The job demands at a vet practice can be rough. Little things that irk me become giant things that infuriate me when there are busy exam room doors, admits, anesthetics, treatments, all with a skeleton crew. Furry patients sometimes do not want to cooperate; fragile veins sometimes don't, either. Put a fragile vein into an angry furry beast & you have a flustered vet tech wannabe who starts to question every single one of her skills despite previous success. My lower back is screaming; my feet are, too. My right knee joined in the bitter chorus today, just to remind me that I am not a kid anymore, and that the physicality of pup-and-kit wrangling is tougher now than it was before, and bound to get tougher still as time stops for no man, beast, or stunning brunette with a Peter Pan complex.

I have some new scars-one actually looks like a zipper down the inside of my left forearm. I've never been into tattoos (having a father with a dozen of them takes away from their mystique), but I've been looking at my scars from vet medicine and thinking that I might just tattoo the names of the offending patient next to each one. Hey, if Walter's bite mark (Walter!) or Scout's claw marks are embedded into my skin for life, why not a stylized version of their names to go with them? Or maybe a paw pad? Or a smiling canine face (is he smiling? Or snarling?)? Mmm, must ponder.

What was my point? Oh, yeah, the jerk thing.

So, there is a Chicago-based writer with whom I am vaguely acquainted. I saw her perform at my first poetry slam at the Green Mill Lounge on my 30th birthday. She was fantastic. I saw her again when I went to another slam a couple of years later. We spoke briefly, and I was intrigued by her confidence, her talent. I would love to see her perform again, and I would love the chance to let her know that I admire her work.

I may not get that chance. I've recently found out that this very gifted woman, newly married, younger than me, is in the hospital. She had her large intestine removed as it was irreparably diseased. Her post-op experience has been described to me, and it is too horrifying to repeat here, or maybe anywhere. To make things worse, complications have developed, in the form of infections, blood clots, inert internal structures. Yet, through all of it, this person has maintained such a sense of optimism & strength that I can only stand in awe of her.

In awe, and greatly ashamed. Ashamed that I allow minor stresses to give rise to temper tantrums. Ashamed that I complain of joint pain when my intestines function fine even when I throw junk food at them. Ashamed that I cannot find a moment in a hectic day to be grateful that I made it to the age of 35 with the only scars on my skin having come from working in a profession that I love, not from withering disease or major invasive surgery. Maybe I will have another bad day tomorrow, maybe I will not be able to hit a vein, maybe a thousand little things will get me going because I haven't yet figured out how to balance my passion against my ego. But I'll be able to get up from my bed, eat a breakfast of solid food, swallow without agony, and go to the bathroom without waiting for 4-6 months to heal.

Fuck it. Sorry, Dad, but your curse-free blog entry/present will have to wait. It's time to call it like it is: I am an enormous asshole.

-C.

I am a proud American....

2008-11-05T00:04:00.002-06:00

...and no, this is not a post about the results of the election. I said that I would rarely, if ever, debate or discuss my political leanings in this forum. (Go find me on Facebook for that!).

I am a proud American who demonstrated her pride by voting. And today, in record numbers, across lines of race, gender, religion, sexual orientation, socio-economic status, and nation of origin, so very many of my fellow Americans demonstrated that same pride. While we may not agree on right versus left, red versus blue, or the CU-Buffs versus the CSU-Rams, our ballots, be they paper, electronic, absentee, early, mail-in, write-in, fill-in-the-blank-in, whatever, have been taken. Counted. Heard. Together.

Starbucks, where I hold a second job, today offered a free cup of coffee to anyone who voted. Two days ago I was frustrated because of an off-the-cuff comment about bothering to vote. But today I poured out free coffee & heard stories from young first-time voters, naturalized citizens who voted, cops & dog-walkers & teachers & musicians who voted. A girl I worked with drove to Indiana this morning to vote in her home state, then made it back to Addison Street in time to pour out free coffee next to me. I learned about an old woman who voted for the first time in her life because she finally, blessedly, felt like her voice might matter. I will always be irritated by the "why bother?" crowd, but today my green apron job afforded me the opportunity to recognize the greater number of the "I bother" crowd. So many cups of coffee. So many who bother.

Thank you, my fellow proud Americans. Thank you for showing me your faces and your voting receipts, and for telling me your stories. I hope you enjoyed that coffee. I hope you know that when I wished you a nice day that I meant it with all of my heart. I hope that, regardless of how any of us feel about the outcome of this or any election, that we can come together as a common people to work towards bettering the nation for which we showed our affection and our allegiance. Maybe over coffee.

And...go Rams!!!!!

-C.

Why I Bother

2008-11-03T20:39:00.002-06:00

*-Warning! Tall mouthy woman on soapbox ahead-*

So, I was talking about voting, specifically my voting, more specifically, my 2.5 hour wait in line for early voting. I wasn't talking about my politically leanings, just the process of the act of voting. I rarely debate my leanings, and you will likely never see me do so here. People believe what they believe and act accordingly, as do I.

Someone said, in reaction to my hours-long wait, "Why bother?"

Grrrrrrrrrrr.

So here is my response:

I bother because many generations of my family have served in the U.S. military, up through and including the Revolutionary War; their sacrifices are branded into my DNA, and I honor them. I bother because people like Susan B. Anthony, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and Sojourner Truth didn't have the opportunity to vote when they were my age, and I honor them. I bother because in 1917 a woman named Alice Paul went on a hunger strike for weeks to bring attention to women's suffrage, and I honor her. I bother because in 1963, 3 men named Chaney, Schwerner, & Goodman were murdered in their quest to bring equality to voting, and I honor them. I bother because in 1989 I saw, on TV, a Chinese citizen stand in front of a tank in a failing effort to bring democracy to his people, and I honor him. I bother because today, in places like Saudi Arabia and Vatican City, women are not permitted to vote at all, and I am certain that they would relish standing in line for mere hours to do what I take for granted, and by standing in that line and casting my ballot, I honor them.

I'm not here to promote a platform, or a party, or a person. I don't give a damn what most people think; conversely, I don't expect most people to give a damn about what I think. I just want people to bother. Please. Even though the system is flawed. Even if you think it doesn't make a difference in the grand scheme of things. Even if a 2.5 hour wait seems like so much time out of your day.

Just bother.

-C.

Choosing Your Battle

2008-11-02T21:02:00.003-06:00

I'm sitting at my bistro table eating steak tacos from a place under the Addison Red Line station called "El Burrito". I'm pretty certain that the beans have real lard in them. It's a coronary in a to-go box, but I promised myself (after a half-hearted attempt at healthy eating last week) that I could eat whatever I wanted as long as I didn't smoke. So I'm gorging on lots of cheese, Doritos (Sweet Spicy Chili-it rocks!), scones & muffins, and various dirt-cheap Mexican food in large quantities. Oh, and the Starbucks' new hot chocolate. Four different kinds of cocoa mixed into what is essentially half-and-half, steamed to perfection, topped with real whipped cream & caramel sauce. I don't even like hot chocolate that much, but, really, it's any excuse to over-indulge in the one vice whilst I fend off the other.

This will not last long. The cravings will subside, and my pants will start arguing with my waist & thighs, and who wants their pants to lose an argument? I'm penciling in some workout time this week (now that I'm cough-free), and I'll be back to being my previously trying-for-a-healthy-lifestyle persona soon enough.

But in the meantime, there are all manner of affordable fatty & sugary foods at the ready. What did my old doctor say? That I would have to put on 100 pounds as a non-smoker to match the health risks of smoking at a lean weight? Quite the margin of error, don't you think?

-C.

Duty & Perspective

2008-10-30T18:15:00.002-05:00

It took waiting in line for 2 & 1/2 hours, and my feet & back are screaming bloody murder at me, but I voted. Some schlub ahead of me couldn't; not older than maybe 22, he was registered in another state & didn't realize that early voting was not absentee. The lady behind me felt bad for him, and wondered aloud why couldn't they figure out a way to let him vote anyway since he had waited so long. I turned to her and said:

"If he had spent five minutes on the Internet, he would have gotten all the information he needed and saved himself some time."

With duty & privilege come responsibility, kid. It's a lesson I hope you do not need to learn again. Don't know in which state you are, in fact, registered to vote, but maybe if you start walking now you'll get there by Tuesday? Good luck, and see you next election.

I had some lovely conversation with a lady named Mary. She chatted about how excited she was to see so many people come out to vote (as was I, as I always am), about her recently deceased nephew, who passed away "too young" at the age of 74 (Mary is in her 90s), and about how it was very important to examine all sides of the issues. It's all about looking at different things from many different perspectives, and then being able to make up your mind. I heartily, smilingly, agreed.

We passed a lot of book shelves as we waited in line (this was at a Chicago Public Library branch in Edgewater), and Mary kept pointing out this, and that, and the other. She stopped at the Harry Potter series, took one in her hands, and asked me if I had ever read any of them. I told her that I had not.

"I haven't, either. I heard that a lot of churches were very upset about these books. I think they were concerned about corrupting impressionable children, steering them away from God."

I pondered for a moment, and replied, "Well, maybe the author just wants to show people a different perspective."

She laughed. A few minutes later, Mary looked at her watch and said that she had to leave without voting to make an evening appointment. She figures that if she sets her alarm early on Tuesday, she'll be able to vote at her regular polling place. I wished her luck.

"To you, too" She paused. "And you've got great perspective."

Don't I, though?

-C.

Hacking

2008-10-27T15:12:00.002-05:00

No, not into computers. I mean hacking up phlegm. Gobs & gobs of brown & gray-tinged phlegm. You see, folks, when you quit smoking, it is common to develop some uncomfortable upper-respiratory ailments, like the sniffles and/or mild cough. It's a good sign, according to the vast amounts of smoking cessation literature that I've read over the past ten years. It means that your body is getting a chance to clear the nastiness out of its system, giving itself a chance to heal & thrive.

This morning I woke myself up with coughing. You all know how very much it takes to wake me up, right? Then came the phlegm. If I didn't think you all would stop reading my blog I'd upload a pic or two just because I myself cannot believe what came out through my throat. Then came an embarrassing call to my workplace, letting them know that I needed to take a sick day (unpaid, because I used all my time up in Colorado) due to my NOT smoking after having smoked 2 packs a day (no typo there!) for 10 days after having NOT smoked for nearly 2 years. They were not amused; neither am I.

I called my doctor, just to be safe, and hey, this is why I have insurance after all and there is no co-pay in a phone call:

Dr: Is it green?

C.: No, just brown or grayish.

Dr: So no infection. Not pink-tinged, right? That would mean blood.

C.: No, not pink. No fancy colors, just the neutrals. My ribs are kinda sore, but I think that's from the hacking.

Dr: That's all normal, considering. I can fax a scrip for Tylenol with codeine, if you want it. Otherwise you have to ride it out.

Then I got a five minute lecture about not smoking. And I had to sit and listen to it, submissive and humbled. What else could I do?

I feel better this afternoon. Hopefully that was the worst of it. I turned down the pumped-up Tylenol. I think I'd be better to remember my rib pain, and the hacking, and the thankfully not-pink-tinged phlegm. I want these sensations fully in mind the next time I think I can have JUST ONE CIGARETTE! Because there is NO such thing with me! Fuck.

-C.

Like I've ever been normal...

2008-10-26T18:09:00.002-05:00

...but I am getting back to some semblance of it. I'm not smoking; the patch is helping with that. I went so long without cigarettes that even when I crave one, I'm reminded that breathing freely is normal for me now. Drinking coffee without a cigarette? Normal. Taking a break without a cigarette? Normal. Typing a blog without a cigarette? Normal. It's all good.

I spent the day watching movies (No Country for Old Men is brilliant!), doing some laundry, running a few errands, eating too much cheese (cheese-the main reason I will not go vegan), and prepping for another busy week. And just basking in getting back to feeling like myself. Maybe even a better version of myself, because that's what extreme experiences can do for you. Give you an opportunity to morph into a better & stronger you. If you don't let it tear you apart.

And I choose the former, thank you very much.

I'm going to make some tea, finish folding my socks, gather my thoughts on getting through my week. Oh, yeah, and the dishes. Gotta do the dishes...

-C.

Joe

2008-10-22T22:20:00.003-05:00

It is late; I've just showered. I haven't showered in several days, since I left Colorado Springs, and I'm not sure why. Maybe it was too much work; maybe I wasn't ready to wash the scent of my mother's house from my skin. But, like eating and drinking and sleeping, it is necessary to be clean. Now I just have to get to the sleeping part. Damn, I'm tired; if I am so tired, why can't I sleep?

I'm so glad and so grateful that I made it out to say goodbye and support (and be supported by) my family. I didn't know my cousins, Joe's kids, until this week. I was worried that it would be weird to have strangers in my mother's house, until I realized, at our first embrace, that there were no strangers among us. This was FAMILY; did I mention that I love my family? God, I do, and how much and for great reason. My family, my family, my family. Every word that comes from my mouth, my hands will be in honor and in praise of them. I love my family and my family loves me. Say it again, C., say it until no more breath passes through your lips. I love my family, I love them, I love them, I love them. Forever and always, my blood, my clan, my family.

I met Joe for the first time (that I recall) when I was six. My grandmother had passed. I was young and had few memories of my grandma; she seemed to be unhappy all of the time and I was glad because she was now with the God she so fervently adored. Even at six years of age, this I knew. But my Uncle Joe came out for the funeral and he was the funniest person I had ever met. He was 6 foot 3 and 220 pounds, even bigger than my big dad! I figured that older siblings were always bigger than the younger ones, just as my older brother and sister where bigger than me. That theory was shot down years later when I sprang up past my "big" sister who stopped growing at 5 foot 3. But that logic of bigness made sense at six.

Joe, when I was six, could roll his whole eye into the back of his head and "see" inside his brain. He got me to try it. I couldn't do it; I would roll back my eyes and only see darkness. He laughed and said keep trying. I tried for years after.

I saw Joe again when I was sixteen. My brother was graduating from the Academy, and Joe was coming to meet us all there. He got to the rented house while I was showering, and asked where I was. He settled into a lawn chair with my mom & dad & sister, and in a few minutes I came bounding downstairs, all 5 foot 10 of me, no longer six years old, now a young woman wearing a heavy metal t-shirt with wet hair wrapped in a towel. He turned around and his eyes bugged out of his head. This is Tommy's baby? Jesus! She's huge! I walked up to him and he stood up, still taller than me but considerably closer to my eye level than 10 years prior. "Hello, Stretch!", he said in a deep growly voice that sounded so much like my dad's. I don't think he ever called me by my first name after that. I was Stretch. I am still Stretch.

He sang karaoke at my sister's first wedding. I made him, my dad, and my brother sing "Duke of Earl". They fumbled the lyrics until Dad hit the end with an amazing and hilarious falsetto. Dad was one of the few who could make Joe laugh out loud; the rest of us, we are amateurs. We all cracked up. We've got it on tape; when I'm ready I want to watch it some time, and laugh and cry and swim in memories. I'll watch it when I can swim, and not drown.

He watched me & my sister try rollerblading in a park in Colorado. He called me "the mad stork", then all 5 foot 11 1/4" of me, arms and legs akimbo, trying to keep balanced and upright. I fell hard on my butt, and had an enormous bruise in that softest part of me. I dropped my pants and showed Joe. He laughed, and I laughed with him, even though it hurt like hell. I bet he told that story to any number of his friends, and laughed at his tall, lanky (at the time), uncoordinated niece. That's my niece, Stretch. Yeah, that her name! The mad stork! On rollerblades! I still have those blades, and maybe I'll go out and bruise my butt again. I'll laugh, and think of Joe.

So many stories. No one told a story like Joe. He had presence, a booming voice, his timing perfect, his punchlines spot-on. "The Black Commando". I can't tell that story because I can't do it justice. I'll bust up and fumble and never get it as right as Joe did. We've got that on tape, too. We'll watch it and cherish it and laugh through our tears. Think of something that makes you burst out laughing every single time you remember it, and you will know my Uncle Joe.

I thought that Joe was so funny, but I didn't realize for a long time that laughter hid so much pain. Losing his wife so early, and so tragically. Surviving when she didn't-it must have torn him up inside. Surviving his sister; losing touch with her children. Trying to be mother & father to three kids who had NO memory of a beautiful mother who smiled all of the time, and now only existed in pictures. The travesty of his marriage to his second wife. Limping heartbroken to a haven, my parents' home in Colorado, needing to be near his baby brother and Japanese sister, needing so much for someone who knew and loved him to take care of him while he rebuilt his life at the age of 68.

How can someone with so much pain be so funny? I know now why. Because you HAVE to laugh!!! YOU MUST!!! Laughter in not optional-it is NECESSARY! Laughter is SURVIVAL, as much so as eating and breathing and sleeping. If you cannot laugh, and laugh at yourself most of all, then please stay away from me and mine. We have no time for you, for time is precious to us. And we will laugh. We may cry and tear our clothes and howl through our grief, skipping showers and walking around in each other's clothes and trying hard not to puke up our food, but we will laugh at the same time. Go ahead, think us crazy. We are, and we are crazy and tired and grieving, and laughing, laughing, laughing. Laughing like the fools that we are, but we are in on the joke, my clan is, and we don't fight the joke, we just laugh. Laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh, laugh.

I'm going to go to bed. I will think of my Uncle Joe, and how he is dancing with his beloved first wife, his true wife; they are reunited at last, and they are laughing. Tomorrow I will tell a funny story at work. Not "The Black Commando", because that is Joe's story to tell everyone in heaven, and they are laughing. As much as I know that I'm sitting at my laptop, smoking a cigarette (yes, sadly), feeling the cold wind leaking through my windows, I know that somewhere, right now, my Uncle Joe is making some else who is gone from our world laugh in theirs. But I will pick a funny story of my own to tell. (How about the time you drank too much tequila, C., and you woke up trapped under your bed? That's a good one.) Maybe that one, or another, or maybe something I hear on the radio or read in the paper. And we will laugh, and in doing so, my Uncle Joe will be honored. And he will be laughing.

And flipping me the bird, because that is Joe.

-C. ("Stretch")

Back to the Business of Living...

2008-10-20T23:02:00.002-05:00

I am back in Chicago. I'm tired; mentally, physically, emotionally. Just totally drained. And yet, oddly refreshed.

It's tough to explain, and almost impossible to do so in the context of a public blog. I just know that I love my family, my family loves me, and our clan can tackle anything life throws at us as long as we tackle it together.

And I'm not used to saying "we".

I have to go to work tomorrow. I hope that I can get through my day well. I will ask for help more often than I usually do. I want for as little sorrow to come through the front door as I am pouring out plenty enough from my heart and have no desire for that river to become an ocean. I also know that should the sorrow pour out, that I can rise to the occasion as I have done before and emerge victorious because I have finally figured out who I am, what I am capable of, and what I want to be.

And in case you didn't notice, I said "I am back in Chicago", not "I am back home".

-C.

Rest In Peace

2008-10-18T16:32:00.002-05:00

At 2:55 p.m., MST, George Francis McLuckie, Jr. passed from this earth. He died as he wanted, with warmth and dignity and, most of all, surrounded by love.

Rest in peace, Uncle Joe. And stop flipping me off from heaven already.

-C. (aka "Stretch")

Joy and Pain

2008-10-17T15:31:00.003-05:00

I've been in Colorado for 4 days. I don't think I fully understood what my Uncle Joe meant to me, and to so many people that I love, until this week. At least I figured that out in time to say my goodbyes.

Death can do more than take away a life. It can tear apart a person's heart, cripple them emotionally. It can bring out the worst in people, allowing pettiness and resentment to choke out their humanity, leaving husks behind.

And death can bring people together, draw out the best of their character, shed light on their strengths and vulnerabilities, and have them rise as a phoenix from the ashes of the departed.

And that's my family.

-C.

Sunset

2008-10-12T15:01:00.002-05:00

I'm getting ready to head out to Colorado this week, to say a final goodbye to my father's brother George. It's difficult for me to be articulate and relevent during emotionally turbulent times like this. I've been forced to confront my own feelings about illness and mortality in the last 6 years that I've worked in vet medicine, but that being the case, I still find myself not feeling particularly strong, or prepared. Mostly, I feel just truly humble, knowing that regardless of the circumstance we all must submit to the force of nature that eventually demands our breath and blood. There is no getting around that reality.

And if you don't die, you have to watch your loved ones do it. There is just no getting around that, either.

-C.

Sweater Season

2008-09-28T11:01:00.004-05:00

Oh, lovely autumn! I'm sitting at my little bistro-style table, staring out of my window at the little bit of Lake Michigan that comes into view (not a a panoramic view by any means-you kinda have to crane the neck a bit to see water), getting ready to brew a second cup of Kenya coffee. It is sweater weather, cooler than the sweltering humidity of summer (though this past one was possibly the mildest I've dealt with in Chicago). The days bring with them the possibility that it may be a little warmer, or a little cooler, a sunny day or a rainy one. I love that about autumn-the reprieve from the heat, and the variety in temperature, precipitation, cloud coverage. I love the changing of the leaves. Back-to-school sales on supplies (the writer in me loves shopping for just the right pad of paper, the perfect clicky-pen). The fall harvest with its apples and winter squashes and pumpkin flavors galore. Pumpkin bread, pumpkin pie, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin pancakes, pumpkin spice lattes, even. Not to mention the breaking out of jeans and sweaters, the best of comfort clothes. Fall is simply my favorite time of year. Hope you're enjoying it, too.

-C.

my retinas feel seared...

2008-09-25T19:04:00.003-05:00

I just watched a video on YouTube of Celine Dion singing AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long". Is that even legal?

I've spent the week benched because of an ankle injury. I actually missed working out. Yes, my name is Colleen, I am a NON SMOKER who is in bed by 9:30 p.m., eats HEALTHY and WORKS OUT. These are not typos. Hey, I guess if Celine can sing heavy metal, all things are possible.

-C.

Quick Update

2008-09-14T23:21:00.002-05:00

Hey, all!-

So I started a new blog just in time for my semester to open and I'm not able to add much to it at the moment because I'm in full on freak-out mode due to a certain "pass/fail" policy in one of my classes. There was supposed to be a whole bit here about the beginning of fall & the difference between college at college-age and college at this end of 30 and an observation on my ability to succeed being related to when I choose to panic. But all I can manage is a few words here to say that I'm here, busy as all get-out, and determined to keep up.

But that means fewer words here, fewer towards my writing aspirations, and less social time all around. Thems the breaks.

New Blog

2008-09-07T13:52:00.000-05:00

New blog, new photo, same ol' me. Check back soon.