Thursday, November 22, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Thanksgiving Part I
Yea! Thanksgiving begins! Janie put on her very cute sweater (although very small!) because guests were coming over.
Chris and Michelle, Gabe and Bethany, Ginny, Frank and Alysa (and Chris and Michelle's dog Brandy) joined me for dinner tonight in honor of the Thanksgiving holiday.
Bethany and Michelle made pies, salad, and homemade fig dressing. All day they cooked in my kitchen. I'm sure the kitchen was happy to be used :)
Even Zorba had a Thanksgiving feast. We saw him out the back door window capturing a mouse, playing with it for a while, and then settling down to eat his meal. I've never actually seen him (or any of the cats) do this before. It was almost fascinating seeing him gnaw on the bone, pulling off the last few pieces of meat. Just like the men do at Thanksgiving and Christmas. One of the many reasons I just might someday be a full fledged vegetarian.
I made "Crazy Carol's Speghetti" as requested. Everyone else brought wine, bread and ice cream. It was a great evening with "old" friends. It really made the day feel special - like the holiday it is - to have Chris and Michelle here. Tomorrow is Frank's birthday. 30. Half of us had been there and half of us are "looking forward" to the glorious year. What a fun time we had. Yea for Thanksgiving! Yea for friends! Yea for dogs! Yea for food!
Chris and Michelle, Gabe and Bethany, Ginny, Frank and Alysa (and Chris and Michelle's dog Brandy) joined me for dinner tonight in honor of the Thanksgiving holiday.
Bethany and Michelle made pies, salad, and homemade fig dressing. All day they cooked in my kitchen. I'm sure the kitchen was happy to be used :)
Even Zorba had a Thanksgiving feast. We saw him out the back door window capturing a mouse, playing with it for a while, and then settling down to eat his meal. I've never actually seen him (or any of the cats) do this before. It was almost fascinating seeing him gnaw on the bone, pulling off the last few pieces of meat. Just like the men do at Thanksgiving and Christmas. One of the many reasons I just might someday be a full fledged vegetarian.
I made "Crazy Carol's Speghetti" as requested. Everyone else brought wine, bread and ice cream. It was a great evening with "old" friends. It really made the day feel special - like the holiday it is - to have Chris and Michelle here. Tomorrow is Frank's birthday. 30. Half of us had been there and half of us are "looking forward" to the glorious year. What a fun time we had. Yea for Thanksgiving! Yea for friends! Yea for dogs! Yea for food!
Monday, November 19, 2007
It Has Begun
This morning I woke up to my neighbor Frank outside. He already had the reindeer and was starting in on the lights.
Ooh that means Clarence is going to be out soon. Sure enough, there he was, trying to get motivated by putting up the red lights. He's been frustrated cause he found a box full of real rats in his shed (which he promptly killed) and is still discovering the damage they'd done (especially to his christmas decorations). Nevertheless, alwasy a trooper (and never wanting to be outdone by a neighbor), he was putting up what lights he had left.
The competition has begun...
Ooh that means Clarence is going to be out soon. Sure enough, there he was, trying to get motivated by putting up the red lights. He's been frustrated cause he found a box full of real rats in his shed (which he promptly killed) and is still discovering the damage they'd done (especially to his christmas decorations). Nevertheless, alwasy a trooper (and never wanting to be outdone by a neighbor), he was putting up what lights he had left.
The competition has begun...
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Eyes Wide Open
I would like to live with my eyes wide open. I would like to live aware of my surroundings, aware of God working, aware of the world’s evolving. I would like to live to see: see people around me, hear what they are really saying, experience how they are really loving… and hating… and see clearly enough to forgive them. And I would like to have my eyes open wide enough to see when they have to forgive me. I would like to live with my eyes wide open so I don’t miss a minute. Not a minute of the sunshine or the storms, the sand or the waves that break upon it. I want to see to love, see to discern, see to be humbled by my place in the world and the grace God gives me every single day. I would like to live with eyes wide open.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
The Goo Goo Dolls Might Save Your Life
This is why sometimes it's helpful to listen to pop radio.
I always feel guilty when people talk about listening to NPR or books on tape or when they talk about learning how to speak a new language just by driving home from work.
But today I didn't.
Because today while listening to Fergie or someone finishing up her song I heard my dj say, "If your heading towards the eastside, stay off of 12th in between springdale and webberville... there's a man who's blockaded himself into a building and police have the area blocked off."
Um... did I mention I was driving home? Cause to get home, I take 12th street east, pass springdale and turn left onto webberville to get to my home just a few blocks down.
I'm just sayin.
When I got home (via MLK), I went to Clarence and Tommie's to tell them not to head that direction if they were planning on driving anywhere. And I called church to warn Willard who lives a block closer to 12th than I do. While Clarence and I were talking, we heard voices calling out through megaphones. And two gunshots.
Lovely.
So that's why sometimes it's beneficial to do nothing constructive in the car besides listen to your local pop radio station. Gulp. I said it. So there. Criticize all you want, I'm at home alive, safe and sound.
I always feel guilty when people talk about listening to NPR or books on tape or when they talk about learning how to speak a new language just by driving home from work.
But today I didn't.
Because today while listening to Fergie or someone finishing up her song I heard my dj say, "If your heading towards the eastside, stay off of 12th in between springdale and webberville... there's a man who's blockaded himself into a building and police have the area blocked off."
Um... did I mention I was driving home? Cause to get home, I take 12th street east, pass springdale and turn left onto webberville to get to my home just a few blocks down.
I'm just sayin.
When I got home (via MLK), I went to Clarence and Tommie's to tell them not to head that direction if they were planning on driving anywhere. And I called church to warn Willard who lives a block closer to 12th than I do. While Clarence and I were talking, we heard voices calling out through megaphones. And two gunshots.
Lovely.
So that's why sometimes it's beneficial to do nothing constructive in the car besides listen to your local pop radio station. Gulp. I said it. So there. Criticize all you want, I'm at home alive, safe and sound.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Bump On the Knee: A Child's Thoughts.
When my sister shared the following story with me, I told her I just had to put in on my blog. She responded, "glad your bloggin my life now as well as your own." But despite her sarcasm, I just couldn't let this 2nd grade story go untold...
From "Miss Pittman's" perspective (i.e. my sister...)
"Christopher comes up to me this morning asking to see the nurse. I immediately see he is walking holding up one pant leg while pointing to his knee. He had a tiny bump on his right knee. ( My thoughts... bug bite) Anyway, Christopher could not let this small bump go. About 20 minutes later I see precious little Christopher raising his hand and continuing to tell me that there was a bump on his knee, I decided to send him to the nurse knowing that she would put some sort of antibacterial cream on it which cures every ache and pain in the childs mind.
"I write out the pass, while he stands at my desk and says 'Miss Pittman what if it's, ya know, puberty?' I simply cannot hold it in so I look up and smile while I continue filling out the pass (while there was not a place to check 'tiny bump on the knee' I checked 'other'). Then Christopher continues on, and I can see his mind turning. 'What if I have puberty you know, like when you start to get chest hair?'
"I couldn't help but laugh"
Neither can I.
From "Miss Pittman's" perspective (i.e. my sister...)
"Christopher comes up to me this morning asking to see the nurse. I immediately see he is walking holding up one pant leg while pointing to his knee. He had a tiny bump on his right knee. ( My thoughts... bug bite) Anyway, Christopher could not let this small bump go. About 20 minutes later I see precious little Christopher raising his hand and continuing to tell me that there was a bump on his knee, I decided to send him to the nurse knowing that she would put some sort of antibacterial cream on it which cures every ache and pain in the childs mind.
"I write out the pass, while he stands at my desk and says 'Miss Pittman what if it's, ya know, puberty?' I simply cannot hold it in so I look up and smile while I continue filling out the pass (while there was not a place to check 'tiny bump on the knee' I checked 'other'). Then Christopher continues on, and I can see his mind turning. 'What if I have puberty you know, like when you start to get chest hair?'
"I couldn't help but laugh"
Neither can I.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
All Saints Day Service Beresheth
Tuesday was the two year anniversary of my friend Kyle’s death. He was thirty-three when he unexpectedly died. For those of you who think that’s “old,” consider this – that’s only three years older than me, you college minister and seven years younger than Kevin, your youth minister. And he died; he was electrocuted when he went to baptize a friend. He died in front of 800 people. He died in front of his wife, his parents, and his friends. I tell you this, not to elicit sympathy or to manipulate your emotional perceptions, I tell you this simply so that you know that I understand. On some small level, I understand death.
Well, I understand it insofar as I have experienced it – second hand. I have been affected by death. I have felt the surprise, the grief, the confusion, the denial, the acceptance and the remembering.
The remembering.
On Tuesday I read 36 blogs trying to find someone who would give me one little snip-it of a memory of Kyle or a good story or anything that would make him seem alive – or at least keep his memory fresh. Because I live in a city where no one knew Kyle, it helps me feel connected to hear from other people about my friend. And of course, it helps Kyle stay alive.
I’m sure you’ve heard stories of people dealing with grief, who, in an effort to keep the person around, never change anything in the bedroom of the deceased person, the closet, the desk – everything remains the same. It’s their way of dealing with loss – and perhaps it helps them feel less lost themselves.
There’s something to our inherent desire to keep around those who have passed on. Often we keep a trinket, a photo, a letter, a tee-shirt to remind ourselves of them.
Other times, we fear the thought of it. To quote the Witch on Into the Woods, “When you’re dead, you’re dead,” she says callously, trying to cope with the death of her daughter, Rapunzel. That’s how I felt when my father’s parents, my grandparents died one week to the day of each other. For months, I dreamt they were still around: still sitting at the table at Thanksgiving. Still hovering over the hor d’oerves, still lingering in the kitchen, near the front door, in our house. “Can’t you see them?” I’d incredulously yell at my mother in my dream. But it was like she couldn’t hear me. Finally to my grandparents, to the ghosts/yet-not-ghosts still showing up in my dreams I tentatively asked, and then begged them to leave, to die already, for good – to not come back.
It seems cruel, but it was what I needed. I needed relief from the pressure of losing my grandparents, from the pressure their death put on me emotionally, I needed them gone.
But Kyle, Kyle I need back. He was the first person to let me preach in a church – and not just once, over and over I filled in for Kyle when he was gone, and sometimes when he was there. He helped me develop my preaching voice simply by giving me the opportunity to preach when others would not. And although our relationship was not perfect, I miss Kyle.
Perhaps that’s why Paul or the author of Hebrews says, “take heart my beloved children, you are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses…” Be it Kyle or my grandparents, the witnesses of God’s glory are with us, “with us on our journey” as Burt Burleson asserts in the quote on the wall. They are here. Their stories are our stories! They are part of the great meta-narrative of God’s story in the world. It begins with Adam, or with Heidelberg man or Lucy or with whatever being first evolved and recognized God as her creator. From there we get Abraham and Hagar and Sarah and Joseph and Tamar and Moses and Rahab and David and Jesus and Paul and Augustine and Francis and Julian and Luther and Schleiermacher and John Paul II and Kyle and you and me…
Our stories are all connected and they are all wrapped into the story of God, the story of God ushering in the Kingdom through his Saints, through us. Truly we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. They have passed their strength on to us. Their stories are re-told with our own. Their faith and un-faith have helped created the world we live in today. They are with us! They are the fog that we attempt to see through, to plot out our own story, unable to see past our noses, to set ourselves into the world with the seal of God upon our hearts.
Rejoice, rejoice, again I say rejoice. Blessed are you who mourn because you know what it is to have tasted something good – and you are better equipped to create something more delightful yourself. Blessed are you who love God and love others for you have caught a glimpse of what it means to be children of God. I will weep when you weep for I know what it means to grieve and I will rejoice with you at the chance you had to glimpse a bit of God imaged in another person.
We touch each other – we touch each other’s lives. What we do and what we say and who we are makes a difference. Despite what the world tells us – we matter, we matter to each other. Even when we’re gone, our legacy, who we are in God is not insignificant, rather it may be the most important thing we do – love one other so that we may share the love of God.
And when you feel inadequate, when you feel like no one likes you or your job sucks or your life feels meaningless, put that behind you and look to the great cloud of witnesses who have helped you, loved you along the well – some of which are gone, but most of which are still here with you; vow to be that for someone else. You are a witness to someone else. You help their light shine in the darkness by sharing just a bit of yours.
And so this All Saints Day, we remember the saints, and ultimately the sinners who have gone before us; who have helped light the path only to merge eventually with the Great Light themselves. For them, we give thanks, for the exotically great and for the painfully normal; we give thanks for their souls. We light candles and declare that we remember. We light candles and shun the darkness’s desire to stifle our joy. We give thanks for our great cloud of witnesses.
Amen.
Well, I understand it insofar as I have experienced it – second hand. I have been affected by death. I have felt the surprise, the grief, the confusion, the denial, the acceptance and the remembering.
The remembering.
On Tuesday I read 36 blogs trying to find someone who would give me one little snip-it of a memory of Kyle or a good story or anything that would make him seem alive – or at least keep his memory fresh. Because I live in a city where no one knew Kyle, it helps me feel connected to hear from other people about my friend. And of course, it helps Kyle stay alive.
I’m sure you’ve heard stories of people dealing with grief, who, in an effort to keep the person around, never change anything in the bedroom of the deceased person, the closet, the desk – everything remains the same. It’s their way of dealing with loss – and perhaps it helps them feel less lost themselves.
There’s something to our inherent desire to keep around those who have passed on. Often we keep a trinket, a photo, a letter, a tee-shirt to remind ourselves of them.
Other times, we fear the thought of it. To quote the Witch on Into the Woods, “When you’re dead, you’re dead,” she says callously, trying to cope with the death of her daughter, Rapunzel. That’s how I felt when my father’s parents, my grandparents died one week to the day of each other. For months, I dreamt they were still around: still sitting at the table at Thanksgiving. Still hovering over the hor d’oerves, still lingering in the kitchen, near the front door, in our house. “Can’t you see them?” I’d incredulously yell at my mother in my dream. But it was like she couldn’t hear me. Finally to my grandparents, to the ghosts/yet-not-ghosts still showing up in my dreams I tentatively asked, and then begged them to leave, to die already, for good – to not come back.
It seems cruel, but it was what I needed. I needed relief from the pressure of losing my grandparents, from the pressure their death put on me emotionally, I needed them gone.
But Kyle, Kyle I need back. He was the first person to let me preach in a church – and not just once, over and over I filled in for Kyle when he was gone, and sometimes when he was there. He helped me develop my preaching voice simply by giving me the opportunity to preach when others would not. And although our relationship was not perfect, I miss Kyle.
Perhaps that’s why Paul or the author of Hebrews says, “take heart my beloved children, you are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses…” Be it Kyle or my grandparents, the witnesses of God’s glory are with us, “with us on our journey” as Burt Burleson asserts in the quote on the wall. They are here. Their stories are our stories! They are part of the great meta-narrative of God’s story in the world. It begins with Adam, or with Heidelberg man or Lucy or with whatever being first evolved and recognized God as her creator. From there we get Abraham and Hagar and Sarah and Joseph and Tamar and Moses and Rahab and David and Jesus and Paul and Augustine and Francis and Julian and Luther and Schleiermacher and John Paul II and Kyle and you and me…
Our stories are all connected and they are all wrapped into the story of God, the story of God ushering in the Kingdom through his Saints, through us. Truly we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. They have passed their strength on to us. Their stories are re-told with our own. Their faith and un-faith have helped created the world we live in today. They are with us! They are the fog that we attempt to see through, to plot out our own story, unable to see past our noses, to set ourselves into the world with the seal of God upon our hearts.
Rejoice, rejoice, again I say rejoice. Blessed are you who mourn because you know what it is to have tasted something good – and you are better equipped to create something more delightful yourself. Blessed are you who love God and love others for you have caught a glimpse of what it means to be children of God. I will weep when you weep for I know what it means to grieve and I will rejoice with you at the chance you had to glimpse a bit of God imaged in another person.
We touch each other – we touch each other’s lives. What we do and what we say and who we are makes a difference. Despite what the world tells us – we matter, we matter to each other. Even when we’re gone, our legacy, who we are in God is not insignificant, rather it may be the most important thing we do – love one other so that we may share the love of God.
And when you feel inadequate, when you feel like no one likes you or your job sucks or your life feels meaningless, put that behind you and look to the great cloud of witnesses who have helped you, loved you along the well – some of which are gone, but most of which are still here with you; vow to be that for someone else. You are a witness to someone else. You help their light shine in the darkness by sharing just a bit of yours.
And so this All Saints Day, we remember the saints, and ultimately the sinners who have gone before us; who have helped light the path only to merge eventually with the Great Light themselves. For them, we give thanks, for the exotically great and for the painfully normal; we give thanks for their souls. We light candles and declare that we remember. We light candles and shun the darkness’s desire to stifle our joy. We give thanks for our great cloud of witnesses.
Amen.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Strike of the Cat
It wouldn't be Halloween without a little blood, right?
So I locked the doggy door so the cats (and the dog) cannot get outside. That's because psychos like to catnap cats on Halloween because they're PSYCHO. So I shut my cats inside. Lord knows I don't need anymore drama.
But Zorba was pissed. Not gonna lie. So after crying for an hour, he finally settled down to sleep on the scrapbook I was working on for my college group at church. Bored and alone on Halloween I took to doing the only available and interesting activity: picking fleas off the cat.
Except Zorba, already irritated, didn't appreciate me digging through his long hair and pulling out the little demonic fleas to crush and crunch beneith my fingers. Grossed out? It's Halloween, get over it. So he stuck and, talking on the phone and picking fleas and not paying attention, I wasn't quick enough to avoid his snap. So I got bit. It's bruised and bleeding.
Sigh.
Halloween.
So I locked the doggy door so the cats (and the dog) cannot get outside. That's because psychos like to catnap cats on Halloween because they're PSYCHO. So I shut my cats inside. Lord knows I don't need anymore drama.
But Zorba was pissed. Not gonna lie. So after crying for an hour, he finally settled down to sleep on the scrapbook I was working on for my college group at church. Bored and alone on Halloween I took to doing the only available and interesting activity: picking fleas off the cat.
Except Zorba, already irritated, didn't appreciate me digging through his long hair and pulling out the little demonic fleas to crush and crunch beneith my fingers. Grossed out? It's Halloween, get over it. So he stuck and, talking on the phone and picking fleas and not paying attention, I wasn't quick enough to avoid his snap. So I got bit. It's bruised and bleeding.
Sigh.
Halloween.
Happy Halloween
In honor of Halloween and celebrating with my family (in spirit) by eating my mom's chili (with fritos and pickles and saltine crackers), playing in my dad's old theatre greasepaint and traipsing through the wet leaves and shivering up to the houses in our neighborhood hoping for chocolate and not Smarties, I share with you a story written by a little boy in my sister's second grade class...
"one spooky nite a boy lost his shoe and a gost eat him. Bogl bogle. give me your candey or I will eat you."
Most Excellent.
Wah ah ah...
"one spooky nite a boy lost his shoe and a gost eat him. Bogl bogle. give me your candey or I will eat you."
Most Excellent.
Wah ah ah...
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Looking For Something...
I clicked on 36 blogs today looking for memories, stories, anything I could feast on. Memories other than mine, ones that would make me smile. Not that mine don't make me smile (or guffaw), but sometimes remembering can be difficult. It requires a journey backward when we try so hard to go forward (read: forget). Not all anniversaries are pleasant. Some require remembering things we wish had never happened. Other anniversaries are full of joy. This anniversary, I oscillated between the two: sadness and joy. That's a good step, I think.
Craig gave me a little bit of both. I should have expected that.
He was mentioned last night at the Friends of Truett dinner at the BGCT convention. It startled me. I was having a typical boring convention day, then attended the delicious dinner for the sake of free food, then schmoozed with some people, and then he was there, staring at me, grinning. Grinning and dead. And he had an award named after him.
I didn't cry. Sometimes when I'm startled, I cry. But I just sat there, remembering, and trying not to remember.
Shit. Now I'm remembering again... the worst parts... the viewing... the casket.
See, that's why I went to 36 blogs. I guess it still freaks me out. And I don't want to panic or be sad - just remember and be thankful and remember that we're all on this journey together - no one's really gone.
So thanks Craig, and thanks Kyle. Tell God I said hello and thanks for the memories.
Craig gave me a little bit of both. I should have expected that.
He was mentioned last night at the Friends of Truett dinner at the BGCT convention. It startled me. I was having a typical boring convention day, then attended the delicious dinner for the sake of free food, then schmoozed with some people, and then he was there, staring at me, grinning. Grinning and dead. And he had an award named after him.
I didn't cry. Sometimes when I'm startled, I cry. But I just sat there, remembering, and trying not to remember.
Shit. Now I'm remembering again... the worst parts... the viewing... the casket.
See, that's why I went to 36 blogs. I guess it still freaks me out. And I don't want to panic or be sad - just remember and be thankful and remember that we're all on this journey together - no one's really gone.
So thanks Craig, and thanks Kyle. Tell God I said hello and thanks for the memories.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
I Heart Halloween and Here's Why...
Guess who came to dinner?
Tinker Bell and her Pirate
Gypsie
A Canadian Flight Attendant
Marilyn Monroe
David Bowie
Two guys from The Office
A Tree Nymph
Nacho Libre
A guy with spiral horns on his head
Bob the painter
A Mayan Priest
A Gypsie
A deranged Bride
Wonder Woman
A Gay Pirate
Wolverine
Spiderman
Elpheba
Tinker Bell and her Pirate
Gypsie
A Canadian Flight Attendant
Marilyn Monroe
David Bowie
Two guys from The Office
A Tree Nymph
Nacho Libre
A guy with spiral horns on his head
Bob the painter
A Mayan Priest
A Gypsie
A deranged Bride
Wonder Woman
A Gay Pirate
Wolverine
Spiderman
Elpheba
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Sunday through Tuesday
Since Dr. Pittman works 15 hour days, I only see her around 4am when we eat breakfast in the kitchen and for about an hour and a half in the evening when we eat dinner and hang out before she goes to bed. Consequently, I spend much of the day with Sophie the dog. Sophie and I go for walks, nap, read (ahem, i read and she naps more), play with the half-eaten purple ball that gets thrown up and down the hallway, and eat.
Oh, and she has a licking fetish. I'm not sure when this started, but she loves kissing now. Sometimes at night when I'm trying to sleep, I have to tuck my head under the covers to protect my face from her long wet tongue. At first it was cute. She gives kisses! Now, I'm afraid I've got dog cooties.
Oh, and she has a licking fetish. I'm not sure when this started, but she loves kissing now. Sometimes at night when I'm trying to sleep, I have to tuck my head under the covers to protect my face from her long wet tongue. At first it was cute. She gives kisses! Now, I'm afraid I've got dog cooties.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Saturday
The weather was beautiful.
"Are you sure you're going to be warm enough?" Amy warned, and we went to her closet to grab a scarf and dress coat.
But it was beautiful.
"Your face got sunburned!" Amy guffawed at me later that night. "How do you live in Texas and come to Chicago and get sunburned?!"
"I wear sun block in Texas!" I defended myself, giggling with her.
Mom bought us tickets to go see Wicked on Saturday for Amy's birthday. Oh. My. Gosh. I don't know how I lucked out on that birthday present, but I did. And it was the "best birthday present ever!" as Amy exclaimed. I bought her a tee shirt to commemorate it.
The morning started off at the Handlebar, this great little restaurant tucked into the bottom floor of a building. And the wait staff was to die for. These casual cuties could have been imported from Austin to this delicious dive. So Amy and I enjoyed both the food and the sights!
From there we took the El downtown and after identifying the theatre where we needed to be in a few hours, we began walking towards the lake. Except we didn't. We walked the wrong way. An hour later, we did reach the lake though and the beautiful park, fountains and statues that nestled beside it. Brent and Matt, who we'd intended to meet there, were nowhere to be found, so we headed back toward the Oriental.
But first we had to change our shoes. We'd been wearing walk-able ones since we left the house this morning, but now we were going to the theatre and true to form, we pulled out our heels. "I don't know how Jessica does it," Amy lamented after we had walked a block beautifully in our theatre shoes. "Jessica Simpson wears high heels every day," Amy had informed me earlier when we were walking forever in the wrong direction. "You probably never wear nice shoes at the hospital I guess," I replied, proud that I was fairing better in the heels than my always dolled up sister. "I haven't dressed up in months," she replied.
The Oriental Theatre was gorgeous with all kinds of exquisite animals and gods sculpted into the walls and ceilings. I tried to take a picture of them, but was promptly yelled at and so just admired them through my opera glasses.
Right before the show started, a man came by yelling about water he was selling. "What? Are we at a ballgame? Is nothing sacred anymore?" I muttered under my breath.
"Is he selling food?" Amy asked.
"Yeah," I said.
"Twizzlers!" He held them up. "I want those," she said in classic I've returned to childhood persona, petitioning me with her big eyes, and unable to resist her request, I pulled out three dollars and bought them for her.
The show was amazing. Amy turned to me at intermission, "Is it over?" She had tears in her eyes.
"No honey, its just intermission."
"Did you cry?" she asked me.
"No," I giggled, "but obviously you did."
I did cry at the finale. It's really a lovely story about scapegoating and the power of the powerful and the manipulated to decide what's good and what's evil, when it often claims no root in reality. It's about gumption and doing the right thing and friendship. Mostly, it's about friendship and love. That's why I cried. It was so neat to share that with one of my best friends.
So we bought matching tee shirts. Rather, I bought them for us. We called it part of her birthday present. The I heart Oz purple ringer tees with Elpheba and Glenda in the heart. They're way cute and I love that we both have matching ones.
After returning back to our side of town, we ran to the grocery store so we could eat dinner that night and I could cook us dinner the rest of the week. Shocker, I know. But I'm actually quite domesticated even if I can only cook three meals. No one's asking for your opinion.
So we ate onion soup and Amy went to bed. I watched four episodes of Grey's Anatomy on my computer and am content that I am all caught up. I'm not satisfied with the plot, but I am caught up. George and Izzie, I swear...
So that's it. That's Saturday. That was our one day together. And it was perfect. Two sisters, two friends, two pairs of shoes, two tickets, two witches, two meals, too much walking, too much fun.
"Are you sure you're going to be warm enough?" Amy warned, and we went to her closet to grab a scarf and dress coat.
But it was beautiful.
"Your face got sunburned!" Amy guffawed at me later that night. "How do you live in Texas and come to Chicago and get sunburned?!"
"I wear sun block in Texas!" I defended myself, giggling with her.
Mom bought us tickets to go see Wicked on Saturday for Amy's birthday. Oh. My. Gosh. I don't know how I lucked out on that birthday present, but I did. And it was the "best birthday present ever!" as Amy exclaimed. I bought her a tee shirt to commemorate it.
The morning started off at the Handlebar, this great little restaurant tucked into the bottom floor of a building. And the wait staff was to die for. These casual cuties could have been imported from Austin to this delicious dive. So Amy and I enjoyed both the food and the sights!
From there we took the El downtown and after identifying the theatre where we needed to be in a few hours, we began walking towards the lake. Except we didn't. We walked the wrong way. An hour later, we did reach the lake though and the beautiful park, fountains and statues that nestled beside it. Brent and Matt, who we'd intended to meet there, were nowhere to be found, so we headed back toward the Oriental.
But first we had to change our shoes. We'd been wearing walk-able ones since we left the house this morning, but now we were going to the theatre and true to form, we pulled out our heels. "I don't know how Jessica does it," Amy lamented after we had walked a block beautifully in our theatre shoes. "Jessica Simpson wears high heels every day," Amy had informed me earlier when we were walking forever in the wrong direction. "You probably never wear nice shoes at the hospital I guess," I replied, proud that I was fairing better in the heels than my always dolled up sister. "I haven't dressed up in months," she replied.
The Oriental Theatre was gorgeous with all kinds of exquisite animals and gods sculpted into the walls and ceilings. I tried to take a picture of them, but was promptly yelled at and so just admired them through my opera glasses.
Right before the show started, a man came by yelling about water he was selling. "What? Are we at a ballgame? Is nothing sacred anymore?" I muttered under my breath.
"Is he selling food?" Amy asked.
"Yeah," I said.
"Twizzlers!" He held them up. "I want those," she said in classic I've returned to childhood persona, petitioning me with her big eyes, and unable to resist her request, I pulled out three dollars and bought them for her.
The show was amazing. Amy turned to me at intermission, "Is it over?" She had tears in her eyes.
"No honey, its just intermission."
"Did you cry?" she asked me.
"No," I giggled, "but obviously you did."
I did cry at the finale. It's really a lovely story about scapegoating and the power of the powerful and the manipulated to decide what's good and what's evil, when it often claims no root in reality. It's about gumption and doing the right thing and friendship. Mostly, it's about friendship and love. That's why I cried. It was so neat to share that with one of my best friends.
So we bought matching tee shirts. Rather, I bought them for us. We called it part of her birthday present. The I heart Oz purple ringer tees with Elpheba and Glenda in the heart. They're way cute and I love that we both have matching ones.
After returning back to our side of town, we ran to the grocery store so we could eat dinner that night and I could cook us dinner the rest of the week. Shocker, I know. But I'm actually quite domesticated even if I can only cook three meals. No one's asking for your opinion.
So we ate onion soup and Amy went to bed. I watched four episodes of Grey's Anatomy on my computer and am content that I am all caught up. I'm not satisfied with the plot, but I am caught up. George and Izzie, I swear...
So that's it. That's Saturday. That was our one day together. And it was perfect. Two sisters, two friends, two pairs of shoes, two tickets, two witches, two meals, too much walking, too much fun.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Friday, October 19, 2007
The Windy City
Well, I'm here. I'm officially covered in hair, bruises, scratches and slobber. Amy's lab Sophie devoured me as soon as I walked in the door. After swinging my luggage at her and shouting, "no" and "down" a bunch of times, I found the treats on the counter and life became more bearable.
Ah, Chicago.
Some things remain the same, even when we switch cities.
From the Airport, I took the El to the designated stop. It felt like I was back in Europe. I love public transit. When I emerged from the train, the grey skies and unfamiliar buildings were refreshing if daunting. There's something about joining with the ranks of humanity and bearing full force into a city. I think our politicians should ride public transportation. With one leg pressed against some over-sized man in sports paraphernalia, while the other guards your backpack under your seat, you've got one hand clutching your purse as the other peruses your iPod which is connected via headphones into one ear while the other ear waits for a call on your Bluetooth that your grandma bought you. Your eyes dart from the cute guy in worn, black jeans and a navy sports coat with a v-neck grey tee underneath to the suspicious men who man be plotting to steal your stuff. Which thief is giving his partner "the look?" The cute guy looks my age but his hands are dirty and his brow is furrowed. Is he having a bad day or is he homeless? Am I checking out a homeless guy? Blue-collar workers get on and off, all of color. The only white people are me, the hot guy, the sports guy, and the rich guy across the aisle, foolishly attempting a business call on the El. One young black girl sleeps with her head against the glass. She looks college age. I hope she doesn't miss her stop.
That's public transit. That's America. Politicians should be put in this position of being one of a million, of no consequence, getting on and off trains.
But right now Sophie's whining. Is she disappointed I'm not Amy? I toss her another treat and say the important words, "take it easy," so she doesn't bite off my hand.
Amy's apartment may be in the ghetto but it is beautiful and of course is decorated impeccably. Just Amy's style. Like blue walls, matching watercolors she painted herself, pictures of her family and friends on every mantle. There's one of me as a first grader. I'm dressed by my father the clothing store manager as if I stepped out of a GQ magazine and am a boy. I have on a blue button up shirt with a navy sweater over it. There is a yellow ribbon in my hair. Though I can't see them, I am sure I am wearing penny loafers on my feet, pennies and all. I look slightly caught off guard as if pictures aren't my thing, but are something I should make the most of. I look innocent but not child-like. Or perhaps child-like but not innocent. It's hard to pinpoint in my smile, which was always bigger and showing more teeth. Especially if I was laughing.
There's my mom and dad and grandma and grandpa, the sisters, both by blood and by nature. It's comforting and I feel like I'm at home.
While feeling like I'm in a foreign country all at the same time.
How did Amy end up in this cave of mystery, this den of unexplored territory? It's like fraggle rock only without all the colors.
I like it.
I like Chicago.
Ah, Chicago.
Some things remain the same, even when we switch cities.
From the Airport, I took the El to the designated stop. It felt like I was back in Europe. I love public transit. When I emerged from the train, the grey skies and unfamiliar buildings were refreshing if daunting. There's something about joining with the ranks of humanity and bearing full force into a city. I think our politicians should ride public transportation. With one leg pressed against some over-sized man in sports paraphernalia, while the other guards your backpack under your seat, you've got one hand clutching your purse as the other peruses your iPod which is connected via headphones into one ear while the other ear waits for a call on your Bluetooth that your grandma bought you. Your eyes dart from the cute guy in worn, black jeans and a navy sports coat with a v-neck grey tee underneath to the suspicious men who man be plotting to steal your stuff. Which thief is giving his partner "the look?" The cute guy looks my age but his hands are dirty and his brow is furrowed. Is he having a bad day or is he homeless? Am I checking out a homeless guy? Blue-collar workers get on and off, all of color. The only white people are me, the hot guy, the sports guy, and the rich guy across the aisle, foolishly attempting a business call on the El. One young black girl sleeps with her head against the glass. She looks college age. I hope she doesn't miss her stop.
That's public transit. That's America. Politicians should be put in this position of being one of a million, of no consequence, getting on and off trains.
But right now Sophie's whining. Is she disappointed I'm not Amy? I toss her another treat and say the important words, "take it easy," so she doesn't bite off my hand.
Amy's apartment may be in the ghetto but it is beautiful and of course is decorated impeccably. Just Amy's style. Like blue walls, matching watercolors she painted herself, pictures of her family and friends on every mantle. There's one of me as a first grader. I'm dressed by my father the clothing store manager as if I stepped out of a GQ magazine and am a boy. I have on a blue button up shirt with a navy sweater over it. There is a yellow ribbon in my hair. Though I can't see them, I am sure I am wearing penny loafers on my feet, pennies and all. I look slightly caught off guard as if pictures aren't my thing, but are something I should make the most of. I look innocent but not child-like. Or perhaps child-like but not innocent. It's hard to pinpoint in my smile, which was always bigger and showing more teeth. Especially if I was laughing.
There's my mom and dad and grandma and grandpa, the sisters, both by blood and by nature. It's comforting and I feel like I'm at home.
While feeling like I'm in a foreign country all at the same time.
How did Amy end up in this cave of mystery, this den of unexplored territory? It's like fraggle rock only without all the colors.
I like it.
I like Chicago.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
TV is a drug and I'm addicted. There is nothing better (okay, that's an exaggeration - and i'm sure I just spelled that word wrong - you can correct me later dad) than sitting in a hotel room in a foreign city with nothing to do but watch tv. Okay, that's not exactly true either. You could read the five magazines you brought with you that you've been meaning to devour for the past two months. You could blog. You could read the news online. You could see if they have a workout room at this hotel. There's a plethora of things really. But with a tv is set right in front of your full size bed with fluffy pillows, and there are no pets, no people, no house, no job, nothing to feel guilty about not doing or saying or seeing or working on - well, that's just too difficult a temptation to resist.
House is my second favorite show on television and it's on tuesday night. So when i have the night off, I watch Bones and then House. It's rare, but it happens. Unfortunately there's some baseball game on, but baseball's no good if it's not watched right there in the stadium. So I began sufing the channels.
And I landed on TNT. I should've known better. TNT knows drama and i am a drama queen. So after a typical law & order a newer show that i had never seen came on, Cold Case
TNT loves those blonde cop heroines. So the premise of this show is that old cases get re-opened. You meet the original cast of whatever year the crime took place and then you meet them (the non-dead ones) now. The killer (pun intended) is that the solving of the case is really touching. Each episode ends in a song showing the young and older characters settling in wherever they are... having received closure on the death of their loved one, having been carted off to prison, wherever. But those songs they play... geez! I mean, give a girl a chance to recover from the meladrama before you throw in the soundtrack.
After four episodes of Cold Case and feeling quite fond of my friends on the show, I decided five hours of television was plenty (don't forget i started with Law & Order) and turned off the tv.
Now if i can just turn off my brain...
House is my second favorite show on television and it's on tuesday night. So when i have the night off, I watch Bones and then House. It's rare, but it happens. Unfortunately there's some baseball game on, but baseball's no good if it's not watched right there in the stadium. So I began sufing the channels.
And I landed on TNT. I should've known better. TNT knows drama and i am a drama queen. So after a typical law & order a newer show that i had never seen came on, Cold Case
TNT loves those blonde cop heroines. So the premise of this show is that old cases get re-opened. You meet the original cast of whatever year the crime took place and then you meet them (the non-dead ones) now. The killer (pun intended) is that the solving of the case is really touching. Each episode ends in a song showing the young and older characters settling in wherever they are... having received closure on the death of their loved one, having been carted off to prison, wherever. But those songs they play... geez! I mean, give a girl a chance to recover from the meladrama before you throw in the soundtrack.
After four episodes of Cold Case and feeling quite fond of my friends on the show, I decided five hours of television was plenty (don't forget i started with Law & Order) and turned off the tv.
Now if i can just turn off my brain...
Monday, October 08, 2007
Golly. What a day.
It started this morning when I made an extra attept to wake up early (I set the alarm for 8:30 and woke up at 9ish) so I could go to work and get a lot accomplished today.
When I walked into the church the alarm went off.
Today was a holiday and I'd forgotten.
So instead of mailing information, I drove it to the workplace of the recipient. And I went to the hospital since residents on my block are having serious issues right now. Tommie, after some sort of heart/passing out/not getting enough oxygen to the brain issue went into the hospital two weeks ago tonight. Miracle of all miracles, she's alive and talking and so excited for visitors. So i chatted with her for awile about my halloween lights and the dogs and what's been going on lately with everyone.
My roommate on the other hand, went into the hospital yesterday after I received a phone call asking me for tums. Now, you must understand that my roomie does NOT take medicine. Consequently, anything that could actually push her so far over the edge as to ask for medecine isn't going to be remedied by Tums. Come on. After an apendectomy 12 hours later, she's better, but I got kicked out of her room for making her laugh (unintentionally!) and requiring her to get back on her oxygen. damnit. and i thought I was getting better at hospital visits. to make matters worse, when I left the hospital parking garage I backed into a car and had to leave a business card with an apology telling them to call me for insurance information. UGH!
But, having discovered it was a holiday and visiting my two friends and running some errands, and quite determined to make the most of it, I went to IKEA to buy a twin bed for my little! back bedroom. I had picked everything out online. Tonight, Frank put it together tonight while Joe H. and I watched. We ordered pizza hut pizza and drank miller light and it was seriously a blast of an evening.
So that's Monday. Unusual for Monday, but greatly appreciated. That you God for surprises good and bad. They are the world. And they remind us the world turns. Turn with us. Amen.
It started this morning when I made an extra attept to wake up early (I set the alarm for 8:30 and woke up at 9ish) so I could go to work and get a lot accomplished today.
When I walked into the church the alarm went off.
Today was a holiday and I'd forgotten.
So instead of mailing information, I drove it to the workplace of the recipient. And I went to the hospital since residents on my block are having serious issues right now. Tommie, after some sort of heart/passing out/not getting enough oxygen to the brain issue went into the hospital two weeks ago tonight. Miracle of all miracles, she's alive and talking and so excited for visitors. So i chatted with her for awile about my halloween lights and the dogs and what's been going on lately with everyone.
My roommate on the other hand, went into the hospital yesterday after I received a phone call asking me for tums. Now, you must understand that my roomie does NOT take medicine. Consequently, anything that could actually push her so far over the edge as to ask for medecine isn't going to be remedied by Tums. Come on. After an apendectomy 12 hours later, she's better, but I got kicked out of her room for making her laugh (unintentionally!) and requiring her to get back on her oxygen. damnit. and i thought I was getting better at hospital visits. to make matters worse, when I left the hospital parking garage I backed into a car and had to leave a business card with an apology telling them to call me for insurance information. UGH!
But, having discovered it was a holiday and visiting my two friends and running some errands, and quite determined to make the most of it, I went to IKEA to buy a twin bed for my little! back bedroom. I had picked everything out online. Tonight, Frank put it together tonight while Joe H. and I watched. We ordered pizza hut pizza and drank miller light and it was seriously a blast of an evening.
So that's Monday. Unusual for Monday, but greatly appreciated. That you God for surprises good and bad. They are the world. And they remind us the world turns. Turn with us. Amen.
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Oh kids. Halloween is on the way!!!
Janie got a new halloween bone and some casual halloween costumes for outings and parties (i haven't decided on a final halloween costume for her yet). Potter and Zorba both got new halloween collars.
Orange and Purple lights are hung on the house (all by myself thank you!). Three pumpkins of varying sizes have been bought and I'm still looking for a glow in the dark skeleton for the back yard!! Yea!
I love playing dress-up!
Saturday, October 06, 2007
I've Been Lazy. Not Dead.
The Death of Blogs
I'm sorry I've been neglecting you. I write so my friends and relatives can stay connected with what's going on in my life. I used to write long emails telling funny antedotes about my life in Texas after I moved here. When I discovered that not everyone appreciated receiving those emails, I discovered the blog world. Now you get to choose whether or not to stay near even when we are far apart.
I'm sorry I've been neglecting you. I write so my friends and relatives can stay connected with what's going on in my life. I used to write long emails telling funny antedotes about my life in Texas after I moved here. When I discovered that not everyone appreciated receiving those emails, I discovered the blog world. Now you get to choose whether or not to stay near even when we are far apart.
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