Pandemic Waning

 

So, it's been a pandemic, ain't it?

I guess the last time I wrote was back in October, right after my Grandma had died. Just re-read that entry. There was so much I didn't want to say at the time, and probably a million things I could say now. I thought then that maybe by now things there would be a little easier and maybe they are but not exactly, since things here at home have been even harder, with the very recent passing of my father-in-law, who myself and my husband were daily, 24/7 caretakers for, after two months of very difficult decline and hospitals and blizzards and just...uncertainty. There was October, when I last wrote, then I guess my birthday, though I don't remember it well or feeling that attached to it like normal, then Christmas, then...more terrible stuff that Covid only aggravated.

I guess the reason that I'm coming here to write more things is really that I got an appointment for the vaccine today. For posterity's sake, that's like saying you happened to be on to get tickets to Rage at Lollapalooza in the Chicago area. It's getting better and by the end of April theoretically everyone should have easy access, but right now it's literally a "you have this spot for 15 minutes" scenario. 

I am extremely excited because holy hell, the vaccine! That it exists this quickly is a miracle, that it's working at such a high rate of effectiveness is so great, and that many of my friends and some of my family already have it is even better. I feel grateful to have gotten an appointment and I feel even more grateful that my appointment is somewhere I'm familiar with close to home, as a lot of folks I know who needed it more than I did ended up travelling three or four, even five hours away to get one. 

I don't love shots and doctor's visits, but I can do it. It's definitely not as bad as a biopsy, which I also did during the pandemic.

It's really, really been a pandemic, for reals. 

I kept seeing people post about getting scheduled for their first shots or showing pictures of them getting their first and second and they'd talk about how it brought up a lot of feelings. I was like "other than YAY?" what is there?

Turns out there's a lot.

Life CHANGED. I mean, changed. In so many profound ways. People keep talking about hugs and I guess that's sorta where I get all the feels.

Because, there were some BIG hugs I missed out on. 

I'm very glad to be able to hug my family again, my aunts and uncles and nephews and of course, my mom, but it also reminds me of the hugs I didn't get to give. I think most notably, my grandma. Right after that, I think of my mom and being able to hug her or even just share a room six feet apart at the hotel instead of being in strange little pods. After that, my husband, who I was very fortunate to get to hug throughout but who I couldn't hug or even have with me when I got my very first biopsy when i had a skin cancer scare this past summer.

I think of the panic attacks. 

I think of ALL the people that died.

I think of all the ways it messed up all the hospital things with her and my FIL even more, and made things even harder. The no visitors, the two visitors, the one visitor. All the scary calls. 

I'm anxious about shot things and side effects. I'm anxious about people refusing to get the vaccine. I'm anxious about how anxious I'll feel getting into social situations that haven't been even legally allowed--large groups. I attended a press event at the beginning of March but those are already underpopulated and it was in a HUGE building. 

What WILL it be like to be in a room with friends again, or at a convention, or inside a restaurant? Obviously, this isn't something that'll happen right away, and at least around here, COVID numbers are going up again because people aren't taking it as seriously anymore because for some reason the existence of the vaccine make some people think it's over.

Then again it's easy to slide once you're safe isn't it?

I want to be vigilant as ever, because I don't want to contribute to the reason someone else loses a family member and I've seen the things COVID does to a person--live on Facebook, even, even if it doesn't kill them.

Things have changed about me and how outspoken I am. I've gone way past the point of trying to hide in a sort of neutral nest. It started with Trump getting elected and it's been even more clear how dangerous that is with the pandemic. There's a lot of resentment and anger that are less under the surface than they were, and a lot of tough realizations.

But here we are at the beginning of another side, right? A new day? Trying to get out on the other side. It's not going to be unscathed, but...there's hope. And maybe that's the feeling I'll choose to have when I go get my first shot in six days. 

Just...Shut up

 

So, it's been just over two weeks since my Grandma died. Obviously I have no time for vague intro paragraphs or "it's been a minute" commentary anymore. I've been so sure I'd write a ton about it. I had so many deep internal conversations with myself about this before and after it was reality. I could recite all the stages of grief and recognize them in others. I always wondered what it would be like to do it linearly--grieve like a normal person does. Why? Because the only other gaping hole in my life was losing my dad, but I was too young to remember that. Which makes that grief alienating and strange and not at all linear, since you first have to have a concept you're missing something and then through growing up realize what a big thing it was you were missing. 

I always KNEW what a big thing my grandmother was in my life. Because she was just always there--a lot of times physically. I stayed at her house when my mom was working, in the summers--and throughout most of my life if I didn't actively live with her I was only a short drive away. I always knew her as this placid place of calmness and serenity and this safe space, because to me she was all those things all the time. I know her to be more, in being an adult and realizing the things she had to go through and deal with--but it didn't ever touch that puffy little cloud land she and I occupied when we were together. 

I think the first thing I said to myself, as I was driving up to Minnesota knowing things were about to change, was that it felt like a million lights went out at once. It hadn't even happened yet, and it already felt like the world I knew was gone, and I was in the dark alone. That's no one's fault, save maybe a president who isn't acting like COVID is a thing, but it's the way it felt.

I titled this whole thing "Just shut up" because it's how I feel. Every time I go to say something about grieving or my grandma or something, I just feel like somewhere, someone's rolling their eyes or getting mad about what I'm saying or something. I don't know why I feel this way, but I do. 

I also feel like I have to clarify and defend everything I say. And I also feel angry and compelled to say things like "Could no one that knew me and by association knew my grandma take five minutes out of their day to send a damn card?" 

Because I do feel that way. I read so many things about how lonely grief is and I'm only understanding it now. 

And I thought, even on the way out to Minnesota, that I'd want to talk more. Write more. Reach out to people more. I did some of that, and some of it helped at the moment, but I feel...shut up right now. I don't feel like people. I don't feel like talking. I don't feel like explaining how I feel and I still don't feel like entertaining the thoughts about how I'm feeling right now cuz sometimes I've got a handle on it and sometimes I don't. 

And it's not linear. I jump from teary to angry to numb and back again in the same 30 minute period. I'm older than a lot of people who've experienced this kind of loss and I didn't realize what it was like at all. It's not like the grief over my dad wasn't real or profound, it's just that it is a very unique type of loss that not many have charted the path out of before. Or maybe they have and I just didn't know.

I don't know. I want people to come surround me and be my support system because I want to know that there are other safe places and other good things in the world besides her that still exist here, but at the same time, 1: COVID and 2: I really really feel shut up by my own "choice" in a way. I know I want to feel loved, but I'm also afraid to feel loved because I don't feel like I have much to give back right now and I'm trying to save that for my husband and family. That, and I'm prone to feeling really resentful for things I later realize aren't as big a deal as I thought. 

I was already struggling and trying to find a way to take back my life in meaningful ways and get things accomplished and this threw me for the biggest loop ever. And like, maybe it shouldn't have because loss is inevitable. 

I find myself feeling like a child again, and not in good ways, though I am also craving stupid things like tiny little cereal boxes and 90s movies that will bring me back to a place I felt like I didn't have to know what I was doing and everything was okay. I feel like I should've known more or done more or been more. 

I got a job recently that will have me out photographing parks in the fall, and it's an exciting development, and just in testing out my abilities, I've found not only can I do it, but I need it right now. I played outside a LOT as a kid, at my grandma's and at home--and everywhere else I could. Lots of forts and adventures and skinned knees and stories...and smells. 

Fall is one of those things that comforts me. Wet leaves and crisp cold air remind me of wonderful things--more recently, including the amazing and beautiful wedding we had up in Door County 2 years ago. The colors were peak, and it was cold, but everyone was there. There were people who weren't there that it hurt weren't, and people I always thought would be there, but in the end, everyone who was there was the perfect group to be there. And she was there. And I am so lucky she was.

I'm also so lucky that she got to see the person I picked to be with, and to know him. I'm so glad she got to see me take his hand and put the ring on it and stand out there, in the fall, feet sinking into the ground in the third pair of shoes I'd try to make work on a damp fall day, and say I promise. 

So, being back in the fall air thinking of those things--helps. It helps to find the beauty in the moment and try to shove that in where all the sad is leaking out. 

I do not feel right, or good, or happy save for on the surface of a "good" day right now, but I also know that's probably to be expected. 

I feel more vulnerable but I want to be more transparent.

I feel ... a lot of things I don't really know how to put anywhere, and that's why I'm just shut up. 

If you're reading this, thanks for caring, and I'm sorry I don't know what to do from here. I guess you just keep trying.

Flip It--aka "No One is a Potato"

It's time for a new year. I haven't been around this blog since July. Normally I'd go on and on about how guilty I felt about it and blah blah self care etc. I'm not going to do that, because this time, I didn't feel ANYTHING about  having not done it.

And that, my friends and family and whoever else falls on these words--is no bueno. That's scary. I didn't miss it, even though I love writing. It's because, especially in these last 3 months, I let negativity rule my life. We started October with a trip to the hospital for my FIl that turned into a really long stay that turned into a bunch of aftercare. In November, after that died down, me and the hubs got sick. I went to Minnesota for my birthday and to see my grandma before it got super snowy, which was awesome, but I came back and the hubs was sick, and we were both "recovering" for our birthday celebration plans for me together at Chicago TARDIS, but have not actually managed healthy since then, at least not for long. It's some sort of upper respiratory virus thing happening and it will NOT LET GO. In fact, the hubs has had it bad for two weeks now, and I've been mostly ok with a side of malaise, but in the past two days I've been pretty sick, which makes sense since I have to work on NYE. Great.

Even before that, and if you go back to my last post here though, things weren't okay. I didn't feel like me, and I didn't know how to find me. I'm happy to say that some of that is coming back, but it's also what prompts this post.

People say New Year's resolutions are stupid, blah blah blah, if you wanted to change you wouldn't need to wait til the 1st, and I agree. BUT if you wanted to change you could change on the first, dammit! And it's not like the 1st is what matters anyway-it's every step after.

Anyway, I've got a resolution, and it's because I need one badly--whether it was May 27th or right now, December 31st.

I need to flip it.

I've been an asshole, for one. I've neglected responsibilities I had, I've been a bad steward of things I was supposed to be watching over, and when people have made me angry, I've been angry back. And ok, you can say I was depressed and sick and stressed and there were other things going on--those are all good excuses, but I know, especially as we're all looking back, I could have done more. I've also been of the mindset at times that if you're an asshole to me, you're gonna get it back.

Well, I retire as the asshole.

As it occurred to me in the shower yesterday when I was trying to make my lungs do their thing so I could y'know, live, I need to flip it. I need to turn the bad habits, bad vibes and bad feelings from 2019 on their head--for the good of everyone--to be a better friend, wife, person, photographer, writer, editor and just...human.

I need to really, really focus on flipping it.

If someone's going to be the asshole to me, I want to be able to think beyond momentary anger at what's actually going on, and either come back intelligently and respecting myself and them, or disengaging respectfully.

I want to take the pain I felt being ghosted by people in 2018 and use it to fuel a return to the garden to tend for the friendships I've been bad at tending to.

I want to take the frustration of feeling totally unappreciated and turn it around to help the people around me feel appreciated and motivated--and if the water rises, won't all ships float?

I want to be a better support system for friends and family instead of lamenting that I feel unsupported. Y'know, be the change and all that.

A harder thing on this list is something that came out of our holiday party. I want to stop letting myself be the only potato in the world.

I work as a photographer--it's my job to catch people at their best as performers. I take tons of frames of each person's performances and go through each one. Every one of those people are beautiful. Every one of those people pulls faces sometimes though, too, or stands weird, or doesn't have a "perfect" anything...but oh my god, what I've learned as a photographer is that both sexy and beautiful are FROM THE INSIDE.

You've gotta feel it, and be confident in it, to actually be able to convey it. You've gotta be out there doing you, not thinking of the technicalities or negativity, and if that's happening, I guarantee you're at your prettiest.

Now see, I have to make that my thing.

Because, despite having said it, and having felt it even, I didn't even post my wedding photos online. I have major body issues. I need positivity. I need to stop hiding. I need to remember, as I said to a friend, "No one is a potato." I guarantee I could get a shot of everyone looking beautiful. It' s about happy and confident and secure, and I need to get those things.

That means I need to dress-for ME. Makeup, for ME, and do me things for me--without neglecting the people I love the most, because that reflects me too.

I need to take the things I do and love and reignite my passion for them.
And I need to post my damn wedding pictures. Because it was the best day of my life, my dress was gorgeous, and I felt beautiful.

You hold me to this.
I want to be BACK in 2020, above all.
Flip it.

I'm Really Really Really Mad

I feel a little bit better having said it.

It’s an Animaniacs song. Takes the edge off it, right? I’m writing tonight for me, and I’m not throwing it to social but I am leaving it out there for people to find if they dig, because it’s my prerogative.



It’s been brought to my attention that I’m an angry person these days.I was like, “Nah, I’m not angry. Not most of the time. I’m only angry when there’s something to be angry about” and I dismissed it. But, I just spent some truly, truly quiet isolated time with just myself, no phone, no people, cats, house, radio, lights, power...and I think maybe I am angry. I think there is underlying anger there. And once I thought about it a little more (amazing what true silence and distraction-free zones will do for you, insert DUH WE TOLD YOU SO HERE) I think the only way for me to kinda...break free from it a little is not to keep it to myself anymore.



So. Here’s things I’m mad about. I’ll probably be vague about some and you (whoever you are) will have to deal with it and specific about others. And, while I’m feeling angry still, I”m going to put this caveat here: DO NOT MAKE THIS A BIG DEAL WITH ME. Okay?



If you see this post, and if you are like “woah, maybe she’s really messed up, I should probably butt in with my opinion of how much help she needs/why she’s wrong/you upset me cuz i think you’re talking about me” this is NOT for YOU. I’m not posting names, this isn’t a Mean Girls burn book, and I am not asking for anyone to armchair psychologist me. This is not a reason to call my mother and have a heartfelt talk with her about the horrible mental state of her daughter, and it’s not a reason to treat me differently. I’m putting it “out” here, partially because there’s relative low risk. If I don’t put it on Facebook or Twitter, it’s unlikely anyone who isn’t for some odd reason subscribed will see it, at least til much later, and then it’ll be...better? We hope?



There’s enough “out there” to make it feel like I’m not keeping it inside, with enough “no one is probably reading this” to make me bold enough to put it out there.



And I’m stalling.



SO:



I’m mad because....

Because someone hurt my mother, who was EVERYTHING to me. (She is, still, but like, everything WITH my husband, now.)

Because I had a person who at least semi-legally, was my father, who is totally, completely gone from me. And it is not my fault.

I’m mad because I was a secret.

I’m mad because I let myself be a secret.

I’m mad because I was in someone’s fan club when they were truly a best friend of mine.

I’m mad because I stayed in someone’s fan club, supporting them through really damn scary stuff, only for them to just not blink an eye when there was no contact.

I’m mad because I was ALWAYS the person to do alll the freaking contacting for every relationship all the time.

I’m mad because I laughed when people were like “we’d never get together if it wasn’t for you” when I really felt like being like “WHY?”

I’m mad because because I was mad about that, I’ve probably ruined some relationships I wish I wouldn’t have, since I generally just gave up on it, in cases I shouldn’t have. I made some new friends that now feel like missed chances because I just don’t follow up. And it bled into family stuff, and while some of my family doesn’t really reach out to me, I feel like there’s a lot of burden to bear there too.

I’m mad because I didn’t know about some of my more toxic qualities until way later than I should have figured it out, and I don’t know exactly what to do to fix that.



I’m mad because my hairdresser told me since I was 10 how excited for my wedding she was, and how she’d be there and do my hair, and wouldn’t it be great and lovely and wonderful, and what a joy it would be to meet my future husband. He would be so handsome and smart and amazing and it would be so awesome. Then, she ghosted me and my mom, didn’t show up to my shower, didn’t return any phone calls and to this day has more or less acted like I didn’t exist.



I’m mad because all the father figures in my life always went away. And one of the ones that I thought was the best, too, and who supported me through so much of my life, and who said, like the hairdresser, that he couldn’t wait to meet my future husband, and that he and his wife had a song to sing at my wedding, and who called me his daughter, had to work on my wedding day and couldn’t make it. Yeah, the wedding invites went out late, but something about that didn’t sit right with me. Or the people who actually love me. Or the people whose weddings he did show up to, who were skinnier and prettier and oh wait, who I introduced to them.



I’m mad because skinnier, prettier people are always so much more damn popular.

I’m mad that I let people (yes, people) tell me that I should understand why we weren’t together/dating/right for each other because “you’re not exactly a supermodel.”

I’m mad because I know that I still get marginalized because of my pants size by people that I work with or talk to and I know it’s happening but I pretend it isn’t.”

I'm mad because I taught myself I don't matter when I gave away everything I had to people who would just as soon never talk to me until it's convenient for them, and who NEVER gave of themselves what I did to them.



I’m mad because I don’t do enough.

I'm mad because I don't do enough for others now. Family, friends, husband, house. I don't do enough. Work. I could do more. I could do so much more, but i'm so ANGRY.



I’m mad because I still forget things ALL THE TIME.

I’m mad because I made so much effort to get organized and start doing better things for myself, and every time I try something awful happens.

I’m mad every time I lose something and someone in my house/family/friends cirlce laughs like “of course”

I’m mad because, guess what? I have ADHD. I just do.

I’m mad because some people will never believe that.

I’m mad because I have more anxiety now than I ever had.

I’m mad because I don’t now help the people I desperately wanted to help with their anxiety, instead, it just makes me anxious.

I’m mad I didn’t take my mom’s advice or learn from her better how to do chores and clean and run a house, because I’m overwhelmed now.

I’m mad because I am lazy.

I’m mad because I could do better.

I’m mad because I gave away a lot of myself.

I’m mad because I don’t feel like I can like the things I like without someone telling me why the hell I shouldn’t like it.



So here it is, all the stupid stuff I like: I like makeup. I like to wear it, I don’t care if it’s not healthy for my skin, or you don’t like it, you think it’s a waste of money. I like to travel. I like stupid tv shows, like stuff on HGTV, Teen Mom and whatever. Rot your brain or whatnot, sometimes I like that. I like any kind of artistic reality tv show, most of the time. I like taking baths. I like driving, especially alone at night in the summer with the windows down. I like to write. I love Chicago, all of it. I love Chicago so much that I daydream about what it would be like if I’d ever lived there. I love New Mexico, and I know I drove everyone nuts about that one, but the desert felt like a piece of me I didn’t know was missing. I like craft beer. I love photography. I love Doctor Who, and yes, I’ve only seen new Who even though I plan to change that. I love Star Trek. I love every single Marvel movie and I’ve said I didn’t before just to fit in. I just like them, canon or not canon. I like Buffy. I like Splatoon very much, and racing games, and I like Tetris. I like lots of sad solo player walking simulator games I hardly ever get to play. I like dancing games and videos. I used to love doing Darrin’s Dance Grooves and I would love to get my hands on Just Dance and do more Beat Saber, even though it embarasses me that I like it. I like to cook. I love the water. I love to swim, and I think, if anyone would get off my case about why that in particular is how I’d like to work out, that I’d work out a LOT if it was just in a damn pool. I like staying in hotels, even if the hotel is in Gurnee and it’s just for a night. I just like it. I love sushi and Thai food and spicy food.



I’m also mad because people insist i should check out/do/eat what they like, and never do the same for me.



I’m mad because I feel like I’ve tried really hard.

I’m mad because I know I haven’t tried hard enough.

I’m mad because I hurt the people I love.

I’m mad because I can’t stop being mad.

I’m mad because I’ve already ruined so much being mad.



I’m mad because I feel lonely.

I’m mad because I’m scared and stressed and lost sometimes.

I’m mad because I always feel like I’m playing catchup.

I’m mad because I don’t feel like stuff is mine sometimes, even though a lot of it is me not taking something and making it mine.

I’m mad because I feel like I don’t do the things that I want to do or like to do, and I can’t just say that I don’t want to do things or don’t like a thing. I know I should but I don’t or I can’t or I do and it’s later and I’m REALLY mad and then I blow up.

I’m mad that I have such a bad temper sometimes, and that I explode the way I do.

I’m mad that my body hates me, and that PMDD is a real thing, and that I have it.

I’m mad that there is so much terrible injustice in the world right now.

I’m mad that people don't’ treat people like people just because they don’t have a piece of paper that says they were born here.

I’m mad because an idiot is in the White House blowing up the country and people are worshipping him like he’s the Messiah.

I’m mad because a pedophile racist white supremacist narcissist dangerous terrifying uneducated entitled delusional wannabe dictator is in the White House.

I’m VERY angry that people I knew to be kind and good people support him--there is NO GOOD IN HIM.

I’m angry that I was fed lies my whole life.

I’m angry that the “Christian Right” that thinks we’re all being unfair to the aforementioned terror is the same “Christian Right” that shuns girls who break their chastity vows, or gay people, or people who got an earring (My stepfather almost lost his position in a Scouts-esque program because my BROTHER GOT AN EARRING) and drink and listen to *gasp* secular music, let a guy who’s like “Grab ‘em by the pussy, shithole country, send them back” and are like “you guys, God anointed him”



I’m mad when I see teachers who helped me learn kindness grace and dignity post memes on Facebook that show people in hijabs or keffiyeh and talk about how THEY hate America and THEY were responsible for 9/11 and THEY should leave when those teachers were the ones who went to MISSIONARY BANQUETS and talked about how the whole world was full of God’s people who HE LOVED EQUALLY and they’re okay with those people’s KIDS DYING IN CAGES.



I’m mad because I was too scared to post my wedding pictures because I didn’t feel like my body was good enough and now I feel like it’s too late.



I'm mad because whenever I type a thing like this that I really need to type there's a typo I don't catch til later and it makes me feel stupid.






I’m mad because I’m so damn mad.



And …I feel a little better now that I've said this.

My Girl

This is my girl. This was my girl. Full disclosure, I'm gonna cry my whole way through this post, but I also know I haven't written it yet but it needs to be written. You probably (if you know me on social media or IRL) know that Ana, my kitty road warrior and constant companion of 14 years, has been struggling for a month or two with very aggressive hyperthyroidism. If you're not sure what that's like, let's just say awful. They lose tons of weight, strength, lose their fur, get dehydrated...

The worst of it came when we discovered that in the space of 48 hours she'd lost the ability to jump up on the sink, and the aggressive hair loss came right along with it. We took her to the vet, they upped her dose, but in the end, even though the numbers came down, and even though we had her on meds, fluids, calorie supplements, and appetite stimulants, the tumor she had that caused HT (which is nearly always caused by a tumor, usually benign) was malignant (or it's suspected that's the case). Though she had been steadily improving she suddenly crashed. On Friday instead of her regular checkup, it was time to say goodbye to her. I knew it could be it, and I even thought she sorta "told" me the night before, but I was not remotely ready. She went peacefully, after I got to hold her for a solid half hour or 45 minutes while we did everything else we could to see if there was more we could do.

She was so so loved. She was so unique and beautiful.

Ana came to me via a friend, right after my cat Markie had passed--within the week. She was a surprise. At first, I didn't think I was ready. Markie was my first "very own pet." I was devastated to lose him so suddenly, and I didn't know if I could bond with a new pet so soon.

But Ana stole my heart. She was a screechy, fluffy, sassy spitfire from day one. She fell asleep trying to cross the room because she was tiny and four weeks old, but she also scaled our recliner to stick her face in cheesecake later that day--a feat we had no idea she was ready for.

Ana slept in bed with me like a teddy bear. She had a phase where she hung out in a fish bowl.

She moved from Illinois to New Mexico with me. It was a 24 hour road trip over two days, and my little road warrior sat shotgun, in a harness. She daintily used the litter box in the far back of my Jeep before I could even open it up, as if to say "I'm good, let's do this" and she didn't cry until she got to Texas (she just never liked Texas.)  When I got into the hotel in Oklahoma and cried my heart out because I had no idea what I'd just done moving all this way away from everyone, she crawled out from where she was hiding to come snuggle me.

If I was sick, she was there. She lived with Muffy and Spike in Los Alamos, and learned to be in a multiple cat household. Muffy used to sorta mother her while she was still young and silly. She lived in Socorro with a big silly Maine Coon named Rafiki, and picked a fight and got a notched ear, but eventually learned she couldn't be top dog everywhere. She moved BACK from New Mexico to Illinois with me, and lived in Deerfield. She moved back to Libertyville, too.

She started to be known as safety cat--she had a strong need for things to be safe for us. Don't go in that shower thing! that's WATER!!! The storm is crazy! You're making loud noises, is it safe?

When I had my sudden onset kidney infection alone, and was trying to sleep it off since I didn't know what it was, she was VIOLENTLY trying to wake me up and yell at me not to do that. She might even have saved my life with that. She did the same violent yelling when a wind shear hit our town. I was sleeping, home sick from work, and she wouldn't stop crying. I woke up just in time to see some branches fly by our window, scoop her up and run to the basement. She ALWAYS looked out for me.

When I worked three jobs and lived by myself and knew no one in the area, I'd come home from work, feet aching enough to make me cry, lonely as hell, and talk to her. I think that's when she learned to say "Wah?" which was a phrase she uttered often from then on. I'm pretty sure she was imitating me saying "what?" It was her favorite little phrase. When you talked, she'd say "WAH!" back, padding after you to talk more.

She got extra treats from my grandma, and table food when Mom wasn't looking and we all three lived together again. She got extra treats from Mom and table food when I wasn't looking.

She was camera shy and in lots of pictures was yawning, making it look like she was yelling all the time.

Once, she got in trouble with the cops. They were at our first apartment in Libertyville telling us about an adjacent building's problem with squatters, and the officer stopped and said "We have a petty thief, too!"

As he'd been talking to us about safety and the situation, he'd been watching Ana stuff hair ties, milk caps, pens and stuff into a stash we didn't know she had behind a heavy walnut desk my mom had. The officer helped us move back the desk, and we found...somewhere near 50 hair ties, pens, pencils, little caps she got from places, a few cat toys and various other small things.

Years later, she stole 25 dollars in cash AND a Christmas card meant for my cousin Mindy and stashed it in her new stash under a sofa. We didn't find it for months, and when we did it had nice little kitty cat chomp marks on it.

When I had E. coli, and was sick as hell for days, she was beside me. When I cried about boys or friends or anything, she was there, even though she wasn't always the cuddly type to anyone else or e even to me all the time.

She loved to snap her jaws at drips in the bathtub.

She LOVED cheese. Cheese pizza, cream cheese. After all, she'd chosen cheesecake to steal on her very first day with us, like I said. You could have all sorts of great table food but if there was no cheese, no deal. (Girl after my own heart)

She made another move in with me to Round Lake with my now husband. She REALLY loved him--and she hadn't liked nearly anyone as much as him, no matter how good of a friend they were to me. They bonded even closer when I left to visit my mom in Minnesota the first time after I moved there, and became besties. Sometimes I was even a little jealous of their relationship. If I woke up before him, she'd insist I let her back in to sleep on the bed next to him, instead of hanging out with me. If the other cats fought or if something unsafe was potentially happening, she was there.

In fact, she loved him so much, that when she slept in my arms like a teddy bear at night if he was next to me, she would reach out one paw to make sure she was touching him, too.

I know I've written a lot and I've told only a fraction of the Ana stories I could tell. She was a wonderful companion. The last month was so so hard. It was painful and time consuming and heartbreaking and stressful. But I would do that for ten more years just to have done right by her.

She's not my only pet--we have a whole family of them. But she certainly went through hell and back with me, had great adventures with me, and adapted to a lot of new situations, like a pro. She loved me and she loved the people I loved. I will always be grateful for the type of immense love and companionship she provided to me, every day.

It's still hard to see her stuff around, and see where the tent we used to help her recoup in was. It's hard when I realize it's 12:30 twice a day and that's her med time, and when I don't have a vet appointment for fluids anymore. It's hard to know she'll never sleep in my arms again, and we won't be taking any more road trips. I know what we did was the best thing for her, and I'm so grateful for the true tenderness that her vet Dr. Hart showed for her on her last day, and my husband right beside me. She was so fragile this past little bit I'd barely got to hold her, but on Friday, I held her for the better part of an hour, as close to my chest as possible. I held her every moment til her last, and I will never think of that as anything but a blessing, despite it wrecking me every time I think about it, say it or type it here.

She was a good, good girl.
Pets are family.
They're something more, too. They're unconditional love and support, without having to speak a word.

I loved you, Anastacia (Shaw) Bokor. I always always will.

2019, man.

So.

Since we got married....which was a mere 7 months ago...
There's been a pet death
car accident that totalled my car
a pet stroke
a pet who suddenly got very ill with hyperthyroidism
a cancer scare
a MAJOR house repair
several hospitalizations with my FIL including one that lasted about a week over Easter
my own personal health struggles
day to day caretaking of someone with major health problems

and...the rest of life.

In case you ever wondered why I'm such a flake/not around/etc.

There are no less than five billion things going on in my life at once. And I'm still trying to grow a writing and editorship career while growing a photo business when I'm not trying to learn how to handle being an adult homeowner with my husband.

I have NOT done everything I could to get organized and take things on in a timely manner, and am in fact writing this instead of doing something I should be doing, but I am very much trying to adopt better habits so the future is a little less ...exciting in bad ways.

I'm here. We are making it work, little by little, with bumps in the road but vowing to keep going.
In case anyone wondered.

I'm surfacing.

Day One Comes Around Again

If you mean to do a thing but you don't, don't give up forever. Start again. Do the thing. Make it Day One all over again and watch them accumulate if you keep trying.

SO:

Here is a thing. I wrote it. I decided I wanted to put it out there, and I decided more writing all around will help me be me better, so I'm back here at the ol' Blogger blog.

Now I'm gonna be quiet and type the thing I wrote on my phone a week or two ago.


Lift your head up
There's sky and rain and road
And the smell of wet pavement after a warm rain
And places you can go outside four walls
where you can walk free in any direction
and find yourself in mortal peril
in alien soft white sand

amongst the armored beautiful
who shout down the storm,
glitter, as they shift under moonlight
to disappear and rise
transformed with the dunes

To sail on the wind
 to the immovable face
of the hardest stone
and whisper change.

"You will break."
you will say
and leave the silence that remains
to float back on a breeze
in sparkling brilliance
And rise again in the moonlight
Eternal.

Saying things

I'm not gonna preface this. So much has happened, and I can maybe get to talking more about it if I can get myself up off the floor, so to speak.

I'm writing from a place where all the good things in my life lately got started. Incidentally, this place I'm in is very cold, like it was when everything started. At the time, it was winter, just like it is now, and colder than I'd been used to in a long time, which...though now a metaphor, is also true. Right now, this place feels cold and empty, even though it's that same place I found warm and homey before.

A lot changes because you look at it differently. A lot of people and how they are in your head is the labels you apply to them. At least sometimes. I feel like I always have to defend myself, and explain that that's not actually always true, because terrible things just happen to people and people can legitimately be horrible and awful. And that while I think that the answer for me is crawling out of the hole I've somehow not realized how deep I'd been digging, spade in my own damn hand when i thought I was laying foundation instead, that doesn't mean that people don't find themselves in holes they didn't make, or holes they legitimately can't just climb out of.

The problem is pretty words and dreams. All your pretty words fall flat if there's no reality behind them. All your pretty dreams, flower petals and soft glow of candlelight and precious moments staged just so--it's all a facade unless there's more than that moment and that  dream.

We all say we want better, but when do we do better? We say we hate the way things are, but are we out there actively railing or changing it? We say we see monsters, but we don't look in the mirror and see when we're the monster ourselves.

We say it's cold and dark and we're afraid, but why are we then running from the warm and light of our loved ones? Why are we pushing them away?

The house is dirty, the chores aren't done, the work is piling up. We're buried underneath it. Are we? Or are we, again, the ones holding the shovel flaccidly in our own hands unwilling to pick it up and dig out?

But no one taught us to dig, right? We don't know how. The answers seem hard. It feels like digging will break us, tear our flesh from our bones, make us different and worse. It feels like we were perfectly fine without digging, thank you, and would rather not make our muscles ache and our body wear down right now. We'd rather rest.

We're lost, but we simply couldn't stop to ask for help.

Now, we're just lost and treading water, because what are you going to do if you'll never admit you need someone to show you the way? And when you've also turned away from the light and warm, then how do you find anyone to show you how to dig, now that you've realized you're just an idiot who didn't want to get dirt on their pretty little sweater and their brand new boots.

The thing about screwups is admitting that you screwed up isn't enough. Maybe for two seconds it makes you feel like you did something, but really...then what.
Just because you didn't mean to hurt anyone doesn't mean you didn't.
Just because you have good intentions doesn't mean you haven't overstepped your boundaries.
Just because you wanted to help doesn't mean that you did.
Just because you wished it would be different doesn't change it.

We are men of action, lies do not become us. It's a great line from a great movie, and an even greater book, whose author actually did something, and told a beautiful story, and worked hard.

It's time to dig.

The Twitter Folk Post

Hey!
It's me.
I am, and have been, in the Minneapolis area for a few days. I drove up Tuesday afternoon, arriving in the evening. It was unplanned and for an unpleasant reason, but things are stable enough now that I'm going to talk about it. It's not on Facebook because my grandma is on Facebook and I don't want to worry her with it, so let's keep it that way, if you will, my friends reading this (and family.)

Grandma was in the hospital after a fall or two, with some complications keeping her in until this afternoon from Monday. Obviously, it was a bit stressful for all of us. My mom and my aunt both live up here, but as my aunt was already stressed from hospital visits with other family members and as my grandma has literally not been in the hospital for any length of time in all my years on Earth, it was a bit jarring. (Add to this she's 93.)

So here I am. Supporting family is a funny thing, and obviously, since my grandma literally was my second parent for a lot of my life, I had a very strong desire to come up here and see her and make sure she's okay. I used to live with her (and my mom) for years, too, so even just having her in Minnesota while I'm in Illinois was an adjustment, and not being able to just pop over or pop downstairs to visit her. She's also a huge role model for me, and someone who literally took care of me whenever my mom couldn't when I was a kid, and taught me quite a lot herself.

She's currently out of the hospital, has no idea what all the fuss is about, and is over in a place that should help her with PT and ensure she doesn't end up back in the hospital again, but it's weird for us. I would normally not be talking about it here but at the moment here is the only real place I've got to talk about it.

There are certainly scarier situations that could have happened, and at times I feel like I've overworried or overstayed, but my goal was to see her settled and not in the hospital and knowing she's surrounded by her family and can count on them. We've pretty much accomplished that, though my heart really wants to go over there tomorrow before I go home and see how her first night was. It might seem silly but I feel like I'd feel better leaving that way. I'm also beating back some regret over how little time I've spent with her since the move, and how little I've communicated with her directly. Some of it's hard because she struggles with phone calls and stuff, but I feel like I could have done more. You never know what kind of time you're going to have with someone, and I feel like I don't want to waste any more of it.

I feel a lot of ways tonight, including a little bit alone. I feel like part of me overreacted and part of me didn't react enough. I feel like things are fine but I am also very worried. I feel like I didn't do enough for my aunt and mom perhaps. I feel like I left people at home in the lurch.I feel the pressure of work stuff and I feel aggravation at work stuff, and I feel tired and I feel gross.

In case you wondered how I'm feeling. If you didn't and you've read this far, well, now you know anyway. I don't exactly know what to say. I want to be home, cuddled and with the cats and the fiance, and feeling less scared and alone, but part of me just wants to stay forever and visit grandma every day until she's out of rehab and back at home. That's probably selfish, and it's probably making up for time I could've spent with her prior to this that I didn't do as much as I could have with, but here we are.

Grandma looks to be fine, her stubbornness and determination to do her thing keeping her upright and confused as to why she was even in the hospital in the first place. Though it's frustrating for everyone that she can't do what she'd like to, I'm hoping that this PT will help her be strong enough to not feel too out of control but realize that there's nothing wrong with getting a little help, especially after a long life well lived. Grandma's pretty amazing, and pretty able to kick back from these things without hardly a blink, so...that's what we expect she'll do.

I have been trying and failing to relax and get ready for the six hour drive home tomorrow, and wavering between giving up entirely at being stable and locking down hard core. And that's the honest truth. I have no idea the havoc i've wreaked in the process of processing, but I guess all we can do is wait til morning to tell that, eh?

Queer Eye for Every Guy (And Girl...and Everyone, Really)

It'd be hard not to notice that things are kind of distressing in the world lately. And divisive. And hateful. And...well, not great. If you haven't noticed that, you might need to get out more. Or read more. Or y'know...be more active in the human race.

Anyway...I've been feeling it hard core lately. There was the suicide of Anthony Bourdain, someone I greatly respected and looked up to as a writer and humanitarian, and then the Hardwick thing, and of course the myriad things that make me feel ambivalent about the upcoming holiday. I don't know if I was looking for something to uplift, but I definitely found it. I watched the original Queer Eye when I was younger even though at the time, I couldn't fully appreciate everything about it (something I'm sad to admit.)

So it was obvious to me to watch the revival, though I wasn't sure if I'd like it. Turns out, I think it might be the good news antidote I've been looking for, even if I didn't know it.

Here's the thing. This is something I believe. It's something I believe strongly, and I choose to believe even when it's hard. I believe love wins every.single.time, if you can only find it. That's true in my own relationships and everywhere else. If you can find it, if you can do it, love will win. The problem is finding it and putting it out there even when you're not sure you're going to get it back.

That...at least to me, is what I've been seeing when I've been watching Queer Eye. People who are different from each other trying to understand each other, and help each other be the best version of themselves they can be. And yeah, it's not a groundbreaking television concept, but it does seem different and more genuine somehow. I feel like they're pretty real about who they are and the hurts and hangups they have.

Just started Season 2, going in thought it'd be good, but not much else. If you haven't seen Season 2 episode 1, I implore you to go seek it out. It's on Netflix and it's the antidote to lots of things, and for me, kinda tapped into the anger I have inside me about certain things.

It's all about a church lady the boys are helping out. She's love. She's everything southern hospitality and all sorts of sweetness and light. She's not sitting there sending thoughts and prayers, she's literally being the hands and feet and hugs and feeding and providing for people. And her son is gay. And she, being raised in the church, was not okay with that, at least not at first. And then, her son left. And she prayed. And she thought, and she realized that she was wrong, because love always does win.

Interestingly enough, one of the guys (Eyes?), Bobby, wasn't really having the whole situation. What you come to find out is that he was raised in the church (Like she was, like I was, like lots of people were...) and that when he realized he was gay, he used to agonize and pray at the altars for God to take it away. And then he got outed, and then he lost every last person who cared about him. Because love? Because God is Love? Because ...because why?

And the anger in his eyes was palpable when he told the story, and the pain. He wouldn't step foot in another church because his world was taken away from him based on people believing who he was was a sin.

And you could pooh-pooh that away, maybe, and I could, except that that's just how it is so often. The more I look back at the way things were in that environment, the more I see just how much it was like that. And to be honest, I still have that fear. There are people I love and respect that I went to church with growing up. They were influential to me, and loving. And yet...And yet I hesitated to post in disagreement. And yet I hesitated to come out strongly for what I believe in.

I've seen people lose their "status" and the love and attention of their friends and fellow church  members because someone in their family committed a crime. Because someone was an alcoholic, or had bulimia/anorexia. Or lose their leadership position because their son got an earring. I've gotten gossiped about both behind and in front of my back (yeah I know, but bear with me) because I ran into someone I knew from church (in the past, no less) and I had a bottle of wine in my cart, or was having a drink at TGI Friday's. I've been told to stay out of the church because I was wearing a tie-dye shirt with a peace sign on it (broken upside down cross don'tcha know.) Some of the most prominent members of churches I used to be a part of can only think to ask about the juicy bits of gossip about the families I know who have problems instead of even pretending to feign interest in their actual lives. There are pastors out there who smile and hug and say How's your day and before you answer say good, even if you're standing there with tears streaming down your face.

That's where the root of my anger at the church comes from. That and the complete lack of even a basic bit of concern for what's happening politically beyond hearing the words cross his lips that he's in support of the Christian right. Pussy grabbing, moved on her like a bitch. Russia. Immigrants and asylum seekers and their children. Suffer the children unto me. God is Love. Love Wins. Where is the love? How are you in support of a regime like this, and that's exactly what it is?

How are you laughing heartily along with the rhetoric out there? How do you care about children in the womb but not a mite outside of it. How do you so ignorantly assume that everyone who's not the same color as you is criminal or illegal or nefarious or ..an infestation. How do you want it both ways, where your sins are just fine and forgiveness is available but you won't even let someone who you believe is sinning into your house or your church. How can you not reach out to those who are hurting or scared, and just talk about them behind their backs?

Is "telling it like it is" all you can muster?

I don't have a problem with God. I do have a problem with the church. And I'm angry. And I too, feel left behind and betrayed by them, and I too am wondering where the love is, and how it got this far...

But at least, when I'm watching shows like Queer Eye and I see someone like that woman, who DOES things and cares about people regardless of if they're purple, black or white or gay or straight or immigrants or....then I know that it's still there. Somewhere. It gives me hope that love wins anyway, regardless of if it's left the places you'd expect it should be most. Love wins if you find it and if you share it, and so that's what I'm going to do.

I'm angry, but I feel like it's time to be angry. And, believe it or not, because of a little tv show, I'm hopeful...that we ALL, regardless of race, sex, creed, orientation...can find the love again and let it win.

Bottom Line

So. Yesterday was a real peach of a day, wasn't it? There's always something terrible in the news--on the daily, has been for ages, even before our administration was run by a giant sycophantic, narcissistic...you get the idea.

However, today was something different. Today was me finding out that someone I thought was one way was VERY much another. It'll be no surprise that I'm a giant nerd. I always have been, I suppose, even, as the hipsters say, when it wasn't cool. I don't want to be one of those people who disavow knowledge or claim that they always knew something that, to be honest, you just can't always know.

Here's the thing. I've listened to the Nerdist podcast from the very beginning, and up til recently wouldn't miss an episode. I rooted for all the guys, and was happy to see them getting the chance to live their dreams. I believed, through having heard them talk through the years, that they weren't perfect but were pretty silly, cool guys who just enjoyed the things they enjoyed and worked hard to get where they were. This includes Chris Hardwick.

Evidently, as you'll now no doubt have heard...it seems that's a very wrong impression. Seems like Hardwick has, in fact, been very different in his relationships than the person that he portrays in public, and that he's in fact abusive in very many ways, ways that harmed someone else I was a fan of just via "internet" and "celebrity" and whatnot.

The reason I'm writing this is because I feel like there's things that need to be said.
To me, this revelation is a huge deal.

For one, let's be honest about the internet and podcasting and all that. If you listen to a podcast long enough, you get to know the voices. Especially with podcasts like Nerdist, because they talk a lot about their personal lives, moreso than someone like Ira Glass over on NPR and stuff, you feel like you know them a little bit. Especially if you've been there since the beginning. For me this isn't exclusive to Nerdist, as I also followed the Pioneer Woman since she was just a little food blogger from OK (how the hell did that blow up to as big an empire as it is, btw?) Obviously I have eclectic taste in people and things. Anyway...the internet and social media create a different kind of intimacy level than TV and stuff have in the past, because in some cases, you'll actually interact with these people. In my case, I wrote about these people--Chris Hardwick, Matt Mira, Jonah Ray, all. I always knew I didn't know them as people in any "real" way, but to find out that one of them is SO far from the person they portray is jarring at the very least, and very disheartening.

Second--you can't "call" it, and it's not a point of pride if somehow you "called" it. The thing is that Chloe herself didn't call it, and to assume that you would have known better is worse than arrogance. Maybe you thought he was obnoxious or a jerk. Lots of people thought that. People I am friends with thought that. You "calling" it just doesn't matter, in the end, because it doesn't change the fact that the person who got very, very hurt is any less hurt.

I guess one thing that gets me whenever stuff like this happens is how much people think that they know. That they were sure that this person was like this. It's bullshit.

The truth is, so many people walk around with a smile, giggle, laugh and go out like they've got no single care in the world who are literally on the edge. They're literally being eaten alive, crushed by depression, anxiety, abused or just feel hopeless and alone, but they'll be the life of the party, the confidante you can trust to help you with your own problems, or that person that seems totally together and unflappable. Thinking you know is not knowing.

At the same time, that guy you think is funny, sweet, and on the right side of things, who cares about things like women's rights and children and animals and wouldn't hurt a single thing on earth could just as easily literally be darker than you could ever dream, and could've greeted you with a smile every day, even been the most helpful, wonderful person to you. I don't talk about this much because it used to embarass me, but when I was a manager at a pizza place, I worked with a guy we'll call Ted who was helpful, super efficient at what he did, always had a smile and a joke for me, helped me through some of the most stressful situations I faced at that job....and, a year after I quit that job, was convicted of murdering his girlfriend by stuffing her in the trunk of his car and leaving her to die in the desert heat after a domestic dispute. It was shocking. I literally had no idea he was capable of even being slightly dickish, let alone taking someone's life. I was and still am embarrassed somehow that I didn't know. How could I not have seen that sort of evil, you know? How would I not have known, having worked alongside him every day?

People are going to be demanding to know why Jonah and Lydia and Matt didn't know, why Wil Wheaton didn't know...and it's awful. Being a total scumbag hurts more than just you, and his actions are going to have wide repercussions for them, whether they knew or didn't know. That makes me really sad, too.

I'm older and wiser now, I suppose, but I can tell you. You just.can't. know.all.the.time.

Read Chloe's words. She didn't know. And even when she thought she did, he had her coming back with moments of compassion.

Don't self-congratulate because you think you knew something. You know nothing, in the end, about what's happening with and to the people around you unless you care enough to reach out and ask them. The most important thing you can do in situations like these, when you find out that things aren't what you thought they were, even if it's a "celebrity" and it doesn't touch your life, is to start to realize how much you don't know instead of insisting on how much you do.

And that's all I've got to say about that.

Talk Soup

I confess something here: I have no idea what this will be. For one, our AC is broken and it's been in the 90s all day. For two, I'm pretty sure I have come down with a holiday weekend flu or cold that's making me pretty miserable. For three, last night was ...a thing I'm not talking about right now.

The first thing that occurred to me to type out was that I'm trying to figure out what parts of me are parts that really exist and what are parts that others assigned to me or I assigned to myself that aren't real. I'm not sure if that makes sense, but whatever. My space my rules.

Space seems like the best option for me right now. I'm feeling more like crawling in a shell than I have in a while. To think, to re-evaluate, to straighten out my priorities and try to do something more, something better.

One thing you'll learn the older you get is that your perception of yourself can be and is often wrong. Not that it's a good idea to let other people tell you who and what you are, but sometimes, they show you. It's not always pretty.

I need to "apply myself" more and one way to start doing that is here. Because applying myself doesn't just mean make more of an effort in my relationships and my job, it means everywhere, including with me.

I'm vaguebooking without the Facebook, but...again, that's how I want to do it right now.

And that's all for now. I've realized I don't have much else to say. Watch this space? Maybe more will come out of me, and that'll be a good thing.

The Chicagoist Post

What? You thought I wouldn't blog about Chicagoist meeting a sudden demise at the hands of billionaires with a toddler's "take-your-toys-and-go-home" mentality?

No chance.

Chicagoist was and is a big deal to me. I was there. I was a part of it and what IT was was truly one of Chicago's best. And a community, and a place where I learned a lot from a lot of people. Honestly, it seemed unbelievable most of the time that I was a part of it. I read Chicagoist every day at work- started off with the Around Town gallery they'd post around my lunchtime every day. I still remember when one of the pictures I submitted got in. I was so excited! Then came a resolve to do more things I'd always meant to do, which led to GISHWHES, which I didn't expect to change my life but did. As I've mentioned before, once you're emailing the CEO of Groupon to ask him to send a video of himself doing the Single Ladies dance in his suit for our scavenger hunt, it's not as intimidating to throw your hat in the ring to be an A&E writer.

Jim and Chuck gave me a chance. My first two stories (the testers, if you will) were The Happy Show and Jazzin' at the Shedd. These events happened while I had a really good friend of mine (and a hell of an encouraging presence) in from New Mexico for a visit, so I got to take him with me on these adventures. One of the things I love about this job is that it allows me to bring people along for the ride. I've seen so many amazing things while writing for Chicagoist, and I've gotten to share them with the people I love.

 

These are things I love to do and wanted to do and got to take some of my best friends to, to boot. It was ways I could take my boyfriend, who is awesome and deserving of such things, to shows on dates that I never could've pulled off either. I mean, we met Weird Al! I was so starstruck that night at the back of the Chicago Theatre I couldn't make sentences happen.

I still remember my very first story. An easy to get to one for a cub Chicagoista - it was at Union Station - a "happening" called Station to Station. I wasn't sure how to dress for a "happening" let alone to blend in with all the press, and I was a huge nerd about being on the press list. I constantly checked my bag for pens and camera batteries and wondered what obvious things I would inevitably be missing or what faux pas I would stumble into as soon as I got there.

I'm sure being a nerd about being on the press list counts as one of those faux pas, but I couldn't have cared less. I saw Thurston Moore unplug when the stage lost power. I explored smoky yurts and ate artisanal sandwiches and watched people make things. And in one of my favorite moments of all time for Chicagoist, I heard Mavis Staples' voice ring out through the entire Great Hall at Union Station. The show was like being at her house on a Sunday in its intimacy, but that voice let loose in that hall with those acoustics were life-changing.

In fact, all of Chicagoist was. I still get imposter syndrome, both for being a writer at Chicagoist and a "writer" at all. I take on projects and do work and wonder when someone will find out I'm not supposed to be where I am. I'm lucky. I'm lucky to have worked the stories I worked. I'm lucky to have been able to call Chicagoist's staff my friends. I'm lucky to have gotten to explore all the things I've explored.

I've been on the roof of the Art Institute, the basement of the Field Museum, the floor for the nerdiest of conventions in Chicago each year. I've heard amazing music, met amazing people and learned from fantastic journalists.

I've gotten to go see what Chicago has to offer, photograph it, write about it and then share it with tons of people, in hopes that they'll find some good stuff, too. Hopefully somewhere in there I've written things that will help people some way - whether that's simply getting to know some of the neat places and faces Chicago has to offer or just having some nerd to relate to.

Above all though, Chicagoist helped me.
I found what I love.
I do the things I love.
It's still work and it always will be.
I have LOTS more work to do.
I've made mistakes, but I've learned from them, too.

It's been an incredible ride, and I'm sad to see it go. Chicagoist was an opportunity, sure, but it also truly was a community, one I loved with all my heart.

I'm grateful to everyone I've ever raised a glass with, shared a GIF or emailed with, and especially grateful to Jim and Chuck who gave me my shot, and Lisa and Rachel who helped me and Chicagoist grow after that, even into things like hard news. You.all.rock.

The world would be stupid not to snatch every last one of you up for something amazing, and I can't wait to see what that is.

Shine on, you crazy diamonds.

We Grew This

Turns out, Chicago is a busy month for journalists and journalistas. Hence my lateness to this post, which I've actually been looking forward to for a few days now. But you know, as a friend says, #amwriting #amediting. Tis the thing we strive for.

So, you say, what's the thing you were waiting to blog about?

It's my fourth anniversary with my love. <3 nbsp="" p="">Four years, man. It's a long time. The foundation was laid long long before that, in a friendship we kept up for yearrrrs, but now it's a bigger, better thing.

I was looking for an image to represent what I wanted to say about this, and I landed on this rose. It's from our own garden, from this year. We had these roses in the yard, they were planted long before I was here, and they just weren't blooming. Couldn't figure out what the problem was, tried pruning them the one year and nothing, took them to the Master Gardeners at the county ag department...in any case, two years in, they finally bloomed. Gorgeously, and they were incredibly prolific. I could not believe how beautiful. And we grew that. Trial and error and doubt and all.

And that's...how it works in a relationship. Sometimes you cut too deep, sometimes you don't address things you need to. Sometimes you do a lot of work and it doesn't seem to get you anywhere. But you keep working at it and you grow something. And that thing can be incredible.

The beautiful parts of us are some of my favorite things on Earth. It sounds like nothing, but one of my dreams was to have someone who'd eat ice cream in bed with me while we watched some silly show. And we do that.

I hoped for someone who would cook with me. We cook together ALL the time. We make a hobby out of it every single week with 52 Weeks of Cooking and that was the lens I used to talk about us last year at a live event.

We nerd out together. We mangle and strangle the English language so badly together that sometimes I think it's only the two of us who could understand a word we're saying sometimes. Just for fun. We write together, game together, watch the Cubs together, and have a HUGE list of nerdy shows we are huge fans of.

He brought me into the world of Star Trek, and especially when times are so dark...Star Trek gives me hope. It makes me feel like there's this beautiful way we can all exist together if we keep trying for it. The characters and worlds there are gold, and I love that we share it, and I love how it's still sorta "ultra" nerdy in that way where people are like "oh you're a TREKKIE?" because I love how proud we stand together when we say "yeah! Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra!" and wait for the sneers. I love how we can be ourselves together because it's us against the world and being weird together is powerful.We don't have anything to prove.

I love our trips together. I love the relaxation and intimacy of our time in Door County- we got snowed in this last time and it was some of my favorite travel ever, even though we didn't leave our hotel at all that day. We cook while we're there too, and play board games and watch movies and eat cheese and drink wine. We locked ourselves in the Mall of America for his birthday this year.

I love watching him. He's like this over-easy egg of sunshine. It spills right out of him when you take the time to get to know him and talk to him and you see the big beautiful heart, the hearty laugh, the nerdy core and the generosity and kindness just flow out like a river. I love watching people's faces change when he cracks a smile. I love going on walks with him or to the grocery store and holding his hand or knowing that we can make even that fun.

It's not all easy. We spend so much time together by virtue of working at home together that, honestly, we drive each other nuts sometimes. There's internal pressures and household stresses and the regular "uncovering all each other's bullshit" that gets to us. There's the ways that a person you love shows you the worst parts of yourself. But there's ways we show each other the best in ourselves too.

All I need to know sometimes is that I never fall asleep faster than when he's there. When he's not, I can't turn my head off. I know that when I'm not with him, I'm already planning what I'll call or text him, and what he might have liked. I've probably taken pictures of something I wanted to see, and probably saved something I wanted to buy for him in a folder on the internet somewhere (don't peek if you read this.) I'm probably planning all the adventures I want us to have in the future somewhere in the back of my head.

Life gets to me. This  house gets to me. Sometimes, we get to each other. But I've learned so much trying to grow this. Life has a way of showing me how much I haven't learned too, but the bottom line is, we grew this. Four years in, I hope it just keeps growing and going strong.

And hey, you, who's busily reviewing games behind me...I love you. <3 p="">

You Can Always Order Pizza

So, I love cooking.
You probably know this, as you've probably read here there or everywhere about the various cooking exploits I've been on on my own and with my wonderful SO.

I spend a fair amount of time mining the internet for new recipes and stuff, and so I read food blogs and food sections of papers and magazines.

Today, I read this.
In which an intrepid reporter from Chicago magazine has Grant Achatz, yes, THE, yes he of the 3 Michelin stars (that's hard to do in Europe let alone the U.S.) help her with a dinner party.

It's a great article, and a lot of that is in a bit of schadenfreude, I spose, and relating with someone who is nervous around people sometimes. During the course of her time with the chef, she frets about how he'll perceive her and the things she already has in her house, if he'll be stern and a taskmaster, and proceeds to drop a pepper grinder in a bowl of cream as well as grate herself (which I do more than I'd care to admit) and cut herself.

Achatz has accomplished a lot. And first off, he could've felt "above" this sort of story and not done it, and second, he could have done it and not been whole-hog with it. But the whole time he's a calming presence, even forming a sort of eye-rolling-but-in-good-fun role for himself that endears me to him, even having never met him.

He still does what he does and teaches, helping her every step of the way, but he makes himself unimportant and unintimidating. I *love* people like this, and there are far too few of them. People that can shake off the bonds of their fame and just be people are the best kind of people to have fame, if you ask me.

Anyway, the deal was he shops with her, emails her, and then the day of, helps her to a point til he has to go back to Alinea, to, y'know, run a 3 Michelin star restaurant in one of the largest cities in the US. Cuz...well, important.

In any case, one of the things that stuck with me on this was how the author finishes the story.
Because of course, you're wondering if somehow, in that last stretch without him there, she's gonna somehow ruin everything (the way that you feel like you would, if you're like me)

Everyone loves everything despite even  her perceived errors, like overbaking the dessert a bit.

But in the end she remembers Achatz consoling her in a moment of panic by saying that if everything is awful, "You can always order pizza!"

I love it.

On so many levels. I think of Michelin star chefs sometimes as these battle axe sort of people, who are unrelenting, exacting, precise and unforgiving of mistakes, from themselves and the people under them. And that's there, or else they wouldn't be getting the accolades they do. Consistency and precision are key to that sort of craft so that what you put out one day is still what people taste five months from now should they order it.

But as serious as he is about food, and about cooking...if it doesn't work? Fine. Order pizza.

It reminds me to chill the hell out when I'm stressing about whatever it is I'm stressing about.

Because really. You can always order pizza.

It's not to say not to be precise or not to try your hardest to do things as best as you can.
It is to say that if something goes wrong, maybe try not to beat yourself up about it and move on.
Learn from it, sure, but then just...keep on' keepin' on.
And order pizza.

So that's my thought of the day, followed by my sleep of the night.
Now I want pizza.

The Filthy Stovetop

The other day, I was angrily cleaning the dishes and stewing in my own angry-juices. I'd lost my head, so to speak.

I was mad for a variety of reasons, one of the simplest being that nobody.scrubs.the.damn.stovetop.and.black.shows.everything.PEOPLE!

Seriously though. People buy black cars and black bikes and whatever and think "it'll hide the dirt!"
Except dirt isn't black, at least not much of it. Potting soil is, but usually your home isn't coated in that. Unless you're a tulip or a very serious and disorganized gardening addict.

I cook a lot, so I couldn't even exclude myself from my own anger. Things build up, and after a week or so, the stovetop goes from racy black shiny to cruddy icky please don't take a picture of that. (Note that I have not.)

Thing is, too, that maybe, had anyone (including myself) scrubbed the damned surface after they cooked just once, swipe swipe swipe and done, it wouldn't get that way at all. Take 2 minutes extra now, save the carnage of scraping soaking and picking food particles out from under your burners, which by the way? Pretty gross.

At the time though, I was mad about no one helping. Sometimes, it feels like I'm solely responsible for the daily swiping, as it were. Like if I do 23 loads of dishes by hand and put them all away, then buy myself a pint of ice cream and leave the ice cream spoon in the sink, if someone else makes themselves eggs the next morning one of two things will happen:

1) a big pile of egg dishes plus the spoon
2) egg dishes all done, but the spoon is still dirty in the sink.

It's frustrating.

I kept thinking: If you pass through the kitchen and you see a stack of dishes and you think "man, that's a lot of dirty dishes" or "man, the floor is dirty as hell" but you just keep walking and going about your own life, well...there's the problem.

Everyone's busy busy all the time, work and life and whatnot. But one thing I'm finding out more and more in the realm of taking care of a house and family is that really, if things don't pile up on one person, and you take about five minutes out of your own time to help every day, then no one feels like they're an ox yoked to a cart full of lead. (weirdly biblical reference? No idea why.)

Vacuuming the whole upstairs takes about ...15 minutes? Emptying the litter boxes and redoing them? 10. Taking the trash out to the cans just right outside the front door, including time to replace the bag? About 2 minutes. Seriously.

Once I finished the dishes and the stovetop, I'd calmed down but I thought about the stovetop more metaphorically.

We can't just help ourselves. We can't just expect people to do things for us. We can't expect anyone to be the first to break the ice, we can't wait for others to do the right thing. We need to do it. Don't wait to be asked to hang out more. If there's a friend in your life that you don't see enough, regardless of who contacted who last and how that interaction went, if it's important enough to cross your mind, then just do the contacting.

If you see a problem, don't act like you're Janeway observing a pre-warp civilization from afar, get involved!

(Side note: I love Janeway, just in this example don't be Janeway.)

I thought about some family members I know (Mine and other people's) and how they're hurting because of each other. Each waits for the other to make it right. Both say they want it to be right. But no one's DOING anything.

Just because you say you want to see someone more doesn't make you get out there and see them. You say you're gonna have more time, we're totally gonna do that, you'll see!
But you don't. And maybe there's good reasons, maybe there's real stuff. I missed my friend coming in from Seattle recently because I got really sick and then had to cover Wizard World for 4 days straight.

But don't rest on self-righteousness. I was sick, I was working...but I still forgot to call him and say something. So, I'm making an effort now to apologize and do better. Incidentally, I'm going to Seattle soon and will hopefully be seeing him there.

Family that supports each other does something that families that don't don't do: They don't wait.
They don't keep scoreboards of when the other wasn't there to help them.
They just act.
Someone's hurt or isolated...let's go!

We're not entitled to each other's time or friendship. We're not magically going to have a good family or friend life if we don't actively try to make it that way.

I know this because I don't do the things I'm saying we need to do all the time and it hurts me and it hurts the people I love.

But sometimes, a filthy stovetop reminds me that we could work together, and with just a little effort on each end, make things easier and better for everyone.

I don't know who all is reading this, but I encourage you to take action.
This is important. We can't count on everyone to do anything for us. We can't expect that some time in the future, our relatives are going to stop being the way they are and reach out, our friends are going to get less busy or have a less weird schedule.

Why can't we set up a once a week call with our sisters (Shan, I say this because I'm about to institute it)
Why can't we at least answer a text within a day of getting it if the person's at all someone we want in our life?
Why can't we pick an "inconvenient" time for coffee and just go see our friend we haven't seen in a few years?

It has value. It adds value. It's worth the cost.

And in the meantime? Take out the trash. Sweep the floor. Do the dishes. Help where you live.
It means more than you know.