Merry whatever

As I lapse into a coma on the couch after eating one cookie too many, I'm reflecting back on the holiday season of 2009. Here's what I've come up with (in no particular order):

1) How 'bout dem Blackhawks? I was delighted by the premier episode of Blackhawks TV which aired on Christmas day, giggled at the Happy Hullidays commercials and have relished every moment of the past few games. These guys are the real deal and it just might be their year. Regardless, it's so much fun to watch.

2) Shopping for jeans is the bane of my existence. As a nice little perk, we're allowed to wear jeans to work all next week. So-- duh-- I need to buy some new ones. During shopping trips on Thursday and Saturday, I tried on 23 different pairs. Pocket placement is so key-- it can spell the difference between "hot ass" and "all ass." Unflattering jeans can bring me to tears.

3) Nothing is a better gift than pictures of my niece and nephews. Every year, Dawn gives me a Shutterfly album of a year's worth of pictures of Justin and Kaelyn. Justin's 8 and plays hockey now, which fills me with so much pride. Kaelyn's 4 and is becoming quite an artist. Dawn also accuses me of passing on some other not so desirable traits to Kaelyn-- her "dark side" (she loves stories about monsters), her sweet tooth and her tendency to use "bad words." Hey, I can't help my genetics, can I? Little Henry always looks so happy and wears his new Cubs sweatsuit with such style and grace. His blond hair sticks up in all directions and never fails to make me smile. I'm not much of a kid person, but I truly adore these three.

4) I didn't do my massive cookie bake this year, but I did follow my yearly tradition by making my Grammy's cranberry torte. Before she died, she wrote our favorite recipes on index cards. Cranberry torte is the first thing we eat on Christmas morning. I loved my grandparents immensely and I think about them a lot. This is a beautiful way of honoring a very sweet memory.

5) John's Christmas village is another tradition. He's extremely anal about setting it up and it takes him hours to plan and execute the design. Frank Lloyd Wright would be jealous. I sometimes mess with my darling spouse by moving a figurine or two out of place. Cruel, yes, but a heck of a lot of fun.

6) I'm somewhat envious of friends and family who send holiday cards with pictures of their dogs dressed in holiday sweaters, antlers or santa hats. I would love to do that with Sheila, Baylee and Jessica (0ur cats), but the one time I attemped it, it cost me some flesh. Cats just don't do hats. It's a feline thing.

7) How much is it going to suck to take all of these decorations down?!?!

Happy 2010, everyone!

Continuity

If you don't enjoy reading about someone waxing philosophical in a memoir-like way about sports, turn back now. While at the Bruins vs. Hawks game the other night, I got to thinking about how there are very few things in life that are constant. I could only come up with one in my own life... hockey.

As a young child in Massachusetts, we skated almost as soon as we could walk. Dad and Grampy enjoyed ice fishing; my sister Dawn and I often accompanied them and spent time whizzing around one frozen pond or another. We had our own rink, too. Dad rigged up two by fours and plastic sheeting to magically convert the summer garden to an ice rink, complete with a spotlight for night skating. We'd come in only when we could no longer feel our extremities.

Two important people outside of the family shared my love of hockey... childhood friend Suzanne and our babysitter Mary. My very first love interest wasn't the boy next door, a kid on the bus or a member of the Partridge Family. It was Gilles Gilbert, goalie for the Boston Bruins. Sometimes I'd watch the games with my grandfather from the foot of his recliner, but more often I'd drag my 13" black and white tv from my bedroom to the kitchen table. I needed the flat surface for my writing. Every game, I meticulously kept a score sheet-- goals and assists, penalties and various notes. Every single game. I stored them in a three-ring binder. Then I'd draw pictures. Goalies mostly (Gilles Gilbert, surrounded by red and pink hearts).

As adolescence loomed, we had a very unsettling move from Massachusetts to Pennsylvania and suddenly my life was in turmoil. I missed my friends. I missed the Bruins. A book called "The Picture History of the Boston Bruins: From Shore to Orr and the Years Between" went with me everywhere and became a source of comfort for me. I still have it today.

After recovering from injuries sustained in a serious auto accident, I decided I wanted to play organized hockey. Even though my mom was a divorced parent trying to raise three young girls on not a lot of money, she drove me in all kinds of weather to Johnstown so I could play bantam hockey at the War Memorial. I was the first girl to ever play in what was (up until then) an all-boys league. Quite frankly, they didn't know what to do with me, but they knew they couldn't refuse my participation, so play I did (but they graciously waived the jock strap requirement). I changed clothes in the ladies bathroom since I couldn't go into the locker room. At first, my teammates resented all of the attention I got, but then Coach Barry appealed to their burgeoning chivalry and soon enough they saw me as a little sister in need of protection. Suddenly I had a team of big brothers and I gloried in it. I really was little-- just over 5 feet and barely 100 pounds. I was a good skater-- better than many of the boys-- but if the opponents caught me, I didn't fare so well. I had waist-length hair then, which I braided and tucked into my helmet to discourage hair pulling.

Around this time, I met a lifelong friend through hockey. Michaela. She lives in New York and I answered her ad for a hockey pen pal in some hockey magazine or newspaper. In the days before the internet and 24-hour sports channels, she became a news lifeline about my team. My grandparents did the same. Every week my grandmother would send me a letter with two dollars and clippings about the Bruins from the newspaper. Sometimes she'd write editorial comments in the margins in her flowery penmanship-- "Oh my!" beside a picture of a fight. I still have some of these.

During my high school years (junior year, I believe), I took a significant interest in rookie Al Secord, who was destined to become my second great hockey love. Although I'm not a fan letter sort of person, I wrote to him and much to my surprise and delight (remember, those were more innocent and simpler times) I got a handwritten letter from him in addition to an autographed picture. In the letter, he told me that I was the first fan to ever write to him. I was convinced that I would marry him.

Back in the late 70's and early 80's, we went to Pittsburgh when the Bruins played the Penguins. Pre-Mario Lemieux, it was possible to walk right up to the players after the game if you knew which gate to wait at. That way, I was able to meet and get autographs and pictures of some of the big names of the day-- Gerry Cheevers, Terry O'Reilly, Wayne Cashman, Jean Ratelle, Brad Park... and Al Secord. I introduced myself and he knew right away who I was. More on him later.

Freshman year of college I was seriously messed up from a non-hockey related broken heart (long story...), then I was committed to my studies and friendships, so hockey took a back burner for a few years. Then it was graduate school, marriage and a move to Chicago. At the time, the Blackhawks were in the cellar and tickets were fairly easy to come by, so once again it was full immersion.

Roller hockey evolved and along with it came a team called the Chicago Cheetahs. I hadn't heard much about it, but a friend of mine (who knew my hockey history) urged me to attend the first game at UIC because there would be a "big surprise." So I did. You probably guessed the surprise. One of the Cheetahs was Al Secord. One again, he remembered me, as he did a few years later when he played on the Chicago Wolves.

In the 90's, John and I made a yearly tradition out of attending the Blackhawks Winter Ball, which benefitted Maryville Academy. It's like going to the prom with the entire Blackhawks team and their wives/girlfriends. Again, much excitement and picture taking-- Denis Savard, Bob Probert, Ed Belfour, Chris Chelios. Another brush with hockey celebrity came when John became Jeremy Roenick's podiatrist during the year that the NHL went on strike. Roenick actually conducted negotiations on their office phone while he was waiting for treatment. And at John's request, he left me a surprise voicemail on my work phone saying "your husband is causing me tremendous pain."

Chicago Stadium morphed into the United Center and the Hawks tanked, then rose again, which brings us to the present. A busy work schedule, a household to maintain, keeping up with friends, family and Facebook fill my days. Although the faces of the players (aside from Chelios's) are now older than mine, my interest has not become stale. I still thrill at the speed of the puck flying down the rink. The majesty of an untouched sheet of ice. The colors and sounds of a fast-paced game. Throughout my lifetime... past, present and future... the humble game of hockey-- lesser-appreciated cousin of football and baseball-- has made my good times better and my bad times lighter.

My friend Vinny

Those of you who know me well know that I like to talk about my friends a lot and that I hold all of them in very high regard. One friend I haven't talked about yet on my blog is Vince. Although we grew up probably less than 2o miles from each other, we "met" by random coincidence on Runners World message boards. And we both love hockey. And we both graduated from the same college. And we're both Type A obsessive, slightly neurotic people (but in an endearing way). And we both love to write.... it's truly amazing how similar we are in so many ways.

This May I got to meet him and his wife for real when they came to town so that Vince could run the Chicago Marathon. Since our friendship didn't really develop in a traditional manner, I was slightly apprehensive about meeting him. Much to my delight, there was zero awkwardness and it was like we had known them for a lifetime. We had a lovely meal at Leona's and the next day I got to see him speed by around mile 18 in the marathon. He qualified for Boston and I like to think that my cheering him on helped just a tiny fraction!

They're coming back in May to run the Soldier Field 10 miler with Teresa and me. I look forward to spending more time with them. Anyhow, Vince's blog is now listed here on my page. Check it out. In addition to being a very talented runner and a friend I like a lot, he's a damn good writer.

Wrapper, beware!

Many people are surprised when I admit that I abhor wrapping gifts. They figure that, since I'm an artist, I must enjoy the challenge of presenting something in a beautiful way. That's so not true. Rather, the entire process fills me with overwhelming dread. Here are some of the common pitfalls that vex me and send my anxiety level into the stratosphere. Perhaps you can relate to some or all of them.

1. Spatial Relationships - What do you do if you cut the paper too small? Ignore it and leave a tacky-looking gap that essentially broadcasts for all to see how inept and lazy you are? Try to patch it up? Sure, that approach gives a passing nod to the fact that you actually give a shit, but it also says that you're still too lazy to do it right. Start over, cutting a new piece of paper? Then what do you do with the short sheet? Hope it fits something else? Or just throw it away? That's wasteful and an admission of failure.

2. Tape Allocation - If you use too little, that sends the following subtle message to dirty little peekers like my sister Dawn-- "Go ahead, pick at it a bit... bend that corner back and maybe you can see what it is without actually opening it." Do that and you're being an enabler. On the other hand, if you take the Homeland Security approach and seal off all the entrances, you risk pissing off impatient friends and family who don't have all day to search for a point of origin for that good first tear.

3. Paper Design Selection - Does it really matter? Will my 8-year-old nephew feel offended if I use Sesame Street wrapping paper showing Big Bird in a santa hat? Is he too mature and cool for that? And if I have some paper left over from last year, will anyone remember if I use the same design again?

4. Tissue Paper from Hell - Who started the sick tradition of nesting a gift of clothing in a neat over-layer of tissue paper before sticking it in a box? Mine never looks exquisite or elegant. It just looks wrinkled and sad, like an old lady's face before Botox.

5. Bows are a Stupid Gimmick - They just fall off anyway. Or get smooshed beyond all recognition. Or eaten by the cats, who, in turn, promptly regurgitate all of the fa-la-la on the carpet.

So, that's all I have to say on the subject. Take your stuff to Borders and have a teenager in an elf suit wrap it for you. Or stick it in a bag with some of that artsy confetti stuff and call it a day. Or don't wrap it at all. Whatever.

Next!

This evening I finished the under-drawing that forms the framework of my next painting. Rushing the drawing bit me in the butt for the last painting, so I was focused on not making the same mistake twice. I think I used more eraser than graphite!

A few things about this work will be experimental for me. First, the ground. I usually use hand-stretched canvas (mostly linen primed with 2-3 coats of gesso), but this time I'm going with canvas board. I'm sure I'll miss the tactile "bounciness" of the canvas, but this was handy and cheap for what will be essentially a test. Secondly, I'm putting the acrylics aside and will attempt this one with Windsor & Newton water mixable oil colors. I love the buttery quality you get with oil, but the turpentine isn't all that fun to work with. I'm hoping that this will be a successful marriage between the feel of oil and the convenience of acrylics.

This painting already has a name. It's called Nenikikamen. Loosely translated, it means "we are victorious," which is what Phidippeides uttered at the end of the first marathon.

Wish me luck!

yay, me!

Lincolnwood Turkey Trot 5K is one of my favorite races. It's well organized, the course is suburban (and therefore out of the ordinary for me), and the weather's cool. This morning I got up and my neck/shoulder was sore (a problem I've had off and on since age 13 or so, but why did it have to flare up today?) But I said to myself, "so f***ing what." Everyone has aches. Today I decided to run a sub-30 5K. I've done it only once before, a 29:21 at the Lung Run in 2006 (although to this day I think the course must've been short because I don't think I really ran that fast... I even recall walking a bit during the race).

We met Teresa there. Before lining up at the start, we shared a hug and she gave me a pep talk--- "I know you can do it. I know you can do it today." I felt like I could, too. I ran the first mile in less than 9 minutes. Uh oh. That's too fast for me to maintain (at least for now!). So I slowed and tried to keep around a 9:30 minute/mile pace thoughout. I'm not perfect at pacing... sometimes I was faster, and sometimes I was slower. But I passed the two-mile marker at 18-something, so I knew I was doing okay in that regard. I usually start to slow down around 2.5, but not this time. I kept telling myself that it would all be over in about 5 minutes or so... suck it up and keep going. I'd be pissed at myself if I lost focus and blew it (like I usually do!). I thought of Teresa and Uncle Dick waiting for me at the finish and how happy and proud of me they'd be if I met my goal. And how much I'd enjoy telling John about it after he finished the race.

My legs felt like lead as the finish line came into sight. I usually have a little "kick" at the end, but not this time. I didn't see Teresa and Uncle Dick while I was running, but I certainly heard them. After I crossed the line and knew that I was under 30, I turned to the left and Teresa and Uncle Dick were right there. I fell into their arms. Wow. If I had had enough energy, I probably would've cried. 29:46 (I don't think I hit my watch quite right at either the start or the finish, which explains the discrepancy in the picture above).

After the race, we met and talked with a barefoot runner. Hmmm... intriguing. There are always nice people at races. Pizza and hot soup in the tent, then we met John and congratulated him on his race. He knew right away by the smile on my face what my result was.

I'm very happy with myself that I was able to reach down and grab some inner strength that is sometimes hard to find. I'm even happier that I was able to do it surrounded by people who love me. I think I'll take a nap now.

Friendship

Work's been sucking lately. Due to the bad economy (among other things), it's been tense, stressful, not a happy place to be. Although I realize I'm lucky to have a job, sometimes it's just, well, too much.

But, in the midst of it all, there's laughter and silliness. Let me tell you about my friend Cy. He and I used to "work" together at the same firm-- me in Chicago, Cy on the West Coast (he lives in San Francisco) We've never met... interacting only on the phone when we worked together and via e-mail since we've both moved on. I've known him for probably 15 years or more. Getting an e-mail from Cy is like a snuggly blanket and a mug of hot cocoa-- guaranteed to put a smile on your face. He writes long, descriptively fun e-mails about food (he really, really should be a restaurant critic), fashion, Project Runway, Top Chef, running at the gym... anything and everything, many times a day.

Today, for absolutely no reason, I got a package from San Francisco containing Hello Kitty and a stylish, artsy card. I giggled til my stomach hurt. Every time I look at it, I'll smile. Thanks, Cy. Good friends like you are a rare and precious gift.

It's done!

You know that painting that I've been working on, well, forever? I finished it this morning! Connecting with an old artist friend on Facebook and meeting a new artist friend at dinner last week inspired me to get off my lazy ass and "just do it." It doesn't have a name yet, but something will come to me.

Thoughts? I worked it much more abstract that I usually do and that caused me some degree of angst. Compositionally, I like the receding figures, and the two bending at the waist-- although I kind of got lost in a clutter of arms and legs and it doesn't read as well as I wanted it to. But you learn something with every painting and I learned that you CAN get rusty if you don't work at it with some degree of regularity. This one's so rusty it needs Rust-oleum. But that's okay. There are some elements I really like (the face on the guy to the far right, the red shoes on the guy in the middle). I wish my photography skills were a little bit better and the glare a little less-- but trust me, these are the high points of the work.

Next? Although I love the no-fuss aspect of acrylics, you can't beat the lusciousness of oils. I want to go back to them. I bought some water soluble oils a while back, so I think I'm going to try to find them in the black hole that is my basement. Experiment a little. Also, I'm thinking about a sweet little pastel drawing for a friend as a Christmas present. The important thing is that I have my mojo back. Finally.

Do what feels good

John's out of town, so I treated myself to a completely self-indulgent weekend.

Yesterday I did a 5-mile run along the lakefront. The wind was crazy strong-- a couple of times if felt like it was going to blow me off the path and into the water. I laughed out loud at the sheer joy of the sensation. The absolute beauty of this city never fails to amaze me, even though I've lived here for over 20 years. The physicality of limbs in motion, the pungent scent of sun-warmed leaves, the majesty of our skyline and the sparkle of the lake elevated me. I love to run. I love everything about it. I felt like I could've gone many more miles.

Today I spent a few hours at The Art Institute. A friend of mine says that his religion is baseball; mine is art. In the movie "The Cutting Edge," there's a scene where the main character talks about the significance of the smell of the ice in a hockey rink. It's the same for me at AIC-- it's the smell of comfort and well-being. I know this building like the back of my hand and I ritualistically see certain favorite pieces every time I go. Appropriate music on my iPhone accompanied my homage-- Radio Nowhere (Springsteen) and Higher (Creed) for my absolute favorites-- Ivan Albright's work in gallery 262 (see http://www.artic.edu/aic/collections/artwork/93798). Then, Dreams on Fire (Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack) for the apsaras and God Ganesha, Remover of Obstacles in Indian art. Today I also stopped by the Caravaggio exhibition. My first sight of The Supper at Emmaus made me gasp out loud at the perfection of it. A delicious salad and pinot grigio finished the visit. I always leave AIC better than when I walked in.

Snap, Santa and Pop (and friends)

Today was the Trick or Trot 5K near Montrose Harbor. This year, Teresa, Sue and I decided to run as Rice Krispies-- I'm Snap, Teresa's Crackle and Sue's Pop.

In true Linda fashion, John and I got to the race much, much earlier than we needed to (what I lack in running ability I make up for in punctuality). Found Pop pretty quickly and hung around with her. Where's Crackle? 10 minutes before race time, she rushes in with daughter Alexis. But wait... it's not Crackle... it's... Santa Claus?!?!?! She may have just qualified for Boston in a youthful manner (over 20 minutes faster than she needed to for her age group--qualified as an 18 year old, in fact) but Teresa really, really sucks at costume design-- no child-like creativity at all. We all had a laugh at her expense then lined up at the start (all in good fun, of course).

Pop was going for time, John the clown was just trying to waddle to the finish (but without his red nose this year because it makes it hard to breathe), so Santa and I ran with Alexis. I learned that my running style can be very compatible with an 11 year old's-- run a bit, walk when you're tired or just want to enjoy the sights, whine when you're thirsty and wonder where the hell the finish line is. We jumped to high-five low hanging branches when we felt like it, marveled at other costumes and soaked in a beautiful fall day along Chicago's lakefront. When Teresa tried to urge Alexis to keep her pace, she was scolded with, "mom, you're doing the child abuse."

Once we hit the three mile marker, Alexis was off in a full-out sprint. Fast!! Teresa and I took off after her, but neither of us could keep up. I should've checked my Garmin to see how fast we were going, but I was trying too hard to beat the kid!! That'll hurt me tomorrow, I'm sure. I think we finished around 40 minutes, but who cares? As we were crossing the finish line, the race announcer said, "here comes Santa-- looks like someone is confused as to which holiday it is!" Perfect! T will never, ever live this one down. It'll be dredged up time and time again as part of our race lore when we all get together and tell stories.

Afterwards, lots and lots of candy. Is there anything better on God's green earth than banana Laffy Taffy?!?! John finished a few minutes after we did-- he was making conversation with a turkey. One of the things I love most about John is that he's crazy; he'll wear any kind of costume. Several people commented and took pictures and he loved every minute of it.

What a great day.

He's okay!

The past week or so has been an emotional rollercoaster. My darling brother-in-law, Tom, was very sick with pneumonia and complications resulting from it. He was hospitalized for about a week, some of it in the ICU. Things were kind of bad for a while.

When something like that happens, I always think about the last conversation I had with the person before they got sick, recalling whether it was a good one or not. In this case, it was. Tom and I always tease each other about our politics and sports (we're on opposite ends of the spectrum-- Democrats and Republicans, Red Sox and Yankees) and in true big brother fashion, he knows how to push all my buttons-- and does. But it's always with affection and good feeling.

On Sunday when he was still in the hospital, I got to talk to him again, and I told him I love him. No making fun of our differences this time.

Today he came home from the hospital and all my everyday struggles at work and with life in general seem much smaller. I think I said in a post this summer that we all should make a point to tell those in our lives how much we care for them. Tommy, I'm glad you're safe. Now I don't have to fake cheer for the Yankees any more. :)

Just sublime

I'm having a fabulous weekend. Took a mini-vacation from work. T and I spent the day together on Friday, went out for a delish lunch at Maxim's, then we boarded the shuttle for our traditional trip to the marathon expo. Saw Katherine Switzer and Hal Higdon, bought only a book and a shirt (look, ma, that's me being a frugalista!)

After a slight auto malfunction which lead to an unplanned run (literally!) to Union Station to pick mom up at Amtrak on Saturday morning (long story....) we had a relaxing day, then went to dinner at Leona's with some friends.

I might as well run the marathon, because it's just as hard to be BFF cheerleader... I'm up all night (well, I fell asleep for about two hours then woke up for good around 3... stared at the ceiling til it was time to call Teresa, wish her a fabulous run and tell her I love her).

Watched the early tv coverage then walked the half-block toTaylor in plenty of time to see the elites go by-- always a thrill-- then my marathoner friends-- even bigger thrill. I get sooo emotional. I felt guilty leaving before the slower runners came by because those are the ones who need the cheering most, but we had a schedule to keep. Took the Blue Line downtown and wound up at Kitty O'Shea's. There's nothing more special than the first glimpse of your best friend's face after she walks in the door after her third consecutive (!!!) Boston Qualifying marathon-- big hugs all around. Uncle Dick was there, too, so we retold the old running stories for about the millionth time (but they're still just as wonderful... except, why does Uncle Dick always bring up August 7, 2005-- my infamous half marathon that ended in the ER at Northwestern?!?!). In the midst of the conversation, T leaned over and said to me, "I couldn't have done it without you." It honestly doesn't get any better than that. That's my medal.

After that, it was on to the theatre to see "Jersey Boys." Watching the look of joy on mom's face as she clapped along to the songs was precious. We all loved the show!! Today, we slept in a bit, had lunch at the Walnut Room, shopped myself silly at Filene's Basement (hey, the frugalista thing only goes so far). Oh yeah, finished the evening tonight by watching the Hawks on tv-- their biggest comeback game ever. And I have another day off tomorrow. Unbelievable.

Something I didn't even know I wanted

I celebrated my birthday last week. True, 46 puts me closer to 50 than to 40, but it was monumental for another reason-- John actually surprised me with my gift. Now, I love him dearly, but that guy simply doesn't have much of an imagination and my gifts are usually pretty predictable. I'm not complaining because one of his comfort zones just happens to be jewelry-- he definitely ascribes to the "you can't go wrong with sapphires" school of thought.

This year, however, he got me an iPhone (cue the chorus of angels). Why an iPhone? I dunno. I never professed more than a passing interest in one. Sure, a bunch of my friends have one, but since I'm wired (both literally and figuratively) so much at work, I tend to resist being "too connected." Despite myself, it's true love. True addiction.

So far, my favorite apps are of the barnyard variety. I have a cow game (you put them in their pens according to their color-- bovine segregation as Veronica so accurately calls it), a chicken game (sort of a word scramble thing) and something truly miraculous called Sheep Launcher. It requires very little skill and dexterity, which makes it perfect for me.

For the past two days, I've been enamored with listening to police radio from various parts of the country (although I always manage to come back to Chicago-- mostly, I think, because I can visualize the locations they're talking about).

Fun stuff. I don't know how I lived without it. Thank you, honey.

The BEST 5K. Ever.

Whoever decided to combine hockey with running is a genius. Today we did the Mad Dash To Madison 5K run, in conjunction with the Blackhawks training camp festival. Before the race, Hawks anthem singer Jim Cornelison (I'm probably botching the spelling of his name) treated us to his rendition of the national anthem-- and just like inside the UC, everyone clapped and cheered the entire time. Also pre-race, we got to meet, shake hands with and talk to Stan Mikita, who signed my singlet. What a bit thrill that was. Wish I would've thought enough to get a picture, too.

Race conditions weren't ideal, but they weren't horrible either... the temps were upper 60's, but the humidity was over 75% and the dreaded sun was out. I went out pretty fast, for me (9:40 for the first mile and comparable for the second), but around 2.5 miles, I started to fade-- too much sun, couldn't breathe. So as much as I wanted to go sub-30, it didn't happen today. Finished at 31:50. Ahh, that's okay. I had more fun just soaking up the atmosphere. Hockey's back!!

After the race, there was an open Blackhawks practice to attend. What fun! We had great seats and nothing beats a juicy hotdog and cold beer at 10:00 in the morning. Let's go Hawks!! Regarding the pictures above, I have no idea what happened to big Buff and friends' uniforms-- they look like the glow in the dark and the ice is a weird, spooky color. But it's pretty cool looking, huh?!

Hampster Patrol Incorporated

Here are some pictures of Baylee (white and gray cat), Sheila (dark cat) and Jessica (redheaded calico cat) gazing longingly at the hampster cage. (The cage is on top of the white storage units.) New friend? Tasty snack? It's up for debate.

Bono!

On Saturday, we went to Soldier Field to see the U2 concert. Since the blue line isn't running from our stop, we walked to Taylor and took a cab to the bottom of "Mount Roosevelt" and walked the rest of the way.

First order of business was to brave the mobs at the t-shirt stand because I MUST have at least one. The older I get, the less I like crowds.

We weren't able to get tickets together and since I'm the bigger fan, I got the best seat. I was in section 136, row 16, seat 19 (on the aisle, which was a mixed blessing). Luckily, most of the people around me were well behaved, except the Eurotrash couple right next to me. Mr. Eurotrash (with slicked back black hair and way, way too much cologne) and Ms. Eurotrash practically had sex right there in front of me, so intense were their makeout sessions (ummm... to the tune of Sunday Bloody Sunday??). When they weren't probing each other's tonsils, Ms. Eurotrash was flailing around like she had some disorder, thereby nailing me in the boob at least twice with her elbow. My hairy eyeball didn't do much, but luckily she traded seats with her love interest, so I was relieved.

John was up in the 338 section, but he said his seats were very good too. And he didn't have the racy seatmates that I had.

What can I possibly say about the concert? I screamed uncontrollably when I first laid eyes on Bono. As always, they put on a terrific show, no holds barred. Although their latest CD isn't really my favorite, the songs are much better live. I was riveted and the two hours or so passed in a heartbeat.

Finding John afterwards wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be, but getting out of the stadium was as difficult as I thought it would be. The worst part of it was on the west side of the Field Museum before you went through the underpass onto the museum campus area. What a bottleneck! We had to walk the whole way to Harrison and Wabash (or thereabouts) to get a cab, so that kind of sucked.

In all, though, what an amazing night. Wow.

Where the Wild Things Are

We didn't start the day thinking we'd get new pets. It just sort of happened that way. Last Saturday we were in Schaumburg shopping-- Woodfield Mall and the like. Before going home, John mentioned that he needed to stop in the pet store to get some supplies for his fish tank. It's a big store and one we don't go to very often, so I opted to come in, too. Right inside the door were hampsters. Not just ANY hampsters-- Siberian Dwarf hampsters. We haven't had hampsters since we were children. So we looked. And they ran in their wheels... gosh, like little marathoners! I felt a weird connection. John was grinning ear to ear. So we bought two. The hampsters were cheap. Their "habitat" (a fancy word for a plastic playland) was not so cheap. They're both males. The smaller dark furred guy we named Jack and the chubby, white furred guy is Teddy (yeah, I admit to carrying my Kennedy fascination a bit too far). The habitat is bi-level... the upper level is reached thru a tube that runs from the lower level, on the outside of their cage. The enclosed running wheel is attached to the outside of the upper level. It's an abode well suited to the hampster version of Better Homes and Gardens. For a short anxious while we thought our hampsters may be not smart enough to climb the tube, but they mastered it after a day or so. There's only been one bite (Teddy on John-- I'm not brave enough to paw at them just yet). They're cute and a lot of fun to watch. The cats think so too.

Goodbye Teddy

I watched Ted Kennedy's memorial service last night and sobbed like it was one of my own relatives or friends. This morning I'll watch the funeral and do the same. I never met Senator Kennedy, nor can I say things about him as eloquently as others on CNN have continuously said. Yet, he's touched me. I grew up in Massachusetts. Every classroom had a picture of JFK. Ted Kennedy was a senator for more years than I've been alive. As a child, I recall someone-- relative, family friend, not sure who-- commenting at every infraction (be it a bad pothole, the cost of milk that week)-- "I'm going to write Senator Kennedy!" It instilled in me a sense that, whatever the problem was, Senator Kennedy could probably fix it. So I guess that's my connection to him, my enduring memory. Tenuous, yes, but nevertheless, a feeling that's been with me my entire life. Whether you agreed with his politics or lifestyle, there's no denying how much he and his family have given to our country. Goodbye, Senator Kennedy. There will never be another one like you.

A weirdly exotic red flower

This is growing alongside John's pond in the backyard. I figured I'd better take a picture of it because they don't last long. I have no idea what it's called, but it's huge-- close to dinner plate size. Pretty cool, huh?

IKEA, I'm glad to see ya!

I think I watch too much HGTV. It can get me into trouble. This time, it is leading to a mini-renovation of the master bathroom. I say "mini" because we're leaving the floor, tile and tub as-is-- eventually, I want to gut the place and go higher-end, but not until we finish wrestling with and conquering the BIG cost of last year's kitchen redo.

So where can you get a fun and funky, but not especially costly new look? Why, IKEA of course! Off we go on Sunday. Just to look. Who am I kidding? In situations such as these, "just looking" most often turns into "let's do it now." I'm pretty decisive when I see what I want. It's a line of their bath "furniture" with a very unpronounceable and equally unspellable Swedish name, so I'll just call it modern and sleek, with birch wood and aluminum. Oh yeah, and we got some of those yummy lemon cookies while we were there.

John successfully tore out the old sink, vanity, medicine cabinet/mirror, towel rod, and over-toilet cabinet on Sunday. Then we painted. Or rather, he painted. I'm not allowed to paint walls and ceilings because I make a mess (fine arts degrees be damned). I did do the trim, though, last night. Looks pretty good. The wall color is sort of a deep aqua and the trim is off-white.

Of course, the beauty of modular furniture from IKEA is that you can combine pieces for many unique and personal looks. The downside of modular furniture is when you forget to buy all the pieces you need for that unique, personal look. So John, bless his soul, will trek again to IKEA tomorrow to get a few more things. We're both slightly afraid of the sink install, but we'll have our contractor's number at the ready, just in case a bad thing happens. In any event, I'm looking forward to having a working bathroom again. For now, I trek downstairs and use the sink in the half bath-- I reluctantly shower in John's bathroom under the risk of catching a fatal disease. His bathroom, I think, was once featured in Squalor Today magazine.

Once everything is done, I'll post some pictures.

Rest in peace, Eunice

I just read that Eunice Kennedy Shriver passed away this morning. Yeah, I know they have their problems, but I'm a huge fan of the Kennedy family (growing up in Massachusetts probably had something to do with it). But, just look at what this woman accomplished in her 88 years on earth. We should all be so giving. I hope her family, friends and associates take comfort in her life well lived... lots of people think they make the world a better place, but she really did.

Look who John's sleeping with

Is this a Kodak moment, or what? Apparently, Baylee can tolerate his snoring better than I can!

Progress... a little bit

So today I forced myself to paint for 45 minutes. My distaste for this painting is almost a physical thing. Nonetheless, I'll complete it. My thought process during today's session:

- Gotta ground these dudes soon. The fact that they're floating is really starting to bother me.

- Quit fussin' with the details! The two smallest figures are less than 8 inches tall. No way is every tendon gonna be perfect.

- Gotta put another coat of green on the negative space (and the two-tone thing's gonna go). The unevenness of it is distracting me.

- This one's NOT fun.

- One day I should learn how to use a camera. I'm a sucky photographer and if I could avoid making a bad painting look worse when I shoot it, it would probably do my psyche a world of good.

On a completely different subject... I discovered coconut M&Ms today. Yum.

A race, an orphan and the band

Yesterday was a busy day. We started by running the Teb's Troops March on Melanoma 5K on the lakefront. Because of various issues related to the UTI I had earlier in the month, I hadn't run at all in two weeks, so I had no idea how I'd fare. The weather conditions were less than ideal, too. Temps were cool enough (mid 70's) but the sun was bright (nasty, nasty sun-- especially along the lakefront) and the humidity was in the 80% range. They switched the course last minute--- usually it goes south and back, but they changed it to a northern course. And I was wearing an even-numbered bib, which I hate. Sigh. But the first mile felt very, very good and I felt the familiar euphoria set in. Finished it in 9:32, which is tremendous for me (I'm a slower than average runner). Second mile, I was still clockin' along at a 10:18 pace. That's when the bottom dropped out. Legs and back felt fine, but the heat was starting to get to me and my breathing was off. So I slowed. Walked in places. The third mile or so was a disappointing 11:45. Official results aren't in yet, but according to my Garmin, I finished in 32:19. Ahhhh, not my best but given the circumstances, I'll take it. Teresa, however, placed second overall in the women's race. She's lightning fast, but not arrogant or snooty about it. Go Teresa!

After a quick shower, it was off again to see the movie "Orphan." Sitting in front of us was a woman with... what?!... a little boy probably 5 or 6 years old. I'm not sure, but I don't think it's very good parenting to allow your small child to see another small child character graphically bludgeon a nun to death with a hammer-- among other things. Mother of the Year helpfully placed her hands over the kid's eyes and ears to spare him from the horror onscreen, but the kid was loudly wimpering. After a glare from me and a not-subtle comment, they moved further down the aisle. Now the little boy could be further terrified by the next scene of gore and could distract and annoy other appropriately-aged viewers. After about 45 minutes they left the theater, hopefully to see the flick about the talking guinea pigs. This is one of the many reasons why I don't go to the movies very often. People can be so stupid.

Finally, we hit Taste of Lincoln Avenue. Again, more stupid people, this time wall-to-wall drunk Lincoln Park Trixies. After eating some very bad potato pancakes and some very tasty chicken pot stickers, we settled in to watch 7th Heaven. You remember my crushes?! About halfway through the show, Keith took off his shirt. He's very small in stature... very young looking. But his skin's perfect. I was mentally reviewing my artist's anatomy syllabus to identify all of the clearly defined muscles and bones in his torso. But... gosh, he's little. I wasn't sure whether I should be lusting after him or offering him a sippy cup and a teddy bear.

Best goodie bag ever!

Yesterday we picked up our race packet and goodie bag for the Teb's Troops March on Melanoma 5K race we're doing on Sunday. In addition to a gorgeous course and great cause, this race has an impressive goodie bag. Let's look:

FULL size products: Rice Krispie Treats bar, Vaseline Intensive Rescue Healing Hand Cream, Lipton Cup-a-Soup Chicken Noodle (4 packet box), Lipton White Tea To Go (10 packet box), Knorr Pasta Sides Cheesy Cheddar, Lipton Green Tea (18 tea bags), Vaseline Lip Therapy, Carmex, Skippy Creamy Peanut Butter.

Trial Size products: single serving bowl of Kellog's Frosted Flakes, Purse Pack of Q-Tips (30 swabs), Axe Shower Gel, Axe Deodorant, Dove Cool Moisture Shampoo, Dove Go Fresh Conditioner, Degree Deodorant, Caress Body Wash.

Feels like I just made a trip to the grocery store!

As for the race, seeing that I haven't run at all in almost two weeks because of remnants from my bout with a UTI, the jury's out on how well (or poorly) I'll do.

Thursday Night at Wrigley Field

Thursday night we went to Wrigley Field to see Billy Joel and Elton John. Our seats were just to the right of home plate and about halfway up-- would've been amazing for a Cubs game-- but Elton and Billy were mere specks in the outfield. Thank goodness for jumbotron! Still, it would've been worth the $55 a piece just to be at Wrigley Field on a beautiful summer evening. Temps were cool and breezy and I thoroughly enjoyed the twilight air-- seeing just a peek of the lake and the setting sun glimmering off the high rises. Amazing!

What can I say about the music? These are songs I grew up with. I remember feeling oh so badass senior year at Bishop Carroll HS when we sang aloud the lyrics to "Only the Good Die Young" in the cafeteria at a Friday night dance. One of the first things I drew in college was a graphite rendering of the cover of the "Glass Houses" album (yep, vinyl in those days). And Elton John-- who didn't watch Princess Diana's funeral and shed a tear during "Candle In the Wind"?

They performed for over 3 hours. And I only spent 18 minutes of that time waiting in line for the ladies' room. The only bad part of the evening was navigating through the crowd as everyone headed toward the Red Line after the show... it got a little claustrophobic.

And, yes, I was one of those idiots who actually paid $40 for a t-shirt that I'll hardly ever wear. Everything's a shopping opportunity.

Piano Men

I'm very excited. Tonight we go to Wrigley Field to see Billy Joel and Elton John in concert. I just read on Wikipedia that in 1970 Billy Joel tried to commit suicide by drinking furniture polish. Brilliant musician? Definitely. Smart man? Not so much...

New Glasses

Yesterday my new glasses arrived. Unlike most people, I really like wearing glasses. Sure, they're annoying when it's rainy and they fog up, or when I'm running, but for the most part, I view them as 1) a fashion accessory and 2) another shopping opportunity. Faced with a deliciously wide selection this time around (Kenneth Cole trunk show at the optical place downstairs in our building at work!!), I was completely unable to choose just one. So I got two. And that was a concession. What do you think? I personally like the black and white ones best-- the other ones are purple metallic but the color doesn't show up well in the photo. Excuse the grim face... I'm not usually that serious, but it was early morning and I hadn't had my Diet Pepsi yet. But, hey, my hair looks kinda cute and that certainly doesn't happen every day.

All's Fair in Love and Stamp Shopping

I haven't bought a greeting card in over 5 years. One of my favorite and most rewarding hobbies is making hand-made cards, using mostly rubber stamps. This morning I was perusing the website of one of my favorite local stores, Stamp On In (www.stamponin.net-- Chicagoans, you should go there) in Lincoln Park, when I saw a set of stamps that I HAD to have. So I immediately send the link to Dean, who agreed that the stamps were indeed beyond wonderful.

Moments later, we decided to take a cab there at lunchtime. The store is owned by a guy named Terry and his partner, Rick. Rick teaches most of the classes and designs a lot of their display cards. He's immensely talented and I'm, quite frankly, in complete awe of him. This man ROCKS. Seriously. Once we got to the store (only a $12 cab ride!) I focused my attention on finding "the" set, while Dean lingered at the front of the store, looking at this and that. Suddenly, there it was. #99109 Patterned Pets, by Inkadinkado. They had ONE set left. A generous, kind person would defer to her friend. I am not that generous or kind. I snatched it in my hot little hands and called it MINE! I feel sort of bad about it, but I'll get over it. Fear not, though. Dean did not suffer-- she found plenty of other tidbits to purchase. We had a nice time, and must've told Rick about a million gazillion times how creative and talented he is. Stamp groupies!!!

A strange coincidence

So, today was a slow day at work. Veronica was standing by my desk and we were chatting. Veronica knows more about celebrities than anyone I know, so the conversation often turns in that direction. We were discussing the King of Pop's upcoming funeral when my phone rang. The display eerily read Mr. Jackson. Michael? From the grave? No. Melvin. From the Help Desk.

Sick Days

I've been home from work for the past two days with a urinary tract infection. Here's what I've learned:

1. There are so many random things on television. Yesterday I watched about 2 straight hours of a game show on Discovery called "Cash Cab." Strangely addicting.
2. Cipro is a strong antibiotic. I haven't eaten a full meal in over two days. Maybe I'll win the most weight lost in one week at Weight Watchers tomorrow. Lookin' for a silver lining here.
3. I still cry like a baby when I'm sick. I still think I will get every side effect of every medication. I abuse Webmd.com.
4. I truly miss the social aspects of work. Today's Knitting Day and I'm missing it. Our resident superstar Aidan has been attending knitting lately and we all bask in his glory. Poor Aidan usually spends a portion of his lunchtime guiding the rest of us through our knitting woes. I come to knitting on the short bus. I dare not work on the crucial part of my sweater at home without Aidan to rescue me if (when) I need it.
5. Certain music can make you feel better. Today I've listened to the following tunes on my iPod:
Cellophane by 7th Heaven - crushes do not die when you are ill
Amanda by Boston - nostalgic!
Chelsea Dagger by The Fratellis. Song played during Blackhawks goals this year. This one's guaranteed to induce happiness.
Trapped in Your Lies by Godhead. Their best song ever.
Sweet Child 'O Mine by Guns 'N Roses. The nostalgia thing again.
Chicken Huntin' by Insane Clown Posse. Very un-PC lyrics, but catchy. Thanks, Mason, for introducing me and Bock to this one.
Get On Your Boots by U2. Everything's better with Bono.
6. I think the cats resent me being home. They will not let me nap. I'm so tired I'm delirious.

Unplugged?

Today John wants to go to the Strawberry Festival in Long Grove. Long Grove's an historic village less than a hour northwest (I guess, I'm kind of bad with directions) of Chicago. It has nice little shops (shopping!) and some quaint restaurants. Also appearing at the Fest today is-- surprise-- 7th Heaven (I picked a really good band to crush on... it seems they're performing at almost EVERY local fest, so they'll be where we are without much effort on our part).

However, I jumped on their website and noticed that this particular show is going to be unplugged. Unplugged? Not sure I'm going to like that. To me, "unplugged" brings back memories of second grade, sitting in a circle while the teacher with the shag haircut gently strummed "Puff the Magic Dragon." No. I don't want my concerts to be gentle. Although I usually shun excess noise in all its forms, concerts are different. They're supposed to be loud. Boisterous. High energy. Not musical Ambien. I expect to leave with a headache, a throat raw from screaming and possibly a sunburn.

The jury's out on this one. And I don't know what to wear (but that's a whole other crisis).

Meet Bock

I really like chickens. It all started several years ago. At work, we were between directors. While it was nice not having anyone micromanaging your every move, it was equally frustrating to not have a "higher power" to go to for authoritative decisions. So one day I *bought* us a boss-- meet Bock Bock, Chief Marketing Chicken. Bock does a lot for our department-- he appears at meetings, he tests the online registration form for our seminars, he has an official bio -- went to Purdue University (of course). One of Bock's key functions is a symbolic and morale boosting one; he is responsible for enhancing birthday celebrations within the Marketing Department. On the day of a birthday, with much fanfare Bock dons his festive birthday hat and spends the day at the desk of the lucky birthday celebrant. It's a huge and greatly anticipated honor. On Thursday, we celebrated Joe's birthday. Bock played his role as expected and was duly returned to his "office" at my desk at the end of the day. There are no words to describe the visual of the serious-minded Director of Marketing walking down the hall carrying a stuffed chicken in a party hat. It was, as they say, priceless.

Any progress is some progress...

Spent about 3 hours with the painting today. I learned my lesson with 10 p.m. (see link to my online gallery) so I decided to deal with the negative space BEFORE the actual images are finished. I always come into the painting with a preconceived notion for the negative space-- it's kind of intuitive. For this one, I chose Permanent Green Light right out of the tube (I use Golden Acrylics). I rarely use raw color, but this just felt right. The slight color shift towards the three figures on the left was an impulse, though. Nothing's ever too "precious" for me to experiment with, especially at this stage of the game. Sometimes it pays off. Sometimes it doesn't.

I was taking a break... just staring at it while listening to some Van Halen when I decided to go for it. Mixed the PGL with Hansa Yellow Medium. It's subtle, probably too subtle. Not sure if I like it. And the green's nowhere near flat enough yet. I'll live with it for a while before reaching a final conclusion-- I can always take it back to the original color. But at least with the background established, I'll understand more about the proper tonality for the figures. I fixed some of the bad contours with the green paint, while I made some of it worse. I do plan on grounding them, too, at the end. In all, it's nice to take a few steps forward.

Talkin' hockey (or not) with the book club ladies

Last night after work, I went to book club. We eat first at Jury's on Lincoln. At dinner, someone noted that I had rejoined society after the Penguins' Stanley Cup win (snaps, girls, for actually knowing WHO won the Cup). I was about to enthusiastically launch into a recap of the 2009 playoffs when I realized that these folks really did not want to explore the wonders of Evgeni Malkin with me. Where are the people who *do* want to go there?!?! :(

The book discussion was lively, as usual. We talked about Gang Leader for a Day by Sudhir Venkatesh. The general consensus was that gangs are bad and poverty sucks. Of course, we were much more erudite than that; these are smart women I hang with. The highlight may have been someone's observation (perhaps Jackie's?) that the brutal infighting among gang members is very similar to what goes on among women who sell Mary Kay Cosmetics. That's priceless. That's why I like these folks so much.

It was also fabulous to see Suellen. She's going through some challenges and is handling them with her usual wisdom and wit. We could all learn a lot from Suellen's "grace under pressure." And her iPod playlist completely blows me away-- love ya, sjm!!

312, singing, dancing and running

Today was Summerfest in Lincoln Park. Yep, I slid into groupie mode once again and had another foray into 7th Heaven. Today's count-- two band members spoke directly to me during the show and one looked at me. Right as the concert was starting, lead singer Keith Semple said something like, "your only job this afternoon is to smile the whole time... like YOU are!" and he pointed at me. Yep, I was grinnin' from ear to ear because I was having a supremely good time. I like dark-haired musical little Irish boys a whole lot. Yesindeedydo.

Later Nick Cox said to me, "oh,YOU know this one!" after I screamed when he started singing The Outfield's "Your Love." I have absolutely no musical ability at all, but I understand that it's very hard for most guys to sing the high notes, so I appreciate that talent when I see and hear it. Wowzie. And I love that song.

Finally, during another song, the blond surfer-looking guy with the really cut muscles (I think his name is Mark) caught me looking at him and grinned. This groupie stuff is a lot of fun!! Maybe next time we see them, I can summon the courage to actually go up to them after the show and talk to them. Maybe. John thinks my whole regression to age 15 is the ultimate in hilariousness. Whatever!!!! :)

Food at the Fest was kind of disappointing... not a whole lot there. But they had cold 312s to drink, so I had a couple of them. Saw another fun band-- The Breakfast Club-- who did 80's covers, complete with punk hair and animal-print costumes. Singing and dancing for almost 3 hours straight was a lot of work, and I'm nearly deaf from being so close to the speakers, but it was a blast! We walked thru the zoo a bit, too.

Came home and felt really, really guilty for not running all weekend, so I jumped on the treadmill for a 5K. Blah.... drinking, singing, dancing does NOT make for a good run. I felt every bit of my 45 years and then some. But at least I did it. I'll take that for now. After 4 weeks of very mediocre runs, I'm feeling a bit disappointed in my efforts, so I need to somehow reinvigorate that portion of my life. I think I need to sign up for a race.

Tattoo me, part 2

So we're there and back. How do you like?? Ha-- fake!! It's not real; it's just a sleeve. But it fooled two of the tattoo artists at the show. And it almost fooled John. The first thing he said to me when he saw me was "that better be a henna thing that washes off...." We had a blast. The other picture above is of our new friend Reverend Goat, a tattoo artist from Colorado who did some beautiful work. Other highlights included watching a man get his nipple pierced and a guy getting his cheek (right under his eye) pierced. We also saw a man with three gauges in each ear, and another guy with nails going from his eyebrow to his upper cheekbone (essentially "caging" his eyes-- his trips to the optometrist must be very interesting). Both Veronica and I really, really wanted more tattoos, but we resisted. I know what I want for my second tattoo and I'm 99% sure of where I want it, so it'll most likely happen some time this summer. Stay tuned...

Tattoo me?

Today Veronica and I are going to the Tattoo and Body Art Expo at Navy Pier. Mom, Dawn and Mary all jumped down my throat with horror.... "are you going to get a TATTOO?!?!" Ummm, I already have one (see above). I got it at Jade Dragon after I ran the marathon in 2006. I also have a diamond stud in my left nostril (no, it didn't hurt... but the tattoo did-- immensely). C'mon, pleeeeze... this stuff is so mainstream nowadays. I do want another tattoo, but probably not this weekend. Our intention is merely sightseeing. Freaks and weirdos-- may there be lots of them.

My social life is really taking a toll on my running this week. Lately I can't focus on more than one thing at a time. I remember in grad school at IUP I saw an art film called Koyaanisqatsi. That's a Hopi word that, loosely translated, means "life out of balance." That's how I feel now. And I'm a libra-- we're supposed to be completely balanced. Sheesh. Must fix.

Haven't worked on the painting in a few days, either (see June 16 post below), but I have a remedy in mind for the crappy underdrawing. I'm going to thin some gesso and essentially white it out, then redraw it with pastel. Take my time this time. Follow the principals of detail that jazz me so much.

So... not really running much, not really painting much... but having lots of good times with good friends. Looking at it that way, it's not a bad thing, is it? I'll work through the balance.

When Mothra came to my house

Moths are super scary. I don't know why. Yesterday, as I was approaching my front door after a long day at work (and a ride home on the CTA with the usual cast of crazies), I noticed a moth the size of my hand (okay, slight exaggeration) trapped between the security door and the front door. The mail slot was ajar from the postman trying to shove too many sales flyers through at one time, so I'm guessing that's how it got in. It stopped me dead in my tracks as I considered... what to do? Should I go next door and get our neighbor Gary to de-moth for me? Something told me he'd probably laugh at me.

So I just stood there for a while. Thinking maybe I could just wait it out. Let it do whatever it needed to do and then fly on home. I didn't know what it was capable of or what its intentions were. I yelled at it in my best outdoor voice, "go away." Apparently it cannot obey simple commands; must be a male. Oh wait, Mothra speaks Japanese, right? So it's a language barrier issue. Next I swung my purse at the door to maybe startle it. Nothing.

I stood there a while longer before coming to the ultimate conclusion that sooner or later I'd have to open the door. So I put the hood of my jacket up (they fly into your hair, or is that bats?), placed the key into the lock and opened the door while turning my body sideways and closing my eyes very tightly. Then I looked. It was gone.

Betcha my heart rate was faster for that encounter than it ever gets during a 5K race.

Kindness and struggle

We have a "situation" at work. Nothing serious, just something that-- too often-- causes my Annoyance Alert System to be elevated to red. Today was such a day. But then in the midst of it all, I got an e-mail from a friend with some really sweet "you're appreciated" sentiments. At that particular moment in time, I really needed it... and was moved almost to tears by his kind words (which, given how emotional I am, isn't *that* hard to do). It got me thinking, though, about how rarely we let those who matter KNOW they matter. And how an offhand remark which seems so insignificant can have the power to turn a bad day completely on its head. I'm going to try to "pay it forward" and wear my heart on my sleeve more often... it will probably look good there.

That's today's kindness. Today's struggle is the painting. I've come to the conclusion that I really rushed the underdrawing and it has some major flaws. I won't point them out because they're fixable with paint-- hopefully. I should be able to pull it off, but it's distracting me. This one's definitely not giving me that shiny, happy feeling. The next project lurking in my creative offstage is tantalizing me, but I WILL NOT start it until this is finished. Hopefully that'll serve as a motivational tool.

I'm a slacker girl...

This is the start of my latest painting. It has looked this way for, oh, probably a year. It's based on a photo of a group of random people I took at the start of a race a while ago and I just sort of lost interest. John often tells me that I have the attention span of a gnat. I kind of do sometimes. So I dragged out my easel in the hopes that it'll guilt me into finishing it. I'm taking out my paints RIGHT NOW (well, as soon as I grab something to eat). Feel free to nag me about how/if I'm progressing on it.

So, this is today's run "in heaven"

Three miles on the treadmill in 30:59. Yeah, yeah, I know I'm slow, but it's *kinda* fast for me. I recently bought a Garmin Forerunner 205, which makes me run outside more (I'm not always a huge fan of nature), but today's run was inside, at home, on the treadmill. It was raining and my creature comfort trumped gadget geekness. Plus, my usual neighborhood running route goes right by my chiropractor's office... since I cancelled my appointment tonight, I didn't want to risk "being sighted."

I have a portable DVD player set up on the shelf by my treadmill and it is a godsend! Today's viewing enjoyment was a concert DVD of the local indie band "7th Heaven." They're my recent obsession. John and I went to Wells Street Art Festival on Sunday, and they played there. We saw them at Festa Italiana last year and really liked them, and I liked them even more this time. We followed the crowd and at lead singer Keith Semple's request, got right smack up in front of the stage (I coulda touched them if I wanted to... and I kinda did want to... but I was a lady and kept my hands to myself). I fear I may turn into a groupie. All of the guys in this group are beyond gorgeous!! During one of the songs-- gasp-- the lead singer locked eyes with me!!!! Yes, I'm old enough to have been his babysitter... and I know enough about marketing to know they get paid to engage the audience... Still, it was H-O-T!!! And they helped me get thru my run tonight. So thank you, 7th Heaven. Here's their website if you want to check them out (and you should): http://7thheavenband.com/

Why am I doing this?

Hockey season is over and I'm bored. It's that simple. I can do what I usually do when I have too much time on my hands-- watch bad tv (dive into Bravo and don't emerge til September)-- but this summer is going to be different. I am going to attempt to take the things I used to do a lot more of-- creative writing and painting-- and recommit to them. Thank you, Bonnie, for inspiring me to go back to writing. Thank you, mom, Susie and Mary for encouraging me to pick up the paintbushes again. So here goes nothing... not sure exactly what I'm going to write about, but I'll figure that out as I go along. Come along for the ride... I'll try to make it at least mildly entertaining.