Frosted

As I sit this morning--after our first frost last night-- in sweats, with a blanket on my lap, hot cup of home brewed Starbucks nearby, enjoying the scent of my pumpkin spice candle, it seems the perfect time to get something off my chest. Last year, after a bizarre foot of snow in October, we barely had a winter. At all. Not a single snow day! And, well, I'm still a little frosted about it....

But something tells me, this mid-October morning, to let that anger go, because this year will be different. 

Rocking On

The other day I was mentioning to my sister Liz that I wish I had kept a running list of concerts I’ve gone to in my life. We are both devoted list and journal keepers, but way back when it never occurred to us to start a list of concerts we’ve attended. I think I could name everyone I’ve seen—from AC/DC to Pearl Jam, Peter Frampton to Earth, Wind and Fire—but I know I’ve seen some performers/bands/artists multiple times. I’m just not sure how many. And although I probably have all the ticket stubs—some taped in journals, others in various memory boxes or old wallets—I don’t have a list to which I can refer. I would guess a hundred or so total, but I cannot assign for certain a number to the Peter Gabriel concert I am going to tomorrow night.

I know.

Peter Gabriel.

O.M. G.

I can tell you I saw him about ten years ago—at the same, small venue—and it was one of my favorite shows. So I’m really, really looking forward to seeing him again tomorrow night. He’s one of my favorites. And while I would give anything to see John Cusack come out on stage with a boom box to begin “In Your Eyes” as he did at the Hollywood Bowl (I know, didn’t that just give you chills?) I will enjoy every song he performs from So on this tour of its 25th anniversary.

Yep. And that’s how long I’ve been going to concerts. And then some. But it has been a while since I’ve been to one.

Long enough that I needed to download a Zippo lighter app last night.

Yeah, I did.

So I can rock on.

I Love It, I Love It Not...Kids at a Bar

I'm not naive. I'm not a prude. And I'm not anti-kid, even though I'm a PWOK. I'm just an adult who chooses to sit at the bar for grown-up time.

So it's more than not wanting to have to give your a kid a compliment. Oh, how precious, Or precocious.  My nieces and nephews know their way around a menu too and can politely order their meals with please and thank you--in the dining room. It's just that I don't want to eat my meal and sip my wine to the thump-thump of your kid banging his foot against the bar or to need to censor my language after a stressful (more often than not) day at work. Moreover, I feel for the parents who have paid for babysitters so they can have a grown-up night out and end up sitting near your kids instead.

So I'm not judging you or telling you how to raise your kids. Not really anyway.

I don't go to Chuck E Cheese and expect a quiet, peaceful evening. I don't go to Chuck E Cheese at all. I know that as an adult without kids to chaperone, it's not where I belong. I wish, then, that you would understand that your kids don't belong bellied up to the bar where one is required to be twenty-one to order a drink.

Politics, Polls, and Proms

For those of you who know me personally, or who were reading four years ago, you already are aware I am a political junkie. I cried when Tim Russert died as if he were a personal friend (meaning I wept) and I love Chris Matthews as much as I loved Tim. Eugene Robinson? Michael Isikoff? Dream dates for a midlife prom. Rachel Maddow? C'mon, now! She's brilliant and she mixes a mean cocktail.

I read and a get a laugh daily from Elinor Lipman (fellow Simmons alumna, writing teacher and favorite author/hero) and her rhyming political tweets (200 of which are now available in paperback as Tweet Land of Liberty: Irreverent Rhymes from the Political Circus), and text with my friend Candyce (also a Simmons College alum, fellow political junkie and long time friend) multiple times a day.

When Brian Williams signs off at 6:59, I tune into msnbc. I watched the conventions, respond aloud to political ads the way people talk get worked up about football games, have the debates scheduled on my iCloud calendar, and will be glued to the TV on Election Day. After, of course, I get home from the polls.

So tonight just after I put down my cell phone (having signed off from a text conversation with Candyce during which we planned a FaceTime debrief on Thursday after the Wednesday night debate), when my house phone rang during The Chris Matthews Show I wasn't sure I wanted to answer. So I glanced up at my TV to check caller ID. I saw this: Quinnipiac University.

OMG!!! Me?! You want me to respond to your poll? Well, yeah, of course! I think I just died and that midlife prom got rescheduled to heaven!

I didn't say that to the pollster, of course. (Well, not all of that.) But I did answer each and every question truthfully, honestly, and proudly. Now I can't wait to see the next, latest Quinnipiac Poll results.

May as well hand over that sash and tiara, because it feels about the same.

[Heavy Sigh] From My Heavy Heart

Three weeks--to the day--after we buried my aunt Irene, I got a phone call early in the morning that my Uncle John had passed away overnight. Two weeks prior he had been given a prognosis of two months, but the day before he passed the hospice nurse estimated that he had only 24-36 hours left. Those of us who could, went.

So fast, we all said. So much loss. Donna, Ciocia, now Stryjek. So devastating. I'm so glad I got to say goodbye, I thought.

Over the next several days as we mourned together and consoled each other, I talked about the couple of hours I was able to share with my uncle and members of my family the night before he passed. They were two of the saddest, most heartwrenching hours of my life: crying with his grandchildren, praying as my aunt told him it was okay to let go, seeing my Dad kiss his younger brother goodbye.  "Dobra noc, Janek," he said. Goodnight, John. Yet I also knew there was something inherently blessed and wonderful about those hours, about being a part of a family that shares and loves one another so much.

I try to to hold onto that as I go through my days lately, as I try to move forward and be positive in the face of all this loss and sadness. We have each other, I think. I have an amazing family. 

And then, Please let us be done. No one else. Please. 

PWOKs

When I was in my twenties, and teaching wellness and balance to college students, I was much better at maintaining balance myself. But it seems these past few years I have gotten way out of whack. These days my wellness wheel couldn’t make it an inch down the street. There is nothing rounded or balanced about it most days.

So I’ve been giving that some thought lately, especially after starting back at school, at this job we are so privileged and honored to have (more on that in another post). And though not an epiphany of Oprah proportions, it occurred to me that PWOKS (People without Kids) like me probably have a harder time finding it. Balance, that is.

Parents have built in shut-off valves to get them away from their jobs and thinking about their jobs: their kids. And their kids' schedules. Without a daughter to pick up at piano lessons at 5 and dinner to get on the table by 6 so a son can make it to karate at 7 on time, it seems to me the stress of work can settle in and fill up the rest of your day.

And yes, I totally understand that parents would gladly give over their shuttling duties sometimes for a little peace and quiet and alone time….but my point is that alone time is not always peaceful for some PWOKs like me. And Amy. And Deanna.

Don’t worry, I’m not going to go and have myself a kid. And I’m probably not going to offer to pick your kids up from practice, but I am going to attempt a little more balance, to try to do a couple things not related to school—or Zynga or watching politics on TV—every day. (Resume writing? Definitely allowed.)

This should be fun.

Crockpot Challenge

Early in the summer I decided to challenge myself to use my Crock Pot this summer--twice. I could make a recipe I know to be good, but one of them had to be something new.

I had heard a Food Network Star talk about the Crock Pot being an underused tool in the summer, and thought hmmm, that makes sense to me. Generally associated with roasts and comfort food, and relegated to fall and winter (guilty), it cooks without heating up the kitchen--a bonus in summer. And just as coming home to a roast dinner after school/work in the winter delights the senses, coming home to a meal after a day at the beach or the pool rocks. Right? Only thing between you and dinner is a shower. Maybe a fresh roll. No sweating over a stove or grill. Works for me.

Well, I got right on my self-imposed challenge and tried a new recipe. I made buffalo chicken and was happy with the results. So were Liz, Jim, Deanna, and Chris who all got a sample. (Unfortunately it didn't really photograph well.)

And then the summer got away from me. Fortunately, I am my mother's daughter and had a 3 pound shoulder roast in the freezer. (Get this: it was on sale for 1.99/pound, and had a $2 off sticker on it because it was the end of the sale week, so I only paid $4.63 for it!) Aware that I had not met my Crock Pot challenge and had only this weekend left to do so, I took the roast out to thaw earlier this week.

As I write, I'm less than eight hours away from a bbq pulled pork sandwich. So I'm off to the store for some fresh rolls and cole slaw and then headed to the pool with my hilarious book.

Challenge complete.

last time it looked like this