see as i saw

Some people do Halloween-related activities on October 31, I get my hair cut.  Maybe it's just me, but I would consider giving up coffee and chocolate if it was feasible and convenient to have someone at a salon wash my hair every day.

Although many females tie their identity closely to their hair, I think that I may take that relationship to a higher level.  I've never strongly embraced most girly qualities.  My ears aren't pierced, I only wear dresses and heels on certain occasions, and makeup is not a line item in my budget.  But I've always been tied to my long, flowing locks.

So, despite a passing fancy to chop my hair, I went the less drastic route.  It's shorter, but still long. I don't have bangs, but I have some short face framing layers.  Maybe one day I'll pull the trigger.  For now, though, my long hair still feels like my calling card and my sturdiest attachment to femininity.

Let's face it, the odds of me trading my locks for mascara are still looking pretty slim as I approach age 30.

Something I've been asking myself in recent weeks is when a comfort zone is detrimental and when it's necessary for sanity.  In 2012, I've both left a comfort zone because it was making me more miserable than content and longingly wished for an abundance of novelty and motion in my life to end.

In isolation, I can see the value of each event and experience taking place in my life.  When they're strung together in such a way that I can't find time to decompress or find rhythm, their value feels a bit obscured.

So I'm embarking on a mission to seek balance.  It's apparent when I start to slip; my photo quality is debatable and I have to strain for something to write about.  I don't want to return to the comfort zone that left me miserable, but I can find a new one somewhere in between then and now.  I'll just ensure that I build in scenic routes and field trips outside of this comfort zone.

There are a lot of crazy things going on around me, in the macro sense of the word.  It's causing me to stop and put things into perspective.  Despite the imperfections in my immediate life situation, I'm safe, warm and dry.  Sure, the winds are strong and the mercury is low in Chicago, but I don't have to be stressed about evacuating my home or being stranded.  There are no earthquakes, tsunamis or hurricanes beating down my door.

And then there are the unnatural disasters, those caused by people.  It's difficult to read or watch the news without running across these.  I hate to hear that Chicago's homicide rate is through the roof or that a gunmen is sniping at highway drivers in the community that I grew up.  There are so many examples thrown at us for sensationalism, to strike fear, and occasionally for genuine warning.

It's feasible that all of this could drag you down and make you think there's no purpose, disaster is everywhere you turn.  Instead you have to temper the presence of the negativity and also inject it alongside a dose of perspective, remembering to be grateful for the moment that you're in.

Our generation jokingly refers to our "first world problems" with memes and hashtags.  But real devastation can also hit our first world lives.  I spent a lot of time being distracted by an unsettled feeling today.  A little yoga session actually helped me connect the dots.  Now instead of taking my warmth and safety for granted tonight, I'm feeling genuinely grateful and hoping that I can pay that sentiment forward.

I have a hobby.  It's called planning trips, and it involves the enthusiastic perusal of various guidebooks.  So I decided to partake in a little preliminary scouting trip to the book store this afternoon.  Honestly, all I was after was a descriptive breakdown of the areas in and around San Juan, Puerto Rico.  You know, touristy and developed versus quiet and untamed.

That mission was accomplished, but with an interesting twist of events.  As I sat enmeshed in my travel-centric bubble, an elderly gentleman with a walker approached the leather armchair next to me and claimed the spot.  Every once in a while I could hear him emit an effortful grunt as he repositioned or a small burp as he drank his coffee.  As soon as he said, "Excuse me, Miss?", I knew he was talking to me.

He wanted to know if I was taking a trip to Puerto Rico.  When I affirmed, he began to draw out a slow sequence of thoughts on places he thought I might enjoy.  As he tried to describe the forest to me, I mentioned that I had been to Costa Rica.  I think that's when he decided I was a kindred spirit.

I soon learned that he had also been to Costa Rica and that he really loved the vibrancy of Rio.  There was a touch of emotion in his voice and gaze when he commented on his connection to time spent in the Amazon.  I listened attentively until we both lapsed back into our books.

When it came time to leave, I made eye contact and smiled, intending to tell him to have a good evening.  But he had one more nugget for me.  He told me that if I ever found someone to travel with me, I should make a point to fly into Cuzco and make my way to Machu Picchu.  I assured him that this was already on my bucket list and we bade one another farewell.

In the same moment, I felt both sad and affirmed.  It struck me that his adventuring days were over, although not by choice.  I didn't want to think about the fact that this infatuation of mine can come to any end.  On the other hand, his passion was still so palpable as he spoke and overflowed with a need to share.

I'm already like that now; I imagine that maybe some day when I'm approaching 80 years old, I'll be just as eager to throw my two cents in the mix.  Although by then there may be no such thing as book stores as a locale for my conversation starter.  That's another sad thought that I won't dare tread on right now.

My favorite part of the Halloween season is candy corn.  With the increase in demand, stores seem more likely to have fresh stock.  I'm known to indulge in full bags of fresh candy corn without even resenting the sick feeling I get afterward.  Everything else about Halloween, I can take it or leave it.  Mostly I prefer to leave it.

If I were to guess, I'd say that I peaked out with Halloween after fourth grade.  I know, I'm a real Debbie Downer.  Maybe there just wasn't any higher pinnacle for me than that year of dressing like female baseball players from A League of Their Own with a few of my friends.  After that, most costume choices are a blur of pulling random mismatched clothes out of closets merely so that people would toss candy in my pillowcase still.

Everything about Halloween costumes was relatively counter to my natural tendencies even as an adolescent.  Trying to be something that I'm not just didn't hold appeal.  Then I hit young adulthood and realized that celebrating this holiday would consist of navigating through myriad girls dressed as some sort of "slutty (fill in the blank)".  Even if it was acceptable for me to not participate in what's become a social norm, I couldn't handle spending nights surrounded by it.

As it turns out, I can also think of ways that I'd rather spend the $50-100 that people regularly invest in this outfit that they'll wear for six hours.  For example, the guy I passed in the stairwell as I headed back up to my apartment tonight.  He was wearing a nylon Biggest Loser fat suit.  Odds that he'll wear that again?  Slim to none.  People aren't into repeats for the next year; they have to out-perform themselves.

Maybe one day I'll live in a neighborhood where innocent children dressed at superheroes come giggling and yelling "Trick or Treat!", and I happily distributed fun size candy bars (or whatever hypo-allergenic, non-food item is consider acceptable to the parents of 21st century children).  Until then, I'll continue to have disdain for a weekend that means little more to my peers than drunken debauchery and overpriced, underclothed ensembles.

Bah humbug and goodnight.

My photos have a tendency to trend with the seasons.  Hence, excessive photos of colorful leaves this autumn.  I can't help it, that's what speaks to me.

Something that I've noticed throughout four years in the city, that never occurred to me prior to moving here, is the people who prematurely dress for deep winter.  I'll admit that today's weather, a dip of 30 degrees since yesterday, seemed rather drastic.  Yet, the sun was shining and I still fared just fine in my UnderArmour sweatshirt when I went for a walk.


When you're living in Chicago, you have to uphold a sense of progression in your winter wear.  When the temperature dips below 60, I'll start breaking out my fleece.  Give me below freezing and I'll zip on the top layer over my fleece.  Another twenty degrees under that and I'll entertain my down jacket.  Hat and gloves make an appearance when we hitting 32 degrees, although the hat is generally only for extended outdoor periods.  The scarf has become a either a last resort or an accoutrement to the peacoat on a sub-freezing day.

Living in Michigan, I drove everywhere and maxed out with a North Face fleece during my collegiate years (high school was composed of varsity jacket days).  Having to stand at a bus stop daily really reprioritized my winter wear.  Except last winter, when I spent the dearth of my winter days in Costa Rica.  I'm trying not to let myself linger on how I'll have to endure an entire winter this year.

I've been disgracefully neglectful in reading my typical cache of followed blogs.  So, on this night that I set aside for couch laying and World Series watching, I thought I'd throw in some blog reading.  Some entries were more skim-worthy, others were full-reads, but one was fodder for further perusal.  And it just so happens that I reserve this little space of my own for such acts.

Here's what got me:
"For several years beforehand, I thought about writing but never wrote. During much of that time I dreamed of doing something significant, but didn't have a vision for its form or structure. 

If you have a project you're just now beginning, I hope you'll see it through. If the project is in progress and you haven't achieved the traction you wanted (and you're still motivated to do it), I hope you won't give up. If you keep working at it over time, I hope you'll be able to fill your own stadium with people who engage with it…" (Chris Guillebeau @ AONC)

It can be frustrating and difficult when you catch yourself in a client-facing or independent situation  without answers.  Especially when you can remember knowing nearly every conceivable answer in your past position.

I always told trainees that they would pick it up quicker than they realized and shouldn't feel embarrassed to tell a client, "I don't know, I'll get back to you".  But admitting that you don't know has this way of planting a seed of doubt in your mind.  Will they think I'm unqualified?  Incompetent?  Just plain dumb?

Here's the thing that I have to remind myself, the people on the other end of the phone weren't born knowing everything either.  Some of them would like to think that they did, but most of them are completely open to a follow-up call or email.

Case in point, I was handling a rather technical call on my own today and quickly realized that while I understood his questions, I was oblivious to most of the correct answers.  I decided to own up and tell him that I would have to follow up, because I was only two months in and these details weren't things that came up in my daily routine.  Wouldn't you know it, he was in the same boat.  Trying to figure out the answers to things that are totally outside of his wheelhouse.

So, we had a good laugh about the blind leading the blind, came up with a list of follow-ups, and plans to sync up tomorrow.  And I didn't even have to spend the whole call feeling incompetent.

Do you ever stop to consider the power of music in our lives?  It can make us happy, spark our energy, relax us, make us cringe, and a range of other reactions.  Why else do we assign specifically chosen music to major events in our lives?  Graduations, weddings, break ups, marathon playlists, spring break mixes.

Autumn looks, feels and smells like sports season to me.  These days it's more about watching sports on TV - college football, Detroit Lions, Tigers in the World Series.  I find myself thinking back to the days of watching sports on a smaller scale.

Starting at the earliest age possible, the kids in my family were involved in one sport or another through most seasons.  What sticks out are going to Saturday morning soccer games.  Usually the fields were in wooded park land.  I spent many autumn mornings lying on or wrapped in a blanket, watching youth soccer, eating concession stand popcorn, smelling the changing leaves in the air.

Hitting high school opened up the breadth of sports outings.  All of a sudden there weren't just siblings to watch, there were friends to support and even school spirit to embrace.  Despite the qualms I occasionally had with high school, it helped form that trait of deep-seated commitment to a team.

The soccer parents all knew me, I rarely missed a home game, attended away games, Saturday games, and even sat through games in the pouring rain.  Our football team was rarely good, but I was in the bleachers for practically every game, driving around to various schools in the conference on Friday nights.  Tennis, which became so near and dear to my heart in high school, was my own sport to play in autumn.  In the spring, I spent so much time at the boys' meets that I unofficially became the team manager.  Throw in some basketball, baseball, even wrestling...what an agenda.

If only college and professional sports came with the same all-you-can-watch pass for one relatively low fee.  Instead, the athletes that earn millions of dollars each year cost me at least $50 to watch in person.  So sports have become a television-only hobby for the most part.  But, I digress.  The fact of the matter is that I can smell those autumn days of sports in the air this week.  It even manages to make me look back with a tad bit of longing for high school days.

I'd like to take this first moment to appreciate the perfection of the weather on this autumn day.  If I could choose, half of the year would look and feel exactly like today.  The other half would be composed of the weather suitable for beach days and outdoor dining.

The second moment will be dedicated to the loss of something near and dear to me: the elevator in my building.  For the next three to four weeks (hopefully no more), it's under maintenance and unavailable.  Although my cardiovascular system will be pumped (pun intended) for the constant five flights up and down, my inner lazy person wants to camp out on the couch through mid-November.

So, if you ask me to hang out and I turn you down, there's a possibility that I just don't feel like navigating the stairs.  Either that or I'm hibernating.  Winter is setting in after all.

Now that I'll have some weekends to spend at my leisure in Chicago, I'm hoping some of the temperate weather sticks around.  I find that I'm at my most inspired when I'm out in the natural world, with no time constraints, and looking for nothing in particular.  Next step, info-gathering and test-driving dSLRs so that I can upgrade from phonetography to photography during these jaunts.

It's official, I can add Wisconsin to the list of states that I have visited.  I've lived next door to it for my entire life (granted, the lake proved to be a rather discouraging moat for 24 of those years) and only now entered the land of cheese.  And plenty of cheese was ingested during this stay.

Besides cheese, there was a little bit of traditional autumn goodness (pumpkin patch and cider), college football awfulness (translation: Spartans choke out a last minute loss), and a lot of high quality bonding time.  As it turns out, I think bonding time is a three-part formula: conversation, eating and drinking.

For someone who has never really had a close group of female friends, girls' nights and weekends are a new territory for me.  I've always had more of the singular female friendships.  Honestly, I was always driven away by witnessing the omnipresence of drama in lady groups.  I don't do drama, not even with a ten-foot pole.

What I'm finding refreshing is that there are other females who are anti-drama.  Mind-blowing, I know.  And if you keep a group intimate and focused on truthfulness and trust, there seems to be proof that cliché girl drama can be kept at bay.  Perfect.

Sometimes it seems unfortunate that I'm not really into sushi; it's so aesthetically pleasing.  I want to like something that pretty, but I just haven't acquired a taste for it.  Thus, the order of teriyaki-smothered land animals on the far right of the frame.

So this happens more often than not these days, but I find myself laughing at how content I am with many aspects of being old and uneventful.  And it's amusing the things that satisfy or excite me.  It's a Friday night, I'm home by 10:00pm, and I feel like I had a robust social calendar because I hit up two different venues and drank two glasses of red wine (with a side of tater tots, because I'm classy).

I give myself another half hour, to finish this blog post and pack a bag for tomorrow's trip to Wisconsin, then I'm going to be out cold.  There's just something so inviting about my bed on a Friday night.

On top of that, I opened my mailbox on my way into the building and felt noticeably excited that my health insurance card had finally arrived.  I've noticed that these days my parents and their friends have a primary conversational focus of health, medications, aches and pains, and other such topics.  I'm starting to see how that trend begins.  Hopefully I'm still a ways off from being that old.

There are certain things about myself that I know to be true.

1) I don't belong in River North after 8:00pm.  It's so far from my scene that it might as well be a different galaxy.

2) I don't have the innate skill set needed to work a room, carry on more than five minutes of meaningless small talk, or schmooze in any way.

3) All of the above are exhausting enterprises that make me long for my couch.

On the flip side, as I've gotten older, I have grown to accept that it's unlikely for me to always avoid things that make me uncomfortable or anxious.  Instead of giving myself a hard time for not being a natural, or comparing myself to someone who is, I try to walk away remembering some positive highlights.

In regards to the River North scene, it may not be for me, but it's nice to force myself out of the comfortable yoga pants and ponytail bubble - if only to recall that there are other modes of living going on out there and maybe I'll happen upon something that will expand my horizons.

And instead of berating myself for awkward approaches and segues at this event, I've decided to walk away with pride in the fact that I impressed a couple people with my honesty, independent moxie, and a firm handshake.  Yeah, so maybe I only met 20% of the people in the room and carried on conversation with a quarter of them.  Maybe it's baby steps and I'll eventually grow bolder.  Or maybe that's just my interaction level.  Either way, I walked away calling it an outside the comfort zone victory.

The days are getting shorter and I'm spending most of the daylight hours in an office.  Therefore, photos have a tendency to fall into sunrise, dusk, or dark these days.  Today brings you an ominous reminder of how things look in the impending month of November, generally my least favorite of the year.  It's the month where the Midwest proves to me that sunny and 70 really is a pipe dream.

To offset the dreariness, I always have to keep my eye on a prize.  Prize = travel.  I think I've figured out how to use some well-played Monday holidays and squeeze three trips into one year.  So I guess I have my eye on three prizes.  Good thing I'm an excellent multi-tasker.

In the doldrums of winter, early 2013, it'll be time for some much needed maxin' and relaxin' during a long, sunny Puerto Rican weekend....and maybe just a dash of off the beaten path adventure thrown in.  September has long been earmarked for Croatia, a solid nine or ten day traipsing about the country.  And since I have my heart set on Ecuador, I finagled a spot for it during a week including Memorial Day.  There's nothing tentative about these plans, I'm committed.

If I can manage to fit in all of those plans and still save money, I'm thinking that it's time to start a fund for eventual property ownership in Central or South America.  For some reason, I feel more motivated to make an investment of the getaway caliber than buy a home in the U.S.  Maybe I watched too many episodes of House Hunters International.

Perhaps this makes me strange (of the many things that fall under that category), but I actually like doing laundry.  At least, there's the potential for me to enjoy it.  I must admit that my current set up is less than optimal: scrounging for quarters, waiting for machines, constantly going upstairs and downstairs to switch loads.

I suppose the reward for me is really the folding.  If you've ever seen The Big Bang Theory or worked in a clothing story, you're familiar with some sort of folding board.  I would use one of those.  I went out of my way to use one when I worked in retail.  Yes, it's anal retentive, but there's a certain sense of satisfaction I get out of precision folding my clothes.  No, this doesn't mean I want to come to your house and do your laundry.

Then there's the part of the laundry process that I remember enjoying even as a child.  Although I was less than enthused to be on family laundry duty when I was seven years old, I loved piles of clothes fresh out of the dryer.  I would cover myself in them, absorbing the warmth and the fresh scent.  Although I no longer lay in a pile, I do have a tendency to drape a warm t-shirt over myself.

On a side note, it's funny how the stream of consciousness that is this blog has a tendency to harken back to childhood and adolescent "I remember when..." moments.  I suppose I'll have a really good collection ready when I'm old, so I won't have to recall them on my own.

Finally caught up to present day.  Part of me wanted to pretend that the three previous days had disappeared into the ether and didn't warrant words or photos.  But I made a promise to myself that I'd stick this thing out every day for 365.  So, instead of the inert position that I want to be in on my couch, I'm here typing out blog post number four of the evening.

I would definitely say that the frenetic pace I've been living at reached its crescendo (or so I hope).  At the apex of it all, I remembered something important that life has tried to teach me before.  I can't do it all.  I have a tendency to say "yes" too often.  And when I don't have balance, things start to fall out of orbit.

I went to two weddings without having written in the card or remembering to bring the check to put in it.  I sent emails with no recollection of them until I received a reply.  I probably snapped and complained more than I should've and didn't enjoy things as much as I should have.  I've neglected to take care of the health and fitness I spent most of the year honing.  And I've yet to deliver on a promise that I made to myself, investing in that dSLR camera.

So, although my calendar still has events and engagements, I'm going to start figuring out how to work myself back into the equation.  I can't have it all, but I can have a healthy mix.

This is a story about apple pie, sort of.  It's more of a story about a story about apple pie, you know the one.  Boy meets pie, dad walks in on boy.

Once upon a time, I was in high school and planning to rent that movie and watch it at home during a mellow girls' night.  My mom has never been shy and decided that she was going to join us, no matter how much I tried to convince her that it wasn't her type of movie.

Let me set the stage a few years further back, for perspective's sake.  In eighth grade, I went to see Titanic with a friend and our moms.  My mom insisted on covering my eyes, at the age of fourteen, when Kate Winslet was posing nude for the portrait, as well as when Kate and Leo steamed up the stagecoach windows.  I couldn't quite understand why she was afraid to let me see breasts, since I had my own.

Fast forward a few years to a scene where I want to laugh at raunchy comedy and the mom who censored me from seeing portions of Titanic wants to join me.  It was incredibly awkward and rather uncomfortable.  But I lived to tell the tale.  And I made sure to watch all subsequent American Pie movies in a locale where parental presence would be unlikely.

When I saw this homemade apple pie on her counter though, I couldn't help but think about the day when I watched Jason Biggs make love to a pie on screen while feeling the awkward tension of my mom in the room.

Sometimes you get angry when bad weather interferes with your plans.  On any other day, I would've been disappointed in a canceled Spartan football outing.  On this particular Saturday, I was thankful for cold driving rain, three more hours in bed, and the potential of an afternoon nap.

If only someone had warned me before I considered those warm, fuzzy feelings.  First, I had to endure another two hours of driving with the nasty weather and the people who want to drive 15 mph under the speed limit in it.  (I know, I shouldn't bemoan their careful attention, but sometimes I just want them to get out of my way.)

And then I learned that tailgating had been replaced with a family party.  Those tend to have a high decibel and too many cameras.  I love my family, don't get me wrong, but a few of their tendencies don't meld well with sleep deprivation.  There happens to be one example of photographic proof, I'm told.  But that's what happens when someone interrupts naptime to pose me in a photo.

I was in bed by 10:00pm and I swear that my phone rang at 1:30am, citing a private caller.  When I looked at my call log in the morning, though, it wasn't there.  Perhaps sleep and waking became so blurred that I was no longer differentiating one from the other, and it never really happened.

Making up for lost time: round one.  Pretend it's Friday, October 12.

I went to bed at 5:30am, following three hours of rain-soaked, late night chauffeur duty.  Two hours of sleep later (half of my expected sleep quota), I was awake and preparing to head eastbound.

Somehow I managed to work through the haze of exhaustion; I mean, I actually did a full day's work before heading to the night's nuptial event.  I was in alcohol avoidance, so as to not fall asleep face first in my food.

I tried to attain dancing avoidance as well, but I knew that in the present company it wouldn't fly for long.  My defenses were so far down that I even allowed myself to be coerced into learning how to wobble.  I'm pretty sure I should retire from that dance now.

And thus ended my 2012 wedding season.  It was only the first third of the seemingly neverending story known as my weekend though.

A disclaimer for the next 72 hours: I cannot promise the timeliness nor quality of blog posts.  My life is reaching the apex of it's recent rat race pace.

After an hour and a half nap, I am soon heading to Midway on a midnight airport pick-up run.  From there, I head directly with my human cargo to the homeland - Grand Rapids.  I'm hoping to sleep from approximately 4:00 to 7:00 a.m., at which point I will have to rise (and doubtfully shine).

Throwing a quick shower in the mix, I'll be back on the road.  Next destination: Novi.  There I'll spend the majority of the day working from an adopted home with my former partner in workday crime.  A working reunion of sorts.

Throw in some hair-doing and getting dressed, somehow 3:30 p.m. will roll around all too quickly, and it'll be time to hit the road again.  On to Howell, where wedding bells are tolling.  The party is bound to roll into some wee hours, hopefully I won't be asleep on my feet at some point.  If only there was the post-reception promise of rest for the weary.

Instead, the plan is family tailgate time for the Spartan homecoming game.  Since that's a noon kick-off, call time for pre-game festivities is about 8:00 a.m.  So I'll be back to doing what I know best by no later than 7:30 a.m. - driving.  Tailgate.  Watch football.  Drive back to Grand Rapids.

From there I should have a full 24-hour hiatus on getting behind the wheel (please and thank you).  I'm trying not to hold out hope for a full nine-hour sleep, too.  Alas, Sunday afternoon will find me back on chauffer duty.  I'll wistfully pass my exit and make the drop at O'Hare, then make an about face and head directly home.

And any other day, by that point, I would drop helplessly into my bed and only rise when the alarm tolled for work the next morning.  But October 14th happens to be the premiere of The Walking Dead and, therefore, the revival of zombie Sundays.  Since my brain is likely to be in a zombie-like state by that point, it's fitting to push myself through the night.

I'm tired already.  And it's just getting started.  Oy.

There has been more than one occasion in 2012 when I pondered removing myself from this American lifestyle.  The contrasts that I observed in my surroundings, and myself, when removed from the rat race seemed worthwhile.  But I never gave into the urge, because there was always another force at the work, an emotional tug of war.

Certain things about this American life had too strong of a grip on me.  It wasn't a smartphone, a car, or even this much loved MacBook Air.  It certainly wasn't reality TV.  Instead, it was the carefully accumulated core of people that help imbue my life with meaning.  Sure, I could meet new people anywhere I go.  At the end of the day though, it turns out that my core contains the people that I want to share my days with.

My simpler days already feel like a different lifetime ago.  Things have changed so drastically in six weeks.  That's not to say the current situation is bad, just requiring adjustment.  But tonight I felt so reassured in the decisions that I've made.

So, I'm not living 'la pura vida' in Costa Rica.  But I am able to spend nights with people who don't think I'm crazy for considering it.  Moreover, they understand why it was an valid consideration.  At the end of the day, living in an environment that requires balance checks to keep my sanity in check is actually a worthwhile trade for having the right people in my life   Now, assuming everyone wanted to pick up and relocate to a sleepy, Central American beach town...I wouldn't have to be convinced.

I think you'll agree that it's quite rare to enjoy the scent of something dead and decaying.  This isn't as dark or strange as it seems, I swear.  It's just that I took a walk through the neighborhood after work today, taking in deep breaths of autumn leaves.  And I happened to start pondering why I so thoroughly enjoyed the smell of something dying.

I suppose this could be another one of those things that defines my rural upbringing.  It fits well with my enjoyment of the way fresh cut grass and sawdust smell.  And then there are bonfires, which are somehow amazing when you're in front of them and then obnoxiously pungent when you can't get the smell out of your clothes and hair.

This is another time when I start to compare my childhood environment to that of kids in the city.  It's difficult to imagine growing up without these things.  Sometimes I want to stop remembering them fondly and just do them again.  I want the tree in my front yard, being perched on a branch over a pile of leaves deep enough to cushion my leap of faith.  I want Friday nights gathered around a bonfire pit, staring into the flames and listening to crackle of branches.

If only autumn lasted longer.  And my parents still lived in my childhood home.  Or even a had a yard with deciduous trees.  Alas, I'll just have to look back fondly for now.

Yeah, so I'm 24 hours late.  My brain can barely process the day of the week anyways, so as far as I'm concerned this is a just a late edition of yesterday.  We'll make this mostly visual, for my sanity.

What I do want to mention is that I'm starting to feel pretty assured that I had some sort of past incarnation - and I must have been Mexican.  That seems to be the most viable explanation for my taste in the music of Selena, the art of Frida Kahlo, the language of Spanish, and thinking "Huh, I guess a zydeco band in the food court isn't such a bad idea".

Well, maybe I'm stretching a little bit.  This isn't mean to be a theological discussion forum.  Let's just say it's a hyperbolic way of expressing my appreciation for a culture that isn't innately mine.  As exhausted as I was, and despite the cold front that had San Antonio visitors coveting my North Face, there were a few hours of schlepping around the River Walk and Market Square before I departed.

The early hour of my adventuring and the sub-prime weather thinned the crowds significantly.  Photo opportunities were much easier to come by when the walkways were virtually empty.  With that, I turn you over to the visuals.

Here's the quick and dirty on a day that started at 3:30am and has a TBD end time.  When I got in my car around 4:00am, I was driving past the late night, post-bar, grease pit food crowd.  It was a little unsettling that their night hadn't ended and I was already starting the next day.  Katy Perry was also singing to me on the radio about being Wide Awake.  Ironic.

Somehow I managed to hit every light possible between home and the highway, despite the minimal traffic at that time of the morning.  Driving up the Dan Ryan, I passed a nearly cleared accident composed of three tow trucks and more flashing lights than I could count at 55 mph.  No slowing me down though.  I made it to the parking garage in fifteen minutes and the airport within thirty.

True to form, I chose the slowest security lines - both before and after they checked my ID and ticket.  One of the guys in front of me spent at least three minutes fussing with his rollerboard suitcase...which he was trying to fit into one of the bins for some reason.

As I walked up to the scanner, a male TSA agent yelled, "Go Green!" in response to my MSU t-shirt.  I was slightly asleep still, so my response was a confused hybrid of "yeah!" and "thanks!".  Within moments afterward, I was getting my first ever TSA hair pat down.  And it was narrated.  "I'm gonna pat your arms, now I'm gonna feel your hair."

Upon my arrival in San Antonio, I opted out of the standard shuttle and taxi options.  I discovered that the #5 bus left from the airport and stopped within a block of my hotel for a grand total of $1.10.  So, I checked out the public transportation situation.  It was a piece of cake and cost me about 96% less.

I checked into a hotel room twice the size of my NYC digs a couple of weeks ago, and less than half the price.  Actually, this place may be larger than my apartment.  And comes with free breakfast and three free alcoholic drinks between 5:30-7:00pm.

The wedding itself made me wonder if I should consider San Antonio should I ever get married.  The DJ not only called for a conga line to the tune of Gloria Estefan, but played multiple Selena songs.  And I can't explain to you how perfectly a mariachi band compliments dinner unless you've experienced it.  They even managed to fit in some Boot Scoot 'n Boogie alongside the Cupid Shuffle.

Despite the whirlwind pace of it all, today (in all of it's idiosyncrasies) was exactly as amazing as I hoped that it would be.  And tomorrow still holds the allure of a few hours to explore before heading back to the impending winter climate known as home.  So congrats, my friends, on a wedding that makes into my all-time favorites list.  I'm very happy to have shared this with you and excited to see you take the next step in this journey.

On the three occasions that I was outside in the Loop today, I became convinced that the Chicago business community either didn't check the weather forecast or they're in denial.  I suppose there was a third category, consisting of people like myself, who were simply unenthused by the sub-fifty degree weather.

Sometimes awareness brings us clarity, lends a solution, or aids in decision-making.  But often awareness just makes us anxious, paranoid, and needlessly focused on things we can't really control.

I think that's why I have an issue with watching the local news.  It only took thirty seconds tonight for me to hear that a Chicago firefighter died of West Nile virus and that meningitis is breaking out in Indiana.  My first thought was, "Thankfully I have health insurance again" (eight months without it, now that's a fun exercise in anxiety).  Then I started to worry a little, thinking about how close to home a freak tragedy, accident or illness can be.

So what's the solution to that?  Stop living my life?  Become a recluse?  Give up the outdoors because I'm afraid of running into an infected mosquito or other contagious humans?

On other days, living in the city and hearing what goes down, the worry has extended to being mugged, shot or getting my car stolen.  Oh, and we haven't even broached how secretly sinister people can be while coming off as well-adjusted members of society.  Which is fine, you get the point (and hopefully I haven't sent you into a spiral of paranoia).

I'm all for erring on the side of caution and analysis in life, but there comes a point where you're better off not looking too closely.  I like vacationing in equatorial countries with rain forests, so I wear bug spray and drink bottled water if I must.  Short of an impenetrable force field, I'm pretty sure that's all I can do short of restricting myself from doing things I love.

The days are getting shorter and I'm feeling short on rest.  So when it's still dark at 6:15am, and my alarm is beckoning me to wake up and work out, I can't summon the motivation.  Approximately four snooze pushes later, I finally open my eyes and consider throwing back the covers.

By that point in time, I have to start the shower routine.  With hair that reaches past mid-back, it's a guaranteed time suck when you consider washing, conditioning and drying it.  It's a good thing I can skip the makeup routine and generally it doesn't matter what I wear to work.  I'm sure I could try showering at night, but I always feel too sleepy and cozy to embark on that journey by the time I think about it.

I partially blame that effect on the darkness seeping in so much earlier.  It's still light when I leave the office, but not for long.  So with daytime coming later, nighttime coming earlier, and a new faster pace of life...my physical activity time log for the week currently equals zero.

It would be helpful if I could ask myself how I managed to fit it into my life before.  But, oh yeah, I didn't really.  There were occasional coed rec sports leagues and two week bursts of running.  Then there was the one time I tried to do a workout via my cable's on-demand videos.  The downstairs neighbor was less than enthused.

There's no end to the articles and studies informing me about the effects of working out on my physical and mental wellness.  And it's not that I don't believe them or don't want to do it, I just haven't figured out how to slot it into my new life schedule.

I'm only slightly kidding when I tell you that I keep thinking to myself, "If I can't even figure out how to fit in a 30 minutes a day to work out, how will I ever have kids or a pet...or even a relationship?"