see as i saw

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

What did I ever do when there wasn't technology to aid me on the fly?

On today's journey back to Chicago alone, I managed to confirm that the Bears were playing Monday Night Football (meaning Lake Shore Drive was a safe route to take) and circumvented a likely half hour traffic jam.  While other drivers were joining the virtual parking lot on the Dan Ryan, thanks to the general public's ineptitude for merging, I exited to I-94 local and swept right past.

Google Maps saves sanity.  I would think that owners of a shiny new iPhone are envious of my outdated Android OS and it's functional mapping capabilities.  Did you see that Google Maps now gives you underwater mapping for various reefs?  I digress.

On an average day, I walk down the street tracking buses, determining if the 156 is coming soon or if it's worth walking two more blocks to get on a 22.

When I'm waiting in line at Starbucks, I can check my Gold Card balance (awarded to people who give Starbucks too much money) and even re-up my funds before I reach the register.

Instead of lugging around a 500-page book every day for my commute, it's simply stored in my 4.77 ounce handset.  Honestly, this blog wouldn't be executed as planned without the constant companion of my phone's camera.  Sometimes I wonder if I should nix the idea of a dSLR, just because I'm now so accustomed to the convenience factor of wandering anywhere with merely a phone in my pocket.

It's amazing how wrapped up my life (and many others') is in this technology that I couldn't even conceived of ten years ago.  Amazing, yet a little frightening.  At least I always have those once or twice a year breaks, thanks to international travel without an international phone plan.

 I have a tendency to use the phrase "nerding out" with relative frequency.  Today it was used in conjunction with the categories of words and Excel formulas.

One of my co-workers developed an affinity for the word "evangelism" in the past 24 hours, and it became fodder for office conversation.  Clearly this seemed like a relevant time to share my favorite word.  Sesquipedalian.  It's quite apropos; feel free to look up the definition and you'll see why.

Then it also seemed relevant to share my word find of the week, thanks to Catch-22: avuncular.  There are very few occasions that I would have a purpose for this word, but I'm determined to find at least one.  Although, no one will be likely to follow my train of thought since it's not exactly one the 1,000 most used words in the English language.

After a morning of word nerding, it was time to dig into Excel.  Granted, I've been seeking new formulas for stats analysis over the past four weeks.  Today just happened to be filled with "vlookup", pivot tables and "concatenate" formulas.  There's also an "isna" formula that's become my close friend.  I can't help it, Excel formulas are like my own nerdy form of digital magic.

I love and embrace my nerdiness; it probably makes sense that I end up working in tech start-up environments.

At times throughout the past nine months, I mentally step outside of myself and look at my life.  I find that I'm amazed at the some of the things I've done, the places I've ended up, and the ways that I've opened my mind.  For so long I lived pretty tidily inside the lines.  I wish I would've realized that life is so much more interesting if you increase the area between those lines.

 Today was a day of final goodbyes.  For the last time, I made my way to my great aunt's house for a very cozy and personal memorial service.  It was her wish that her physical being remains with those of her deceased husband and son, spread among the places she loved most - the woods and gardens where she fed the birds, watched the squirrels, strolled among the trees, and wrote her poetry.

Each of us were given the option to take a small portion of ashes and bring my aunt to rest with the nature she loved.  While everyone else stayed within the yard and gardens, I pushed my way through pine boughs, sinking into the soft carpet of their needles, seeking a place where the din of domestic life faded away.  The woods were filled with remnants of the many years that they spent on the property.  Discarded tires, old well pumps, moss covered wooden ladders and saw horses.

I said my goodbye not only to my aunt, but to a place that seems unchanged over the years.  The vintage touches were innately her and remained through the decades.  This means that I remember all of them from my childhood.  They were unique and memorable even then.  The garden in the front room with all of it's faux birds, rubber spiders, and cherub fountains was already removed when I arrived today.

It's difficult to believe that piece by piece everything will be dispersed, and all that remains are the few physical pieces that each of us will retain and the memories that grow more distant.

 Since my parents moved hours away from where I spent my childhood and adolescence, I don't come to my hometown that often.  When I do, there's a strange sensation of feeling far removed and like I never left at all.

When I drive down what has always been the main hub of town, things couldn't look more unfamiliar.  What once was a truck stop is now a Meijer.  Where there used to be empty land, they've packed in a Wal-Mart.  Stores and restaurants with corporate governance now reside where local businesses or nothing at all used to stand.

But when I started winding down the dirt roads, connecting one familiar stomping ground to another, the comfort returns.  When I'm noshing on the best donuts known to man, they taste as wonderful as I remember them when I was five years old.  There's a well-worn ease in sitting around the living room with three of the people that have known you best, despite the time and distance that makes these occasions rare.

As much as I've never been one to think longingly back to high school days, I walked away from this wedding reception with a far less sour taste for that era than I have been carrying around for ten years. I forget what it's like to be around an entire group of people that know each others' pasts, spending nearly every day in the same general surroundings and events.  I suppose I enjoyed waxing nostalgic a little bit.

There's still no chance that I want to move back to the same realm where I grew up.  But an occasional reminder of where I came from and the building blocks of my adolescence proved to be welcomed.