Showing posts with label local. Show all posts
Learning how to rebalance my life with a full-time job has sort of been like picking up a tennis racquet after not playing for a year. Although I understand the what I need to do to ensure successful execution, my body doesn't naturally react in tandem with my mind.
The good news is that I haven't ended up frustrated (like I do when I can't hit a backhand correctly to save my life), but merely tired. It probably doesn't help that I overextend myself, trying to fit in work, errands, social activities, and traveling every weekend for the past month. It's a wonder that I manage to find time to wash my dishes every couple of days.
So, tonight I left work at a respectable 5:40pm. I was in pajamas before I even got to the end of my entry hall. Admittedly, a few dishes were washed before I made a simple dinner of pasta and wine. Those were my most taxing events of the night. Phone calls and emails have gone unanswered. And an episode of White Collar and The Voice later, you're getting this low-key blog post before I head to my bed and my book.
It feels good to be old and boring sometimes.
orange blossom french soda \10.02\
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Labels:
cafe,
local
The good news is that I haven't ended up frustrated (like I do when I can't hit a backhand correctly to save my life), but merely tired. It probably doesn't help that I overextend myself, trying to fit in work, errands, social activities, and traveling every weekend for the past month. It's a wonder that I manage to find time to wash my dishes every couple of days.
So, tonight I left work at a respectable 5:40pm. I was in pajamas before I even got to the end of my entry hall. Admittedly, a few dishes were washed before I made a simple dinner of pasta and wine. Those were my most taxing events of the night. Phone calls and emails have gone unanswered. And an episode of White Collar and The Voice later, you're getting this low-key blog post before I head to my bed and my book.
It feels good to be old and boring sometimes.
In addition to re-committing myself to working out, I'm on a kick to continue refining my food and drink choices. Some days, I'm successful without a struggle. Often, though, I finish eating my healthy meal or snack and the urge for Oreos continues to lurk. Sometimes it's cheese. Or ice cream. You get the point.
The other factor in this equation is being at home versus traveling or visiting someone else's home. Somehow there's this invisible barrier of self-control that ends when I leave my own residence. For some reason, I doubt that affliction is mine alone. If only my mom and grandma would stop trying to feed me every ten minutes...or I was capable of practicing restraint when cookies are dangled in front of me.
(Disclaimer: This does not imply that I'm dieting, merely trying to form healthier habits. I'm currently sans health insurance, so we'll call it preventative healthcare.)
garden & greenhouse \07.13\
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Labels:
color,
flowers,
local,
summer
The other factor in this equation is being at home versus traveling or visiting someone else's home. Somehow there's this invisible barrier of self-control that ends when I leave my own residence. For some reason, I doubt that affliction is mine alone. If only my mom and grandma would stop trying to feed me every ten minutes...or I was capable of practicing restraint when cookies are dangled in front of me.
(Disclaimer: This does not imply that I'm dieting, merely trying to form healthier habits. I'm currently sans health insurance, so we'll call it preventative healthcare.)
Wrigley Field is practically in my backyard (abstractly speaking), so I've been by it countless times. During my years in Chicago, I've even "watched" games from four or five of the rooftops just beyond the outfield (those are more for eating and drinking than the game itself). Somehow I had never managed to step foot inside that historic little ballpark though. What better occasion to make my first visit than a visit from my hometown sluggers?
I think the baseball gods were in agreement with this last second plan hatched with my dad. The weather was perfect: high 70s, sunny, nice lake breeze. The game was sold out (scalpers were looking for $100-300 per ticket) and we managed to snag some seats for face value ($32.50). Those seats were right behind home plate, but the view was slightly obstructed...so we upgraded ourselves about twenty rows closer during the third inning. Verlander was pitching and the Tigers sealed the win with a homer in the 9th inning. I couldn't have constructed the scene better myself.
Cubs games are so much better when I have a vested interest in one of the teams playing. I don't think it will matter how long I live in Chicago, these teams will never really feel like mine. It seems safe to assume that this extends to locales other than Chicago. East Lansing and Detroit branded me for life; I feel that it would be difficult for any city/team to usurp or even join them.
play ball \06.14\
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Labels:
baseball,
local,
neighborhood,
sports
Wrigley Field is practically in my backyard (abstractly speaking), so I've been by it countless times. During my years in Chicago, I've even "watched" games from four or five of the rooftops just beyond the outfield (those are more for eating and drinking than the game itself). Somehow I had never managed to step foot inside that historic little ballpark though. What better occasion to make my first visit than a visit from my hometown sluggers?
I think the baseball gods were in agreement with this last second plan hatched with my dad. The weather was perfect: high 70s, sunny, nice lake breeze. The game was sold out (scalpers were looking for $100-300 per ticket) and we managed to snag some seats for face value ($32.50). Those seats were right behind home plate, but the view was slightly obstructed...so we upgraded ourselves about twenty rows closer during the third inning. Verlander was pitching and the Tigers sealed the win with a homer in the 9th inning. I couldn't have constructed the scene better myself.
Cubs games are so much better when I have a vested interest in one of the teams playing. I don't think it will matter how long I live in Chicago, these teams will never really feel like mine. It seems safe to assume that this extends to locales other than Chicago. East Lansing and Detroit branded me for life; I feel that it would be difficult for any city/team to usurp or even join them.
No matter where I go in this world, there are remnants of Michigan in my blood. When summer hits, those remnants become more potent and I can feel the pull. As much as I appreciate and enjoy patio dining and street festivals in Chicago, there is something about beach towns and fresh "country" air. Hearing Tim Allen's voice narrating odes to Pure Michigan may drive the point home, too. Although I generally find myself eschewing advertising's effects on my attitudes and preferences (only natural when you spend six years study how to break down and analyze it), michigan.org did it right.
So, I found myself making an impromptu road trip to finish out this holiday weekend. Mom called and offered up a free tank of gas deal. Sold. Then she threw in that Dad thought Monday would be a good day to head up to Traverse City and do a wine tasting tour. I started throwing clothes in a bag. Three hours later, I was enjoying a glass of malbec on their back patio.
As late afternoon rolled around, my parents suggested heading downtown Grand Rapids to take a walk and see what kind of mischief we could find. As it turns out, a Sunday afternoon on a holiday weekend bred zero activity. And, yet, wandering was entertainment enough: murals, mosaics, buildings, and my parents retracing the stops they made as they tried to induce my fetal self to pop out back in 1984.
In a particular church near the hospital, my parents hold a fond memory that I have somehow never heard until today. They decided to wait until birth to find out the sex of all three kids. So, as they wandered the city on that cold March day, they were still wondering who was about to appear in their life. When they visited the small Catholic church, my Dad prayed; saying that it didn't matter if it was a boy or girl, as long as the baby was healthy. He made a short addendum to that prayer though, letting the big guy know that if there happened to be a girl hanging out in the baby inventory, he'd really like one of those.
My Mom prefers to believe that my sex was determined then and there, rather than paying attention to all of that standard gestational stuff. Following this poignant, nostalgic moment in storytelling, my natural responsive impulse couldn't be denied. I proclaimed that it now made complete sense why I've never been very girly; my feminine self only began forming on the day of my birth. This was met, expectedly, with "a look" from Mom. At the root of all, I did appreciate the story though. It sort of feels like the beginning of my personal history. And I can only hope that I'm turning out to be the little girl that my Dad sent up a prayer for back in 1984.
picture in picture \05.27\
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Labels:
architecture,
art,
buildings,
local
So, I found myself making an impromptu road trip to finish out this holiday weekend. Mom called and offered up a free tank of gas deal. Sold. Then she threw in that Dad thought Monday would be a good day to head up to Traverse City and do a wine tasting tour. I started throwing clothes in a bag. Three hours later, I was enjoying a glass of malbec on their back patio.
As late afternoon rolled around, my parents suggested heading downtown Grand Rapids to take a walk and see what kind of mischief we could find. As it turns out, a Sunday afternoon on a holiday weekend bred zero activity. And, yet, wandering was entertainment enough: murals, mosaics, buildings, and my parents retracing the stops they made as they tried to induce my fetal self to pop out back in 1984.
In a particular church near the hospital, my parents hold a fond memory that I have somehow never heard until today. They decided to wait until birth to find out the sex of all three kids. So, as they wandered the city on that cold March day, they were still wondering who was about to appear in their life. When they visited the small Catholic church, my Dad prayed; saying that it didn't matter if it was a boy or girl, as long as the baby was healthy. He made a short addendum to that prayer though, letting the big guy know that if there happened to be a girl hanging out in the baby inventory, he'd really like one of those.
My Mom prefers to believe that my sex was determined then and there, rather than paying attention to all of that standard gestational stuff. Following this poignant, nostalgic moment in storytelling, my natural responsive impulse couldn't be denied. I proclaimed that it now made complete sense why I've never been very girly; my feminine self only began forming on the day of my birth. This was met, expectedly, with "a look" from Mom. At the root of all, I did appreciate the story though. It sort of feels like the beginning of my personal history. And I can only hope that I'm turning out to be the little girl that my Dad sent up a prayer for back in 1984.
As I walked back from the lakeshore today, I noticed that the gate to the Caldwell Lily Pond was finally open. Although the vegetation is still in its infancy, that sense of zen still exists. Somehow urbanity fades away once you walk through that gate.
In other topics related to state of mind, I had a conversation with my Dad the other day about El Camino de Santiago, a pilgrimage route across northern Spain. It's something that I've been familiar with for years, thanks to my infatuation with Paulo Coelho's books, but my Dad only became acquainted upon watching a movie recently. I've casually thought that it would be an extraordinary mental and physical journey, traversing 750km on foot, especially since it's in Spain. Apparently that movie piqued my Dad's interest too, and he asserts that he'll do the journey with me. One thing everyone should know is that planting a seed related to international travel is not safe with me, unless you intend to follow through; I've already started initial research on this trip. Seeing as my parents international experience spans only as far as Canada (which doesn't count when you grow up in Michigan), this would be quite the intense foray into world travel for him, although a commendable starting point. But me, I'm ready to leave tomorrow. Since that won't happen, I'll settle for buying Coelho's book detailing his pilgrimage on the Camino.
wood framed \05.02\
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Labels:
chicago,
landscape,
local,
neighborhood,
urban outdoors
In other topics related to state of mind, I had a conversation with my Dad the other day about El Camino de Santiago, a pilgrimage route across northern Spain. It's something that I've been familiar with for years, thanks to my infatuation with Paulo Coelho's books, but my Dad only became acquainted upon watching a movie recently. I've casually thought that it would be an extraordinary mental and physical journey, traversing 750km on foot, especially since it's in Spain. Apparently that movie piqued my Dad's interest too, and he asserts that he'll do the journey with me. One thing everyone should know is that planting a seed related to international travel is not safe with me, unless you intend to follow through; I've already started initial research on this trip. Seeing as my parents international experience spans only as far as Canada (which doesn't count when you grow up in Michigan), this would be quite the intense foray into world travel for him, although a commendable starting point. But me, I'm ready to leave tomorrow. Since that won't happen, I'll settle for buying Coelho's book detailing his pilgrimage on the Camino.
Taunted, tempted, but unbroken. The thought of what was lurking beyond that spring window display was beckoning with all of its might. Buttercreamy, cupcakey goodness. I both thanked and cursed unemployment in that moment. It prevented me from spending too much money on a baked good that's anything but good for me...but it prevented me from luxuriating in the badness of that goodness.
No cupcakes, just fond memories of cupcakes past and hope for cupcakes future. I'll be back Sweet Mandy B's.
sweet willpower \04.20\
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Labels:
chicago,
local
No cupcakes, just fond memories of cupcakes past and hope for cupcakes future. I'll be back Sweet Mandy B's.
Or lazy. Or Lincoln Park Zoo. That's where I took this photo, and my level of motivation, while I waited for a bus. It was another busy day of real, money-earning tasks. Guess what? I have yet another one tomorrow. AND I confirmed another gig, doing some copyediting, that will claim my Monday. I'm calling Sunday a free day though; I wouldn't want to work too hard (insert dry, slightly sarcastic tone).
"l" is for lauren \04.13\
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Labels:
local,
texture
The temperature may have dropped twenty degrees since yesterday, but it was still decent wandering weather. As I strolled through Lincoln Park (the actual park, not the neighborhood), it turns out that only a handful of baby strollers and dogs agreed with me about the weather. On a weekday in early March, the fields and courts are devoid of action. Since there was nothing to watch, it seemed fitting to take photos. This public stomping grounds for basketballers isn't fancy - no hardwoods or blacktop, nets are torn, paint is fading. That rustic, well-used feeling at center court is what drew my attention though.
seeing stars \03.08\
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Labels:
chicago,
local,
urban outdoors
This morning's meandering brought me down North Wells in search of a Fat Tuesday paczek (the proper singular form of packzi). The authentic Polish variety are more difficult to find in Chicago than a native Michiganian is accustomed to, so I was forced into patronizing a "European" bakery. Needless to say, the price was seriously inflated. Oh well, at least I found myself a calorie bomb. Many of my further flung friends and acquaintances are out of luck when it comes to this Polish tradition.
In taking, yet again, a route that I've been down many times before, I noticed something new. It's difficult to believe that this bright red door never caught my eye before - not only for its color, but because it clearly doesn't blend in with the typical aesthetic of Old Town homes.
During the few days that I've been back in the Midwest, I've been struggling a little more for photographic inspiration. The outdoors is a little drab in this snowless February state. This punch of color did the trick for today though.
red alert \02.21\
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Labels:
chicago,
local,
urban
In taking, yet again, a route that I've been down many times before, I noticed something new. It's difficult to believe that this bright red door never caught my eye before - not only for its color, but because it clearly doesn't blend in with the typical aesthetic of Old Town homes.
During the few days that I've been back in the Midwest, I've been struggling a little more for photographic inspiration. The outdoors is a little drab in this snowless February state. This punch of color did the trick for today though.
At least Chicago is still offering me a bit of sunshine and moderate temperatures. That made today's midday stroll down Broadway St. possible. Along the way, Monique and I ducked into the Coffee & Tea Exchange to check it out. It's one of those neighborhood places that you've always walked by, but never taken two seconds to patronize. It turned out to be quite an interesting gem.
They have these barrels of whole bean coffee from various international locales (Costa Rica!). The whole vibe is very natural and artisanal. Besides the barrels, the back of the store features floor to ceiling shelves lined with glass jars full of various spices, each one hand-labeled.
This is only one of many local businesses that I've never visited over the course of three years in the city. Why not? Routine keeps you from experiencing interesting new places where you could potentially meet new people and learn things.
coffee buzz \02.20\
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Labels:
coffee,
local
They have these barrels of whole bean coffee from various international locales (Costa Rica!). The whole vibe is very natural and artisanal. Besides the barrels, the back of the store features floor to ceiling shelves lined with glass jars full of various spices, each one hand-labeled.
This is only one of many local businesses that I've never visited over the course of three years in the city. Why not? Routine keeps you from experiencing interesting new places where you could potentially meet new people and learn things.