Hike

We hiked today. In snowy twenty eight degree weather. Shouldn't it count for double?? 

Happy Thanksgiving!!

Wonderings

#1 You know that sound effect in movies, like a dog is being beaten or a cat getting run over by a car?  Where do they get those sound effects?  Did someone actually beat a dog to get it?  Did someone actually run over a cat?  I've always wondered....

#2 How's come when I put my coffee in the microwave, the microwave stops with the mug handle pointing to the back of the microwave?  Then I have to blindly reach in and feel around for the handle, which usually results in sticking my hand in the hot coffee.  Every.....time.

#3 How's come, when I knock something out of the cabinet, it's always that one thing that makes the biggest mess.  Like an open box of baking soda.  And not only does it fall out, it has to cartwheel all the way to the floor, resulting in an even bigger mess.  Just ONCE I want to knock something over and just pick it up.  Just once.

#4 How's come, every time I break the copier at work, I'm always copying something not even remotely related to work?

#5 You know how the water is always cold when you turn on a faucet?  Every time I wash my hands or face the water is cold at first.  So I give it a little tap to the left.  Still cold.  Tiny tap.  Still cold.  More tiny taps. Still cold.  Tiny tap.  Burns the hell out of my hand.  Why doesn't it gradually get warmer?   It goes from freezing to scalding with just a tiny tap. 

Nutcrackers

I love nutcrackers.  I look forward to putting out my special nutcracker table every year at Christimastime.  My dad loves them just as much as me.  Must be where I got it:) I have big ones and small ones.  I'm really proud of my European nutcrackers.  There is an Irish fella holding a four leaf clover, a Scottish one with bagpipes and a little Scottish Terrier and a King of England nutcracker with a crown and scepter.  But my absolute favorite is a giant four foot high nutcracker I found a few years ago.  It didn't matter how much it cost, I needed it.  Needed it, I did I did.  So I bought it and took it home.  I put him right next to my Christmas tree and it was perfect.  I loved that nutcracker.  One day, mid Christmas season, I come home from work and my giant nutcracker was gone.  I was frantic.  I called my mom and told her I couldn't find him and she said "Oh.  That.  Your dad took it."

He had been over at my house, saw my awesome nutcracker and took it. He stole it.  He stole it.  He stole my perfect 4' nutcracker.  Just walked out with it.  Now every time I visit my mom and dad during the holidays, I have to sit and look at my nutcracker, proudly standing by the fireplace.  Dad has no remorse, no feelings of guilt.  He saw it.  He wanted it.  He took it.   MY perfect nutcracker.

Tahoe

Ruts are easy to get stuck in.  You're not happy with your life, but somehow unable to change it.  So you dig yourself a nice, safe little rut. Every day is the same as the day before, which will be the same as the day after.  It's easy and it's safe.  Secure.  So that's where you stay.  In an effort to hoist myself out of my rut, I started seeing a therapist.  She suggested I start to travel, in an effort to broaden my horizons.  I needed to learn that the world was a big place.  There is lots to see and do.  And, in order to see it, I had to get out of my comfort zone and expand my thinking.   So I decided to give it a whirl and my first trip was to be Lake Tahoe.  I'd seen pictures and it looked beautiful.

I live in southern Illinois, which is flat flat flat.  Tahoe is in the mountains, which are not flat.  I knew I'd need to get in shape before we left or I'd never make it, as we are not mountain people.  We're not used to it.  So my mom and I started hiking at a local park.  Local being thirty miles away.  Whatevs.  It's hilly, by our standards, and it was the closest thing we could find to a mountain.  So we started hiking.  We hiked and hiked up and down these hills to try to get in shape.  And we did.   We were so proud.  We kicked hill ass.  We were stronger, faster. 

I had never flown before Tahoe.  I'd heard stories about airplanes and terrifying stories about airplane seats.  They're tiny. Tiny tiny tiny.  I was beyond worried about the airplane.  I am, above all other things, a worrier.  I was terrified.  In an effort to assuage my worry, I decided it would be prudent to get the deets on airplanes.  So I googled airplanes.  (I am an excellent Googler.  If it's out there, I can find it).  From my plane ticket, I googled the actual plane in which we would be flying.  I found the dimensions, inside and out, of that plane.  I found the dimensions of the aisle, seat width, depth, leg room, all of it.  ( I would be willing to bet money I'm on some sort of terrorist watch list from all the airplane googles ). 

Airplane seats are, roughly, sixteen inches wide.  Sixteen.  I nearly threw up.  But it can't be that bad, I thought.  So I found a yard stick, put it across my chair and sat down.  My butt is wider than sixteen inches.  By a good margin.  And that is when the panic truly set it.  And it was a panic.  I honestly thought I wouldn't be able to fit in the seat.  I'd sit down and just sit across the top of the seat and not actually sit in it.  I had visions that I would be jettisoned off the plane from 30,000 feet because the plane was overweight.  That was a stretch, even I knew that.  But I really did think I would be singled out, in front of a plane full of passengers.  They would, sickeningly politely, of course, ask me to deplane because their stupidly tiny seats could not accommodate me. 

I was terrified.  Absolutely terrified.  The day before we left, we were going to give it one last good hike.  The whole hike, as hard as we could go, so we'd feel confident when we landed in Tahoe.  I made it fifty feet into the woods.  That's it.  No lie.  I ran out of gas in fifty feet and had to turn around and go back.  I couldn't do it.

But we pressed on.  I made myself get on the plane, and miracle of all miracles, no one singled me out.  I fit in the seat.  I wasn't jettisoned at 30,000 feet.  I was just like everyone else.  Boring, really.

We land in Reno and my mom drives and I navigate (she can't navigate worth a crap).  I remember driving through Reno and pulling up to the road that takes you to Lake Tahoe.  And that's it.  I remember nothing else.  My mind had, I guess, completely checked out.  I don't remember the drive, the hotel, nothing.  Mom said I was repeating myself the whole trip.  I was pointing out things several times.  If I saw something I thought was funny I'd point it out, more than once, as if I'd never seen it before.  We have pictures.  It's like I'm looking at someone else's vacation.  I have pictures of restaurants in which we dined.  Restaurants I would swear under oath I've never seen before.  She showed me a picture at a restaurant and couldn't believe that I couldn't remember it.  Apparently a lady came up to me and told me I had pretty hair.  Maybe she did.  I don't know.  I don't remember.  And that is a terrible feeling. 

The stress was so overwhelming I just shut down.  I was awake, talking, apparently enjoying my vacation.  But I don't remember it.  I have no recollection of Lake Tahoe.  Thankfully it's only happened the one time.  After that, while still unhappy with the absurdly undersized airplane seats, I know that I'll get on the plane and fly just like everyone else.  Travel is stressful, for anyone, but I was well past my capacity.  Bodies and minds are fascinating.  I physically and mentally shut down in an effort to protect myself.  I learned a lot that trip.  Not during the trip itself, but in the lead up and aftermath.  Nothing that I had made myself sick over actually happened.  None of it.  And I had ruined my first vacation.  A little stress can be okay.  Everyone has stress, but I let it take over.  And nothing good came of it.

Pretty accurate, I'd say
 

  

Tree, part deux

This is why my giant cat toy Christmas tree looks like it does...

Tree

This is what my tree looks like now. I especially like the bunched up tree skirt, although the lack of ornaments is not without it's charm!

The Palm

Let me preface by saying---I am not a city person.  I was born and raised in the country.  "Going to town" was a big deal, even though "town" consisted of 5,000 people.  I feel horribly awkward and out of place in the city.  Everyone seems so sophisticated in their suits and shiny shoes and $750 purses.  Well, the last few years I have accompanied my parents (my dad is Mayor) and the City Attorney and his wife on business trips to Washington D.C.  For dinner one night, we went to The Palm.  Super fancy-pants, for me, anyway.  Everyone was dressed up, drinking expensive wine, and somehow managing to NOT dribble food on their expensive suits.  If ever there was a place for me to feel unworthy, it would be The Palm.

I tried my best to fit in and did pretty well, I thought.  I had a glass of wine (hated it) and a Manhattan (hated it). I didn't slop food anywhere and I conducted myself with a great deal of refinement.  After coffee we get up to leave and I proudly stride towards the exit.  For some stupid reason, everyone in our party decided to follow my lead out of the restaurant. 

It's very twisty and turny inside The Palm and I thought I was headed toward the exit.  I walk past this loooong table full of, what I can only assume to be, international diplomats.  Fancy pants people.  I am vaguely aware, somewhere in the back of my mind, that I'm no longer being followed.  But I continue on until I realize there is nowhere else to go.  I had walked right up to a glass wall.  There was no exit.  I had somehow wandered into a private party, being held in a private room.  With no other exit.  I turned around to find about twenty fancy pants international diplomats staring at me.  There was nothing I could do but walk past the table full of suits--again.  I wanted so badly to clap my hands and say in my most authoritative voice "May I have your attention please.  How are we on drinks?  Does anyone need more water?  No?  Thank you!"  Instead I just slunk past them, nodding and smiling to them as I walked by.  "How are you this evening?  The shrimp looks delicious.  I love your top!!!", I say. Of course my parents were standing outside that room laughing their asses off.  Why didn't someone grab the back of my shirt when they saw me going in there???  Maybe it's all their fault. Wasn't my fault. After all, it's incredibly dark inside fancy restaurants. Turn on some damn lights!!!

It was awful.  Not really because I was embarrassed, even though I was really embarrassed.  I think it was because I had just proved to myself that I didn't really belong there.  I couldn't even find the exit in The Palm.   And twenty international diplomats all knew I was out of place.  I'm sure they laughed at me.  They did.  I know it. 

Have you ever thoroughly embarrassed yourself and then had to do a walk of shame past the same people you just embarrassed yourself in front of?  All you can do is smile and nod and hope like hell they were all too drunk to remember.

As embarrassing as that episode was, it paled in comparison to the humiliation I suffered at the hands of the Chicago Subway.  Yikes.

Cheap!!!

Tuxedo kitten for sale!  Super cheap!!!

Tree

I put up the Christmas tree last night. I am not a fan of putting up the tree before Thanksgiving, but it's so late this year. I want time to look at my pretty tree. This is Frank's first Christmas and I figured he'd be excited with all the boxes and pretty lights, but he went berserk.  Fatty has never really cared, although he loves to sit in the tree boxes. Frankie was all over the place. Every time I hung an ornament he'd try to swat it out of my hand. He took a flying leap into the middle of the tree, nearly taking the whole thing down. It's as if he thought he has exactly five minutes to destroy the whole  living room. I went to bed last night listening to the sounds of shiny red (shatterproof) balls hitting the floor. Then I hear him chase them all over the house. I knew I would have a mess to clean up in the morning but it was so worth it. Baby Frank had the best day ever.  Little turd.

 

It's true

The boys

It's time I introduced my boys, Fatty and Frankie.  Fatty is, without question, the love of my life. He's my best friend, without whom, I would not be here.  He's eleven years old now, twelve in May.  I got him out of a barn when he was about six weeks old.  He's my boy.  Not much of a looker, really, but I would die for him.  Fatty Boombalatty is diabetic and he gets his insulin shots every day.  He's such a trouper.  About a year ago he was so sick I was sure I was going to lose him.  He had lost his fur, skeletally thin.  I actually bought a memorial picture frame for him.  That's how sure I was that he was going to die.  He pulled through and now the picture frame is in my closet.   Big Fat is well over twenty pounds.  He's a monster.  Ironically, he's not actually fat.  He is just a huge tomcat.  Huge.  Every time I read about some kid's update, the author always documents likes and dislikes.  So I figure Fat and Frank deserve the same.

 

Fatty's likes:

Fancy Feast.  Boy loves his Fancy Feast

Chasing squirrels around the yard, from inside the house

Getting his head scratched

His bed in the big bay window

 

Fatty's dislikes:

Frankie:(

 

 

Frankie.  He's my little guy.  He's seven months old now and seems SO SMALL compared to Fatty.  I "appropriated" Frankie (stole is such an ugly word) from the neighbor's across the street.  They pretty much abandoned him so I took him in.  He is the sweetest little cat with the loudest purr.  We're still learning each other but, so far, he's proven to be a wonderful addition to our little family. 

 

Frankie's likes:

Fatty

Fatty's bed in the big bay window

Chasing Fatty around the house

Belly rubs

Fancy Feast ( I don't know what they put in that stuff)

 

Frankie's dislikes:

Nothing.  He's cool with everything:)



These are my boys.  I'm so grateful to have them both.  Fatty isn't quite as psyched about it, but I'm sure they'll be friends one day.  Hopefully.

Bitchin'!

Netflix has a Yule Log, for those of us not fortunate enough to have a fireplace. There is one is with Christmas  carols, one with music and one with fireplace sounds!

Bitchin'!

Poop!

I frequently hike at our local park.  If you follow the lake, it's very hilly (for Illinois).  It's shady, lots of wildlife.  I really enjoy it.  But in the fall, the leaf cover masks the goose poop.  And there is a LOT of poop.  Like, an embarrassing amount of poop.   In the spring and summer it's not such a big deal because you can walk around it.  Or at least try to.  But with leaves on the ground, you've just got to go for it.  Walk all over poop and make your peace with it.  No way around it. 

Goose poop is there.  I just don't know where.

 

Adding to the goose poop are the little creeks.  They're little bitty creeks.  A giant step can usually clear them.  But they are also full of leaves.  So I step on the leaves, assuming that there will be solid ground underneath.  I have sometimes assumed incorrectly.  And that is a broken leg waiting to happen.

It's not all solid underneath.  Beware!

                                                  

It was cold today.  Not super cold, but in the 30's.  Cold enough to run everyone out of the park.  There is a certain level of satisfaction I get when I'm out hiking or walking and there is no one else to be seen.  They've all been chased indoors by the weather but I'm still plugging along.  It's not fun, and I am cold, but it needs to be done.  And I feel so good when it's over.  

Alllllll alone:(

So between dodging the goose poop land mines, potential broken legs and frigid temperature, I think it is way too hazardous for me to hike in the park.  I think, for my own safety and wellbeing, I should just stay home, make some cocoa and pet my cats.  Amirite???

Man alive, they poop a lot!

 







Brenda

I don't actually know Brenda. She doesn't know me.  She's a friend of a friend of a Facebook friend.  We've never laid eyes on each other, that I'm aware of, so it's odd that I'm insanely jealous of someone I've never met.  Odder still, Brenda is not that attractive.  She has a minimum wage job and she's (please believe me when I say this is not a criticism) dumb as an ox.   But she's HAPPY.  She's really, honestly happy.  With herself, her life, her job, everything.  Every weekend, Brenda has plans.  She visits church friends, school friend, neighbors.  She frequents local fairs and festivals.  Her calendar is full.

I'm not happy.  I'm not well suited for my job, my location.  I don't fit in here.  I have no friends and really nothing to do.  There is a huge world out there and I want to see it.  I desperately want to move on to bigger and better things, but I can't seem to get going. 

Brenda seems perfectly content with her lot in life.  She is a simple woman with simple needs.  Her world is very small, and that suits her just fine.  I would give anything to be content.  I either need to elevate myself to the standard I have set or calm down, quit my bitching, and learn to be happy here.  Trouble is, I can't seem to do either. 

On paper, I have it all over Brenda.  Education, a good job, nice home, nice car.  Where it actually matters, Brenda has it all over me.  My goal in life, my only actual goal, is to be happy.  Wherever that may be.  Whatever career that may be.  With whomever that may be.  I just want to be happy. It shouldn't be so hard.  If I can't be happy here, then why can't I just go somewhere else?  If I can't go somewhere else, why can't I be happy here?  It shouldn't be this difficult. 

Every Monday I read about Brenda's awesome weekend.  Who she saw and what she did.  She always says she had the BEST weekend.  And I'm sure she did.  My weekends are not awesome.  I live alone and too much time is the kiss of death.  I have too much time to think.  And when I start to think about myself, about how much I am NOT where I want to be, the bad thoughts creep in.  No es bueno.  I'll get my shit together someday and, in the mean time, I will resist the urge to throat punch Brenda should I ever happen to run into her.

 I have never actually said this:(

Travel

I love travel.  I will go anywhere.  There is always something new to learn, see, do.  No matter where you go.  I started my travels in 2009, I think, on the advise of my therapist.  I was stuck in a rut, of my own making, and she thought it would be a good idea for me to get out and broaden my horizons.  She was dead on .  My mom is my travel buddy and we started with Lake Tahoe, in the fall of 2009.    It was an absolute disaster, but we'll save that for another day.

I found a Time Life book shortly after, called "100 Places to see in Your Lifetime".  There are one hundred locations, all in the States, that the editors of Time thought everyone should see.  So that is my goal.  To see all one hundred.  I'm up to about forty five now, I think.  My book is currently at the book binders getting some much needed repairs.  We try to take maybe two or three trips a year, keeping my list in mind.  The list is so interesting, as the places are extremely varied.   There are some, like the Grand Canyon and the Tetons, where it is clear why it made the list.  Then there are others-Wrigley Field-where I can't really figure out why I'm there.  Clearly the editors of Life thought it was awesome, but I have a hard time seeing it.

I've been from the Maine Coast to Big Sur, CA.  San Juan Islands in WA to Sanibel Island, FL.  Washington DC, Oregon, Rhode Island.  I've been all over and I love it.

One of my most prized possessions is my travel journal.  If my house were to catch fire, I'd grab the boys and my travel journal.  I take it on every trip.  I write down where I went, where we ate, interesting facts about that particular location, souvenirs I bought.  I try to get a post card of every location for my journal.  I've put in receipts, drink coasters, bumper stickers, coins, ticket stubs.  It is so fun to sit down and read through it.  I remember things that I had forgotten. I'm so grateful I had it written down or I would have never remembered.  I would highly encourage anyone who travels to get a journal.  To me, it's priceless.

Election Day!

I voted!