What's in a Name?

Would a blog called Cooking Without an Oven still be a blog if it's name changed? Of course it would. Would it be the same blog? Of course it would. Just because something changes it's name doesn't mean its any different. Didn't Shakespeare teach us that a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet?

So, why am I contemplating a change in the name of my blog? Basically, I have to. This Christmas, Eric's mom decided to get us an oven. One that works on top and inside. One where I will be able to make tuna noodle casserole, and cheesecake, and german chocolate cake and my mother's pork chops and rice recipe and beef bourguignon. We aren't getting the oven until the middle of January though, so I still have a few weeks to contemplate what is going to be the first meal I cook, and what I am going to rename my blog. I can't really call it Cooking Without an Oven anymore since I will be cooking with an oven. Lots. My life is still not totally in control and I'm still taking it one step at a time and still learning and I don't expect an oven to change all that, although it will stop us from having to be so creative with ramen noodles.

I've already told you about my resolution to read every one of the 100 books on the NY Times Notable Books of 2009 list, so I thought about changing the name to "So Many Books, So Little Time" but that's rather commercial at this point. I was also thinking of calling it "Literally Literary" but I can hardly pronounce it myself, so maybe alliteration is not the way to go. I thought about doing a "Julie & Julia" type blog and type every day about how the books are going and then call it "A Year in The Life..." but that's not very clever either. I did briefly think of calling it "Damn You Bill Gregory! (among others)" in homage to my sophomore year English teacher for extolling the virtues of writing in margins of books, taking notes, and journaling every day, even writing the same word over and over and over and over until you thought of something else to write. But then I'd have to spend more time explaining and introducing you to all the English teachers along the way who have helped me to write and read and not only to do that, but to actually think about what I am writing and reading. I also thought I might call it "Horses, Death and Scenery" which was going to be the title of the biography I was going to write about Robert Redford, or the way I described my favorite movie, "Legends of the Fall." Horses, death and scenery have also played a big part in my life. But again, I would have to spend at least a couple of entries explaining all that. Finally I moved away from the literary and thought I could call the blog "If You Can't Stand the Heat..." and try to do a reading/cooking blog. One year I resolved to either eat at a new restaurant or try a new recipe every week. That would be 52 new experiences in a year. That worked for about 3 months. Don't know why I stopped, but I assume it's because life got in the way, again.

I'm not even sure if I can change the name of my blog without creating a new one, so this whole discussion may be pointless. But my original sentiment remains true....no matter what I call my blog, I hope that people will read it and enjoy it.

Is It Too Early to Make My New Year's Resolution?

This is exactly what I knew was going to happen. I start a blog, write entries like crazy at first, and then forget about it. I was horrified when I logged on this evening to discover that I haven't blogged in over a month. That's too long and I apologize and will try to be better at it.

That could be my New Year's Resolution. And yes, I know that we still have to go through Christmas before we should start making those, but why not start at least thinking about them now? I make them every year, and sometimes I stick to them, but like a lot of people, most times I don't. We all mean well when we make these resolutions and I'm sure some of you have been able to keep them for a full 365 days. I do well for about 3 months and then things tend to fall apart. Maybe Spring reawakens my senses and the fact that the sun finally shines again in Chicago, and green things start popping up out of the ground, or that windows can be opened again and we can put away the snow blower just makes me forget that when I was sitting inside, in the cold on January 1 that I had made resolutions for the year. I don't know. All I know is that I don't believe I've ever kept a resolution all year long.

This year, or in 2010, I have a feeling it's going to be a lot easier. Because this resolution I am going to make is probably going to take me all year to complete. Now as most of you know, I spend my days at work staring at a computer screen and when I get home on Friday, my eyes are pretty much red and itchy and I'm ready to not look at a computer for the next couple of days. Yes, I log onto Facebook during the weekend to play a few games, catch up with friends I haven't talked to, and check out how I did in my College and Pro football pools, but usually the computer stays off. Except for times like this. It's Sunday afternoon. The Bears are losing to the Vikings and Eric and I have decided to have some quiet time reading things off the computer. On Sundays I like to read the New York Times online. I enjoy being able to pick and choose which stories I am going to read without getting my hands black with ink. I read the Travel section, the Weddings/Celebrations section, the news stories that interest me, the sports stories that interest me, and, of course, the BOOK REVIEW. I love it online because they have a podcast and actual interviews with the authors, or readings from the books. They usually include excerpts and other things of interest.

This weekend, a full 7 days before the print edition comes out, they have listed their 100 Notable Books of 2009. Being the bibliophile that I am, I want to read all 100 books. I even scanned each title today and the short one sentence description they had and there is not a single one of those books that does not sound interesting to me. OK, maybe the one about the resurgence of Quantum Physics isn't going to be the first one I read, but even it is going to teach me something I didn't know. There are 45 fiction/short story/poetry books and 55 non-fiction titles on their list. I want to spend 2010 reading them all. Now I realize that may be a lofty goal. With 100 books and 365 days out of the year, I'm going to have to average a book every 3 days and I'm sure some of them are quite long. I only have a 15 minute commute on the train to work and back, and guess I will have to stop watching television in order to fit them all in. But I am a fast and avid reader. I read the Harry Potter books in one evening so I know I can do it, but its something that I am going to have to keep up with ALL YEAR LONG! I suppose I could cheat and start reading a couple of them now, in the last month of 2009, but I don't think that would be right. If it's going to be a resolution, then it has to start on January 1.

And maybe, just maybe, because I am determined to blog more, I should write a review of each book I read. That way, I will blog more in 2010 as well. There, it's November 29th and I've already made 2 resolutions. Now lets just hope March doesn't come in like a lion and blow these resolutions away. Happy Reading everyone!

Just Like Old Times

I am swimming in nostalgia this week. On Wednesday, when I came home from work, the weather outside reminded me exactly of the Octobers of my youth, when we would all get excited for the costume parade at school for Halloween, and then all cry when we had to wear jackets over our costumes. Some people in my neighborhood must have fireplaces because I stepped out of the car and the aroma of burning wood filled my nostrils. I couldn't wait to get inside and curl up with a cup of hot chocolate. It's starting to get darker earlier (and will be dark by 4pm next week when we put the clocks back). There is a chill in the air. The weather is cloudy and rainy. The trees are giving off their final blaze of glory. I guarantee that if it wasn't raining, I would go take a walk in the park across the street and let the brown, yellow and red leaves crunch under my feet.

Maybe upon feeling this nostalgia, Saturday morning my boyfriend and I went out to eat "comfort food." For me it was an open faced turkey sandwich, served on white bread with mashed potatoes and gravy on top, all with a side of cranberry sauce. I hadn't eaten one of those since my days back at Mizzou in the dining halls. The same dining halls that would have a sign describing the night's side dish as "chessy" rice. There was nothing like the taste of a slice of Wonder bread, topped with a slice of processed turkey meat and a perfect ice cream scoop of mashed potatoes and bright yellow, almost snot-colored gravy. They usually only served those on weekends and it was great because a lot of people went home, so they always had plenty of servings. For Eric, his comfort food was meatloaf with mashed potatoes. Mushroom gravy on the meatloaf, different gravy on the potatoes. I smiled at his horror when he broke the dam on his mound of mashed potatoes and the gravys started to mix. This is not allowed in Eric's world. Each taste must be separate. He managed to shore up the damn and enjoy his lunch. Now meatloaf was not something my mother made. In fact, I don't believe I ever had meatloaf until I was 11 or 12 and living in New Mexico. I rode horses and my trainer one night before a horse show had me come by, learn how to braid my horse's mane, and then I stayed for dinner. Meatloaf, covered in Heinz ketchup. It was delicious. I am hoping that soon Eric and I can get a new oven so I can experiment with making my own meatloaf.

After lunch, Eric and I went to Kohl's and bought a waffle iron. When I was growing up, Sunday mornings when we had waffles were an event. My mother and father had a waffle iron that had been given to either her parents or his parents as a wedding gift. It was heavy, large, and the cord was beginning to get frayed. There was a big dome light on the front and I remember my brother and myself waiting until that light to glow yellow so that the batter could be poured slowly, out of the giant plastic bowl, onto the grid. Then the games began. My brother and I would guess whether the waffle would stick to the top or the bottom. Whomever got the right answer, got the waffle. And it was never good enough to just yell "top" or "bottom." You always had to yell it three times! "Top! TOP! TOP!!!" or "Bottom, BOTTOM, BOTTOM!!" There were cries of disappointment when we were wrong, cries of joy when we were right and my father said that he actually could accurately predict where it would end up depending on how the pour went. We, as children, of course believed him and were amazed that he was always right. Now when we went to Kohl's there were all sorts of new fangled waffle irons that turn and twist and fold and all that other unnecessary stuff. Then there was the Cuisinart waffle iron, that not only didn't twist and flip, but was also on sale! I am a big fan of Cuisinart, owning not only the original Cuisinart, but a mini-prep, coffee maker and hand blender that all carry the Cusinart name. So we got that and this morning I was thrilled to discover, that after my first "practice" waffle that ended up sticking everywhere, (My fault, I didn't use enough batter), that of the next two batches, one ended up on the top and one ended up on the bottom. Both tasted the same and were brown and beautiful. We covered them with butter and Mrs. Butterworth's syrup. It was great!

Tonight, we're going to have pork chops and applesauce. No, not really about the applesauce, but we are going to watch Bears football, have some pork chops and then watch "Dexter." That's not really nostalgic, but it's a nice way to end the weekend. A nice family, nostalgic weekend with my new family. Eric, Harley, Blair, Jasper and Elsie. Let's get out the jiffy pop and the plastic pumpkin to stick candy in and dive deep into the pool of our past.

RANT

I just noticed that I haven't contributed to my blog in almost a month. That's terrible! I have an entire list of things that I want to blog about and now that I'm not spending 3 hours a day commuting in the car to work, I should have more time to write. So I guess I had better sit down and get some serious writing done. Of course, this isn't going to be one of those times. This time, because I haven't done it in so long, is going to be a rant. Just random thoughts I've had over the past week and things that I truly believe I need to get off my chest.

First of all, I am suffering from panic attacks again. I have had one every day for the past week from 11 am to 1pm. Mainly lunch hour panic. I'm not panicked about lunch. I'm working downtown, which I really enjoy. It gives me more time to read now that I'm letting the train engineer do the driving. I also am getting exercise by walking back and forth to the train station. So, why am I panicking? I wish I knew, but I know I need to get over it! I am almost 40 years old. Maybe that's it. The other ones started before I turned 30. They're not bad this time, just inconvenient. So, I need to either write to get rid of my thoughts, or I should visit my doctor and see if there is some physical reason for them. But I'm not wasting any more time writing about them or focusing on them.

Next, why do people start celebrating holidays so early? When I got off the train on Monday morning and was walking across the street, the sidewalk in front of our office building was blocked by men on big cranes putting CHRISTMAS LIGHTS on the trees! It's not even Halloween yet! Now I will say that they took two days to put them up but they have not lit them yet, so I will cut them a little slack. Also, it's probably more reasonable to put up the lights when it's 50 degrees and raining, rather than when it's cold and icy or snowing. But I think nowadays holidays are rushed. Halloween candy starts showing up in the store before Labor Day, as soon as that is gone there will be Christmas decorations up. We kind of just skip over Thanksgiving now. I remember when I was younger, it was a big deal on the day after Thanksgiving to head downtown because the stores opened at 9AM...a whole hour earlier than usual. It was also the day that Marshall Field's revealed their holiday windows. NOW, stores open up at 3, 4 or 5 am. Hell, K-Mart is even open on Thanksgiving Day. Mickey Mouse and his pals come to Chicago and light the lights on Michigan Avenue in the middle of November. And I guarantee you that as soon as December 26th hits, you can go to Walgreen's and pick out your Valentines. What ever happened to celebrating a holiday during the month in which it occurs. Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas all happen at the end of their respective months. I would think that 3 or 4 weeks is plenty of time to get ready. Too much and you end up getting sick of it. I used to travel to London every November. Usually the first week in November, and since they don't celebrate Thanksgiving there, I understand their need to have Christmas decorations up early. Although Harrod's is taking it a bit far, by putting up their Christmas displays in June. But I want the Macy's parade to be the first time I see Santa Claus. And to all of you people who refuse to take down your decorations on the outside of your house because you put them up in November and don't want to take them down in February, you should be fined! You don't have to throw out your tree on the 26th, but I think all Christmas decorations should be down by Super Bowl Sunday.

This posting ended up being shorter than I thought it was going to be, and I can live with that.

I could rant about so many more things, like the fact that we were all emotionally sucked into the story of the little boy supposedly lost in the balloon today, only to find out that he was hiding in the attic and that they had been on "Wife Swap." Or the fact that my female cat is a traitor. Or how for the first time in my football pool I voted against my Dolphins and they won! Or I could write about music, or the fact that I am secretly a technology geek. I could write about how I can deal with the fact that my cat snores, but I can't deal with the fact that my boyfriend does. I could write about my new iPhone and the cool Apps that are on it. But I won't. I'm going to save all those things to write about at a different time. That will force me to keep coming back and writing. I am sorry I have neglected this and I won't let it happen again.

A Book By Any Other Name...

I am a bibliophile. I absolutely love books. My dream home would have a library that would be bigger than the master bedroom with a fireplace and comfortable chairs to sit in. In my family, from a very early age, it was not Christmas without a book. I could spend hours in a bookstore. I go to the Printer's Row Book Fair (now called "LitFest") every summer with very little money because if I had more, I would buy many, many books. I bought a book yesterday as Eric and I were walking back to the car after dinner because it's title caught my eye. It's probably why I ended up being an English major in college. I have moved to Florida and back in the past 4 years and each time have moved over 3,000 POUNDS of books.

I love all kinds of books: mysteries, science fiction, novels, non-fiction, poetry, true crime, history, travel, cookbooks, sports stories, animal stories, and will even pick up a romance novel from time to time. I've read most, if not all of the classics, either because I had to, but mostly because I wanted to. When I was preparing for my move to Florida, and was thinning out my books, I had 5 copies of "The Picture of Dorian Gray", I weaned it down to 1. I have a set of the complete works of Shakespeare, and one of my favorite graduation gifts was "Bartlett's Famous Quotations."

I now find myself in a dilemma though. I am a fan of Amazon.com. I have bought many books, toys, electronic gadgets and even a Weber grill off of the site. As you may know, Amazon has a device called "Kindle" which is a little handheld device about the size of a small paperback on which you can download books, newspapers from all over the country and the world, and magazines. It downloads the book wirelessly, and all "bestsellers" are only $9.99. The Kindle holds 1,500 books, although if you get the newest model the "DX", you can have 3,500 books in something the size of a magazine. Considering most of my 3,000 pounds of books have been in boxes for the past 4 years, I have been contemplating purchasing a Kindle.

But here are some of my issues. One...the Kindle is expensive. The basic model is $299 and the "DX" is $489. That's a lot of money that I could spend on books, because this basic price only buys the "reader." I'd still have to pay for books and I'm probably not going to be on Oprah's "Favorite Things" Show where she would give one away. Why would I pay $10 to buy books I already have, just to save some space, knowing I will probably not get rid of the physical copy of the book? Another issue is that I stare at a computer screen, two, actually, all day at work and spend time on the computer at home, so why would I want to read books off of what is basically another computer screen? Plus, call me old-fashioned, but I love the smell of a book, I like cracking open the spine, I like being able to write notes in the margin or highlight a passage if I need to, and I don't believe you can do that on Kindle. I also believe in bookstores. When I was growing up there was a small bookstore in my small town and the two ladies that owned that store became lifelong friends. They would also order you any book you needed and you would have it in a couple of days. Now, we're left with Barnes & Noble and a few Borders, which are more cafe's/music/movie/stationery stores than the bookstores I grew up with. If I get a Kindle, I will be helping to eradicate the bookstore all together and I don't believe I want to do that. But I'm sort of a tech geek as well, and to be able to have one of the first "digital" readers would be kinda neat. I've heard rave reviews of Kindle, but I've also seen a lot of them for sale on eBay. I also think I would rather get a paper cut than to go blind while reading a computer screen. Yes, the Kindle would be great for travel, but since I haven't travelled very far lately, that's not a reason, plus when I went on the few cruises I went on, I enjoyed taking a book and then leaving it at the ship's library for someone else to enjoy. I also know I would fill up my Kindle and would feel really badly about hitting the "delete" button rather than donating the book to a retirement home, or for needy kids or a local literacy program.

So I'm going to keep pondering on this. I can always put a Kindle on my Christmas wish list.

Driving Off Into The Sunset

Those of you who know me know that I am a HUGE sports fan. I love all kinds of sports, whether on TV, watching as a fan in the stands, or actually participating in sports. Football is my all-time favorite and starting next week, don't even think about calling me on Sunday because I'll be watching games. I enjoy baseball, will watch the last 2 minutes of a basketball game--because that's when the real action takes place--watch and play golf, play 16" softball--a Chicago only thing--love the olympics, participate in equestrian sports, and also watch and play tennis.

Every Memorial Day weekend since I can remember, I would watch the Indianapolis 500. I will admit I watched mostly for the crashes, but enjoyed the true racing as well. Several years ago I would also watch NASCAR races, although they were not on TV as much as they are today. I remember sitting at my dad's house and watching Dale Earnhardt crash for the final time. I remember my step-sister Tina getting married and her husband, John, who was from Florida was a NASCAR nut. He liked Jeff Gordon and his rainbow car. I had heard of him and knew that car, but I wouldn't say I was a "fan."

In 2005 I moved to Florida to be closer to my brother. I got a job as a marketing/events coordinator at a Harley-Davidson dealership and made friends with my co-workers quickly. Little did I know at the time that NASCAR in Florida is almost a religion. Whereas in Chicago, there are Notre Dame, Michigan, Northwestern, Cubs or Sox flags flying from porches and flagpoles, in Florida, there are Jeff Gordon, Tony Stewart, Jimmie Johnson, and Jr. flags flying. If you walk into a sports bar in Florida, there is more likely to be a NASCAR race on than a football or baseball game.

The talk in our break room every Monday was about who had won the race that past weekend and the talk on Friday was on who was most likely to win the upcoming race. One of the girls camped out all weekend at Homestead every year and knew more about NASCAR history than I would ever know. The guy who was most into the races and the drivers was Larry. Larry was the guy who worked in the service department and washed the bikes. His entire area was covered with model cars of his favorite drivers. He had the NASCAR yearbook. When he finally got cable,he would ask me to show him how to look up NASCAR races on ESPN Classic. Larry, and others, told me that in order to be really into NASCAR I had to pick a favorite driver.

I knew I didn't want to pick Jeff Gordon or Jimmie Johnson. I also didn't really like Dale Earnhardt Jr., much to Larry's chagrin. I liked Tony Stewart because he got mad when he lost and was a little overweight, but I didn't like the color of his car. So, I asked to borrow Larry's NASCAR yearbook and began to look at the drivers I thought were attractive. There were OK looking ones, but no one stood out. Until I got to the driver of the 38 car. His name was Elliott Sadler.

He was more than 6' tall--I've always like tall men--had a nice goatee, and was, I thought very attractive. He also drove the M&M's car. NICE!!! Elliott was going to be "my driver." I told this to Larry and others and they laughed at me. "Elliott Sadler? Really?" was the most common reaction. But, I stuck by my choice. Elliott was a fairly good driver. At the time I picked him he was in the "Race for the Chase" at the end of the year and

consistently was finishing higher than Junior, who was Larry's favorite. Plus he was hot AND single.

I got a little die-cast Elliott Sadler car, and when Larry went shopping at the NASCAR store in town, he said they had a bigger one that he would gladly pick up for me and I could pay him back. Deal. I joined the Elliott Sadler bandwagon and wouldn't allow any badmouthing and would defend him to the end. In 2005, Elliott Sadler finished 13th in the rankings of the top drivers. Not bad. Not as good as the previous year when he finished in the top 10, but since I wasn't following him then, I didn't care. The year after I started following him, he changed teams and numbers and cars. He now drives the number 19 car, which is either decorated in the Best Buy, Stanley Tools, or McDonald's colors. He also shaved off the goatee but he was still "my driver."

In 2007, I moved back to Chicago, but still followed NASCAR and Elliott. I joined the Elliott Sadler fan club, got t-shirts and sweatshirts and almost drove 80 miles, during rush hour traffic, to meet him in person when he was at the Chicagoland Speedway. I still rooted for him in races and he was still "my driver." I even ordered a picture off of his website and put it in a frame and had it on my desk.

Lately, Elliott has not been doing so well. He seems to do really well in the Daytona 500, the first race of the year, and then rapidly declines in rankings. He finished 25th in 2007 and 24th in 2008. He seems to start most races toward the back of the pack, and in the last race started 42nd out of 43 drivers. A few of the races this year, he has crashed so early, there's no point in looking for him in the scroll of drivers across the top of the screen. He is not going to be in the "Race" at the end of the year, not even close. He was not in the All-Star race. It's no fun watching the races on TV, when there is no chance of seeing Elliott's car, unless it ends up being involved in a crash, or even worse, causing one.

Yes, I believe it is time for my relationship with Elliott to end. Time for me to move on. Time for me to pick someone else to root for. Elliott got married in January of this year and I wish him and Amanda all the best in the years to come. Elliott Sadler will no longer be "my driver."

So, I am on the hunt for a new one to follow. I like Carl Edwards because he is from Columbia, MO, where I went to college. I think Clint Bowyer has gorgeous eyes. Same for Denny Hamlin. I like Mark Martin but he's a bit old. Jimmie Johnson, Junior and Jeff Gordon are still out of the running. Kasey Kahne is adorable, but I'd feel like a "cougar." I can't stand the driver of the M&M's car now, Kyle Busch, although his brother, Kurt, seems like a really nice guy. So I believe I will have to go to my old friend Tony Stewart. He's a driver/owner now. He still has that fire and actually wins some races. He also reminds me a lot of Eric.

There are 12 races left in the season and I will watch as many of them as I can. I will also stick it out with Elliott until the end of the season because I'm just a faithful kind of girl. But come the Daytona 500 in February of 2010, look for the number 14 flag hanging outside my balcony.

In Honor of Our Anniversary

Twelve months ago, let’s call it a year,

I was “dating” several men I fear.

Some only once, some for just hours,

and not one of them gave me chocolate or flowers.

But I didn’t mind, I was just having fun,

When all of a sudden, I met “THE ONE.”

I was planning a foursome, two couples, a quad,

When the man on my side became quite a clod.

He said he was tired and wanted to rest.

And I’m glad that he did, it turned out for the best.

Because he flaked out, the four became three,

and this is how I met Eric, you see.

We exchanged emails, pictures and such,

a few texts on the Cubs, basically, not much.

He lived in the city and me in the burbs,

He seemed quite clever & witty with words.

I met him and his girl after very bad crepes,

and letting me touch him was her biggest mistake.

We had a good time, some laughs and some sex.

And after they left, he sent me a text.

For Labor Day Monday was coming up soon,

and if I wanted to watch the Cubs, he did too.

So over a discussion on who best could grill,

He said come down and get me, and I said I will.

From the moment his lips touched my BBQ,

I just a a feeling that this might be true.

The next weekend we went to a nice B & B,

Where during dinner one night he said he loved me.

We’ve been a couple since then, and though times have been tough,

We’ve both lost some jobs, I moved in with my stuff.

We’re adjusting to life as a couple, plus four--

The dog and three kitties (we can’t fit any more).

We watch lots of movies and cooking cook-offs,

Bowl naked on Wii, play Tiger Woods golf.

We’re on our computers 14 hours a day,

But I wouldn’t change it for anything I say.

We’ve had disagreements, tears have been shed.

But yet still every night, we both go to bed.

There’s always a kiss, whether angry or sad

And to have 30 more years of this will make me glad

Some day I will proud to be called your wife.

Happy Anniversary Eric, My Sweetums, my life.

Frankie Say Relax

I, like thousands, maybe even millions of people, suffer from panic attacks. They started for me when I was 29 after a horrible year where I lost my step-father, a baby, and my mother all within 6 months of each other. The first time I had one, I was exercising. I was walking along Sheridan Road in Wilmette, IL, listening to music and probably about a mile from home. All of a sudden I couldn't see anything. The world went black. I got very cold and my heart rate jumped to an alarming rate. I stood there and calmly waited until I could see again and walked home. I didn't think anything of it. Thought maybe I was exercising too hard.

I didn't have another one for a couple of weeks. That one happened while I was in the bathroom. My scalp got all tingly and then all of a sudden, up goes the heart rate again. I literally thought I was having a heart attack. This only made things worse and I started to cry. I called a friend of mine over and she thought maybe my boyfriend at the time had done something horrible. I said, "no, I just seem to be out of control." So she took me over to my doctor's office. My doctor wasn't in, but I saw a colleague of his who said that it was a classic panic attack. She prescribed a small sample of Paxil. I went home, took the Paxil, and immediately, the veins in my wrist started bulging, as if to say "cut me here!" I called my boyfriend and he talked to me until the feeling went away. Well after 2 days on Paxil, I did not feel any better and now could not leave my house. I was "panicking" every 2 hours or so. I could still get up and feed the cats, but even the thought of opening the door to get the mail was too much.

I was sent to a psychologist who prescribed a different anti-depressant. I went home, took one half of one pill...and immediately vomited like I hadn't done for days. I decided pills were not for me. I let the panic attacks go on for about 3 months. I would lay in bed at night and look out the window at the fire station across the street, waiting for the moment when I would call the paramedics. I managed to get myself to the grocery store, but sometimes would have to leave a cart full of groceries because I was sure I was going to pass out. I went blind while driving once, which was not good, but I simply pulled over and waited until I could see again and drove home. I felt best in my bed, in my home, but realized that this was no way to live. I went to the hospital a couple of times, but was sent home and told I was fine.

My friend who had originally taken me to see the doctor, thought maybe it was because I was about to turn 30. I didn't think that was such a big deal. She suggested her psychologist and I made an appointment to see Charlie. I drove there in tears, I spent the entire hour with him in tears. I was going to London to celebrate my 30th birthday in about a week so he suggested I come see him every day until then. He truly helped me. I just needed to talk about everything that had happened and it made me feel better. I was still having the attacks, but they weren't as strong and I could get out of the house.

I made it to London, although I spent the entire flight over there, dry heaving in the lavatory. I was able to do some things in London but sometimes felt that I had to get back to the hotel, and had a couple of nights where I was wondering what the hospitals in London were like.

When I got home, I saw Charlie, once a week for the next 6 months. I could now go for weeks at a time without a panic attack. But I still had them. I remember one particularly bad one where I was driving back from Wisconsin and kept thinking at every exit, "I don't want to die in a McDonald's bathroom."

I still suffer from panic attacks. They are not as bad as they were, and I can go months without having one. The funny thing is that when I have one, and I'm not afraid to tell someone when it's happening, is that without a doubt everyone asks "Why?" Well, now, that's a silly question. If I knew WHY I was having the panic attack I could stop it. I simply tell them that very thing, and tell them to just keep talking to me or to let me walk around and I will be fine. I had one at work today, my left arm went numb and my chest hurt, but I simply told myself I was ok and if I passed out, so what? I still, to this day, have never passed out.

Panic attacks are scary. I don't recommend them to anyone and if you haven't had one, I'm not sure I can describe it. For me, it feels like my throat is closing up and that my heart is going to explode it is beating so fast. I also feel like I can't breathe, although I am able to take long, deep breaths. They are also scary because I never know when they are coming. I had one a couple of days ago in bed as I was falling asleep. I know, sounds like I should be relaxed at that time, but apparently not. That's why these are so damn scary and down right annoying.

Now, I don't have anything against anti-depressants or anti-anxiety medication. They simply did not work for me. I figured they were masking the problem and that I had to deal with my problem head on.

I have found that what works for me is talking to someone. When I talk to someone, I simply want them to talk about whatever they want. NOT about the panic attack itself, and definitely not to ask me "WHY?" When I don't have someone to talk to, I have a very wonderful nurse cat, who follows me around until I decide to settle down someplace and then he places his big black paw on my hand and lets me pet him until I fall asleep.

So if you meet me someday and I happen to have a panic attack, please don't ask me "WHY?" Simply tell me about your day, because I can guarantee its going a lot better than mine.

Simply The Best

Yesterday was one of the best days of my life. Why? Because I got to enjoy the Wisconsin State Fair I had enjoyed since my childhood and share it with a man I love. I also got to eat great food! But the true reason I enjoyed it so much is because it was a simple pleasure. It cost money, but not much. We ate, we looked at animals, we looked at homemade pies, homegrown flowers, and home photography that's not for sale at an art fair for an exorbitant price. All the people there are interested in the same thing, enjoying good food, playing some carnival games, and simple pleasures with family, friends and loved ones.

I love simple things. I find they make me happier than other, materialistic things. Yes, I enjoy eating out at fancy restaurants on occasion, I have gone on a few cruises, and I have traveled to Europe. But again, the simple pleasures of those trips are what make me happiest. The enjoyment of a good meal, cooked by someone who really cares about what they are making. Reading on the balcony of my cabin while having a day at sea. Walking through Hyde Park in London, watching the little girls on ponies, and the couples walking hand in hand.

I have never had a lot of money and that has probably made me appreciate the simple things a lot more. I take pleasure in sitting on my porch in the morning, watching the sunrise or at night watching a full moon. I would rather take a walk along the beach than live in a fancy house on the beach. I would rather sit quietly, reading a book, with a cat purring by my side, than go to a movie, or a club or shopping.

I take great pleasure in making a meal for people I love, enjoying a burger I've formed by hand and grilled, rather than going to a high-end restaurant for a $5,000 burger made with foie gras.
I absolutely detest eating cheesecake, but I will work for 4 hours making one to give it away just to see the pleasure it brings someone else. One of my favorite movies of all time is "Big Night" with Stanley Tucci and Tony Shaloub. The greatest scene in that movie is also the most simple. It's at the very end of the movie when, after a night of eating and fighting, Stanley Tucci makes a simple omelet for himself, his waiter and his brother. There's no dialog. Just eggs, a pan, a couple of plates and a fork.

I don't need to take expensive vacations. I can travel through books and that doesn't cost a thing. Some of my best trips have been impromptu road trips. The trip I made to the "Field of Dreams" in Iowa, sleeping in the car outside after driving all night to be there and see it covered in a light dusting of snow in the morning. The drive to Canada to stay at a friend's cabin, where you had a refrigerate the food in the stream and hide it from the bears at night. Trail rides on my horse where we would stop to see a deer passing across our path, or laughing when he spooked at a frog.

When I was younger and feeling a little depressed, one of the greatest simple pleasures was walking into the barn and hearing my horse knicker at the sound of my voice. I used to have a horse that would rest her head on my shoulder while I was grooming her. These are the moments that stick with me.

I would have to say I'm happiest in these simple moments. Sitting quietly, reading, watching waves or the sun sparkling on a calm lake. Writing in the morning before anyone else is awake. Lying in bed, next to my boyfriend, gently scratching his back as he falls asleep. Being the first one to walk on fresh snow and hearing it crunch beneath my feet. Taking a motorcycle ride on a curvy, tree-lined road in fall when the leaves are changing. Falling asleep outside under the trees and stars while listening to music. These are the things that mean the most to me. Embrace the simple things because the others are "complicated" or "difficult" for a reason.

I Enjoy Being A Girl -- NOT!

Now don't judge me by the title of this posting. I am very glad I am a girl/woman.

I just have never been what you would consider a "girly" girl. I don't wear make-up. I did for a bit back in 7th or 8th grade, but found that it took too much time in the morning to get ready. I'd rather use that extra time to sleep, finish reading a chapter of a book, or cook something amazing for breakfast. I do wear lip gloss and the occasional lipstick color. I've been known to enjoy a sample of perfume from Clinique and wear that. I wear dresses and skirts, although I am more comfortable in jeans, pants or shorts. I enjoy getting dressed up and wearing jewelry for a night on the town (or formal night on the cruise ship). But as you know I had never colored my hair until a week and a half ago, I have never had a manicure/pedicure or been to a spa. (I've worked with horses, guitars and computers so long nails don't really fit into that description).
When I first started "online" dating, I would invite guys to meet me at the barn I worked at because I figured if they didn't like me in jeans and smelling like hay, then they weren't going to like me. I like shopping, but I like going somewhere, getting what I want, and getting out. Whereas some women can spend hours in Macy's or Nordstrom, I would rather spend hours in Barnes & Noble or the Apple Store.

I like to consider myself a bit different, or unique from other women. I LOVE sports. I would rather sit home on Sunday and watch football than anything else. Super Bowl Sunday is a holiday in my home. I used to be with guys at a football game in high school and would know more than they would. (This didn't get me many second dates back then.) I can quote baseball stats with the best of them. I watch NASCAR races and know the drivers. I watch and play golf. I play 16" softball (or at least I used to). I have always had better men friends then I have had women friends. I would rather hang out at a sports bar than at the mall. I tell crude jokes, I swear like a sailor, and I can hold my own at the bar. I have a fetish for ties. I know cars and motorcycles and cook amazing things on the grill. I take shorter showers than my boyfriend, and with my new haircut can be ready to leave for work in 15 minutes. I can drive a tractor. I can ride a motorcycle AND change my own oil. I don't sit at stop lights and fix my hair or put on make-up. I don't believe that every baby is "adorable" or "gorgeous." I don't worship Oprah. I watch the View but mostly for Whoopi Goldberg. I enjoy chick flicks, but I'd rather go alone than with a group of "chicks." I know that that's not necessarily unique, but I am definitely in the minority.

Now I want to make it clear that I love men (getting hit on by lesbian women in college was flattering, but sort of creeped me out).

I also want to make it clear that being a girl/woman has its advantages. I enjoy my curves, my legs, painting my big toenails blue for the summer, and wearing pretty bras and panties. I enjoy the fact that I can be typing this blog, watching the news on tv and holding a conversation with my boyfriend all at the same time without even blinking. I don't laugh at every episode of "Family Guy" and don't get why "The Three Stooges" are supposed to be comic geniuses.

But it also has its disadvantages. I used to have a boss that would ask me a question and after I gave him the answer he would turn around and ask a guy the same question. I mean, if he wasn't going to believe me, why did he ask me in the first place? My boobs tend to get in the way of my golf swing. (But I've discovered that wearing a sports bra while playing helps a little). And now, as I am getting older, and have been having my "monthly visitor" for over 26 years, I am developing PMS.

I HATE to admit that. I used to be level headed before that time of the month. Sure, my breasts would get tender and I would crave chocolate and greasy food, but mostly I didn't change my personality. Maybe it's because I'm living with someone now who actually notices it. But I've noticed it too. I was in a really bad mood on Monday, snapping at everyone, being emotional, sullen, and basically not very pleasant to be around. I discovered on Tuesday morning that my period had started. Could I really be suffering from PMS or was it just a bad day?

I can deal with the tender breasts, the cravings, the headaches and the cramps. But I don't want to become another person. Now, I have stopped taking the pill (after taking it for 16 years). Maybe that's the reason? I don't know. All I know is that I don't like it. And if I keep this up as long as my mother, grandmother and great-grandmother did, I can look forward to another 15 years of this! That means 180 more episodes of PMS and that is why I do not enjoy being a girl!

In MY country...

I was very lucky to have grown up with highly literate parents. My mother and father both graduated with journalism degrees from Northwestern University. I was read to constantly. Most of my summer mornings were spent at the beach and my afternoons at the local library. In my family it wasn't Christmas without a book. When my parents divorced, my mother married another highly literate man, this man was a math professor and loved to read and he brought science and math and computer books into my life. This was and has been both a blessing and a curse. It's probably the reason I ended up being an English major and reading all the novels of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky in one class in one semester. I know it's the reason that for my past 3 moves, I have been paying the movers to move my 3 TONS, yes, that's 3,000 lbs. of books I currently own.

What it has also done is helped me in my creativity. My mother used to love telling the story of how I cried one day because when we were on our way back from one of our many trips to the library, I saw an inside-out umbrella and said "it's dead." I've always been able to use reading and writing as an escape. A book would help me understand that I could make it through my parents divorce. A book was a place to go to when I didn't want to talk to anyone. When I didn't want to tell my parents something bad had happened in school, I was able to write a letter which explained my behavior. When I fell in love with one of my teaching assistants in college and then found out he was married, I spent the evening writing poetry and short stories so that I wouldn't do something more drastic.

The best thing about reading and writing though is that it is free. All it costs is your time. And yes, if you buy books, it does cost money, but not all that much. It's one of my simple pleasures. One of the things that makes my life happier, more interesting, and undoubtedly saner.

The other good thing about being creative is that when Christmas or birthdays come around, I can create a unique gift. One that doesn't cost much, but that the person will cherish forever because it truly comes from the heart. I wrote a silly parody poem for my boss who was retiring at the ABA and he loved it so much he showed HIS boss. I remember I bought my boyfriend Eric a new MacBook Pro, a Thomas Hardy shirt, some nice cologne, some chocolate and other things for Christmas last year. His favorite gift? A 3 page note on all the reasons I love him.

But I am getting away from the original point of this blog. My mother, who passed away 11 years ago, was always getting aggravated at things, traffic, people at stores, lines in restaurants, etc. She would always say "In MY country, this wouldn't be allowed." So one year for Christmas, my step-father (who also passed away 11 years ago), decided that it was time for my mother to get her own country. He bought a small piece of wood and carved it in the shape of Norway (my mother's name was very Norwegian, Ronnveig ), and we packed it in a box, along with a Your Own Country "Starter Kit." She got to name her country, "Tisofthe'" was the name she came up with. (I told you my family was creative). We gave her peasants, loyal followers, many fjords, a navy, a firing squad (to execute criminals), towns, etc. She loved it! Every year for Christmas (or her birthday which was about 10 days after), we would give her something else for Tisofthe'. One year she got a model DC-9 (minus the wings), which is what the Queen chose to drive around in (and of course, no one else was allowed on the roads when she was on them.) Another year, I gave her a booklet, fully illustrated, that I had created describing each of the Royal Residences. She had a Castle, a Beach House, a City Apartment, a Lodge in the Woods, and, because I loved horses, a Royal Stables. The next year she got a University and she got to decide who to accept, decline, what kinds of degrees you could earn there, the sports teams, etc. The final year that she and my step-father were both alive, I gave her the Crown Jewels of Tisofthe'. They were presented to her on a velvet pillow, along with a crown and replacement jewels if she so needed.

This is one of the fondest memories I have of my mother, and it's a great idea. (I probably should have marketed it and made a million dollars). I've been thinking a lot about this as I make the 30 mile commute to work each day and back. In MY country, you wouldn't be allowed to stop if you are in the left lane, people who slow down while answering or dialing their cell phones would be blown up by the hidden cannon in my car, and anyone talking loudly at the movies would be permanently banished.

So the next time you're yelling at a traffic jam, or fed up with the person at the store you are shopping at, just close your eyes and say to yourself "In MY country...."

Presidential History

I will try not to impose my political view on this blog. I tend to keep my political beliefs and my politics to myself or only discuss them with people I am really close to. So don't worry, this is not going to be some rant about Barack Obama, George W. Bush, Bill Clinton, George Herbert Walker Bush, or Ronald Reagan. Oh wait a minute...yes it is! But it is not going to be a rant about their politics, how they ran the country or even who I voted for. This is going to be about how every single President since Reagan has inconvenienced or delayed me in some way. I will even throw a little Dick Cheney in there so the VP's are covered as well.

Lets's start with my history of knowing who the President was. I was born in 1970 when Nixon was President. I didn't know, or care anything about politics at that time. As I got older and went to school and began learning about presidents, I was very excited to learn that Gerald Ford, a.k.a. "Jerry" was our Commander-in-Chief. Why was a 6 year old so excited? Because up in Wisconsin her grandparents were neighbors with the Fords. No, not really the same ones, but I didn't know and since the Jerry in Wisconsin was never at home when I went up there for a visit, why then he must be in Washington D.C. running the country, right? First disappointment was when I met the Wisconsin Jerry Ford and discovered he looked nothing like our President. He was a very nice guy and ended up giving me a red, white and blue bowling ball one year (he worked for AMF). Patriotic? Yes. President? No.

The next President was Jimmy Carter. I remember him because he liked peanuts and my brother had a beer can collection which included cans of "Billy Beer." I actually wrote to Jimmy Carter when I was 8. I told him that people made fun of him for liking peanuts and for his accent, and I received a picture of the White House in the mail about 2 months later. I believe I had asked for a picture of his dog, but hey, I'll take what I can get. So only small disappointment there.

Ronald Reagan was President while I was in junior high and high school. Now, during the beginning of my Jr. High years, I lived in New Mexico and when you were in 9th grade you were still in jr. high instead of being a Freshman in high school. So, while all of my friends back in Chicago took 8th grade trips to Washington D.C., I took mine in 9th Grade. This had to be 1984. A group of us and some teachers went for an entire week where we did the touristy things like the National Zoo and the Smithsonian, the historic things like Mt. Vernon, Arlington National Cemetery, and the monuments. We also worked in the morning, going to Capital Hill and meeting with our Congressman, Pete Domenici, sitting in the House Chamber, taking a fake vote in the Senate Chamber, watching a committee hearing, etc. Well, we had the chance to tour the White House. I was very excited to see where the President lived because from the outside, I didn't think the White House was all that special, and wanted to see how spectacular it was inside. Well, after going through security (which is much tougher now after 9/11) and getting our little visitor name tags we were informed that due to a State Dinner with the President of Spain, we would only be seeing 2 of the 8 rooms you usually get to see on the tour! Did they really just say we would only see 2 rooms? What was the point? I could have bought the souvenir book outside and spent the morning at the Smithsonian where they let me see EVERYTHING! Major disappointment.

I must now let one President off the hook. I was never disappointed or delayed by George Herbert Walker Bush. (Remember, I said I wouldn't get political).

Next we have William Jefferson Clinton. By the time Clinton was elected, I had graduated from college and had been out working for a living for a couple of years. I had seen Clinton on TV and never knew what the appeal of him was...especially to women. Well, in 1995 I started working for the American Bar Association. Their offices used to be right on Lake Shore Drive in Chicago. It was close enough to walk to Michigan Avenue for lunch, or to Navy Pier for the same reason. My co-worker Jackie and I would have lunch together almost every day, usually walking somewhere nearby. One day, I believe it was in the summer, we walked out of the building preparing to go to our favorite little deli which was hidden in an alley of one of the luxury high rises on the Gold Coast. We tried to walk across the street when we were stopped by several Chicago policemen and some more plain clothes guys. "Why?" we asked. We were told that Clinton was coming to give a speech at Northwestern, (the medical school was right next to where we worked) and that they had to secure the streets before he got there. OK...Jackie and I thought, this won't be bad. He'll be right here and we'll go on to lunch. (This was when Meigs Field was still on the lakefront and the President would be landing there to get in his limo). ONE HOUR LATER, the black Suburbans and the limo showed up. President Clinton got out about 10 feet in front of me and started to shake hands of the people who were now lining up 4 and 5 deep to catch a glimpse of him. I could have shaken his hand. I chose not to. I was a little upset that he had stopped me from enjoying my lunch. (And yes, all roads were blocked so Jackie and I couldn't have turned around and had lunch elsewhere). But I did notice one thing. Bill Clinton is a lot more attractive in person than he ever looked or looks on TV. But he still cost me my lunch hour.

Next it's time for George W. Bush. He was President while I lived down in Florida and worked for a Harley-Davidson dealership. As those of you who ride will know, Harley has a group called Harley Owners Group or (HOG). This group is made up of local chapters each sponsored by a dealership. Since I was the marketing coordinator at the dealership, it was my responsibility to be what they call the "Dealer Liaison" to our local chapter. As part of my duties, I was allowed to attend the "Primary Officers Training" program that HOG had in different places throughout the year. Our group chose to go to Hershey, PA for the meeting. This would be great. I would be surrounded by bikers and chocolate! Sounded like a good weekend to me. Unfortunately, you cannot fly non-stop from Tampa to Hershey. You have to make a layover in Charlotte, NC. Well, on a good day I don't like to fly. I know it's the fastest and safest way to travel but after being in Chicago when that American Airlines plane slammed into the ground in 1979 and having a classmate as one of the passengers, I became a little "aviaphobic." So, when we landed in Charlotte it was normal until the captain absolutely SLAMMED on the brakes. I mean, he stopped that 727 on a dime! And then we sat there. He came on about 5 minutes later and told us that Air Force One was landing and therefore we couldn't go to the gate until the President was off the plane. Great. Not only was I stuck in the plane, in Charlotte, but now I was going to miss my connecting flight to Pennsylvania. (Of course, all air traffic was stopped so that wasn't going to happen.) So we finally got off the plane, had a quick bite to eat, got on our other...even smaller plane, and taxied out to take-off. The captain said we were 5th in line and would be taking off in about 10 minutes. Yes, you know where this one is going. Just as our turn came up, the captain came back on and informed us that Bush was done speaking, was getting back on Air Force One and that we would have to wait until Air Force One was at least 500 nautical miles away from our airspace until we could leave. Delayed and disappointed by another President. The only good thing about that is that I got a picture of Air Force One while it was sitting on the ground.

Finally, that brings us to our current President, Barack Obama. As everyone knows Barack is from Chicago. When I was working at the Museum of Science and Industry for a brief time, I drove past his house a couple of times and saw the concrete barricades, and the Chicago Police who are paid to sit in their cars in front of his house. No biggie, no traffic jam. Well, I recently started a job that is 30 miles from where I live in the city. I leave the house at 6:15 am, in order to be at work at 7:30 am and also so I can leave at 4:30 pm to try and avoid the traffic. Mondays and Tuesdays are usually pretty good. I can make it home by 5:40. Fridays are the worst with everyone going downtown for weekend celebrations and then I usually don't get home until after 6. The other day, however, I was listening to talk radio to find out what the travel times were, so I could inform my boyfriend when I would be home. I take a road called the Edens. Travel times when I leave are usually 40 minutes. When I listened to the radio this time, the cheery traffic girl announced that the "Inbound Edens" was 1 hour and 50 minutes! WHAT????? Then I found out that Barack Obama was in Lincoln Park giving a speech. Lincoln Park is 10 miles in the opposite direction of where I live and absolutely nowhere NEAR the Edens, but they had to shut it down because one of us crazy commuters might try to take out Obama in his very expensive, very heavily guarded motorcade. I believe I walked into the apartment that day at 7:30 pm. A good 3 hours AFTER I had left work. That day I spent 4 hours in the car and only 8 hours at work.

Now I understand the need for safety and protection and that the President is probably the VIP of all VIP's. But do they have to delay normal citizens, like myself in order to make a speech? I would think if they drove Obama from the airport to wherever he was going in the city in a Mustang, no one would even notice! Don't tell us he's coming...and for pete's sake, definitely don't shut down an expressway he's not even going to be traveling on because he's flying in a helicopter! And why couldn't we cross the street when Clinton was there? I mean, there were armed officers who could have walked us across the street and made sure we walked on our merry way in the opposite direction.

And one time in Florida, Dick Cheney was speaking in Fort Myers just as I was trying to drive back to St. Petersburg from Sanibel. They closed the entrance ramp to the highway at that point. I sat in traffic for 45 minutes waiting for them to reopen. I get delayed by everyone!

So that is my Presidential History or rather my History with the Presidents. Not as good as Forrest Gump's I'm afraid, and nothing really to write home about. But certainly something to blog about. Good Night and God Bless America!

I Apologize for This Posting

I am what people would define as a "pleaser." I want to make others in my life happy or at least not mad at me. Therefore, I say "sorry" a lot. I say "sorry" when I believe I have made a mistake at work, at home, or on the road. I say "sorry" for things I probably shouldn't be sorry for. I even apologize in my emails to friends if I don't get back to them within the same hour I read their email. I say "sorry" for things that are definitely not my fault. In fact, I would say that I say "sorry" and average of at least 5 times per day.

I need to stop this. I have had friends tell me "there's nothing to be sorry about." When my boyfriend met a friend of mine from Florida for the first time, they both agreed within 10 minutes of meeting that I say "sorry" way too often. I say it so much that friends of mine joke "well you SHOULD be sorry," and then they laugh. I would be the person that would be run over by a car and would apologize to the driver who ran me over.

The problem is that I am getting to be like the boy who cried "WOLF!" During a disagreement that my boyfriend, I apologized and he said, "You know what? You're not sorry. You say that word so much that I don't believe you anymore." And that's a concern for me. I want to be sincere. I demand honesty in my life and can't stand to think that I am not being honest when I apologize. Maybe I am apologizing so much that it has lost its meaning. Does this mean I'm not remorseful? I don't think so. Does it mean I'm too remorseful? I don't think that either. I'm not sure what it means. I am aware that I apologize too much and realize that I need to do something about it.

So here...in writing....I am making this solemn oath: I, Robin Ernst, promise not to apologize for things that are not my fault. I promise not to apologize just because I think it's what the other person wants to hear. I promise not to apologize for things that are out of my control. I promise to be honestly remorseful before the word "sorry" escapes my lips. And I promise not to say "sorry" more than 5 times a month (rather than 5 times a day).

Thank you, and I'll let you know how it's going at the end of this month.

The Hair Up There

It is Saturday morning and once the sun comes up, I've gotten caught up on the news and I've taken my car in to get some new tires, I am going to get my hair cut. Since I started my new job 3 weeks ago my hairdo hasn't changed. I wear it back in a ponytail which extends probably a quarter to a third of the way down my back. It's fine. Looks professional, is clean and is easy to maintain when you have to wake up at 'dark thirty' in order to avoid rush hour. But I'm tired of it. I got my hair cut just over a year ago. (Previously I hadn't cut my hair for over 4 years). I donated that hair to "Locks of Love" because I think that's a very good cause. I got it cut to just above my shoulders. It was cute, I could wear it down, I could still pull it back, I could do many things with it, so I believe I am going to do this again today.

What I am thinking of doing today is something that I have never, ever, done in my 39 years of having hair. I'm thinking of adding some highlights to it. I've seen other people, including my own mother, do this and it looks great. I have some hesitation however. I'm not sure I want to add chemicals to my "virgin" hair. My boyfriend thinks I should do it. My friends on Facebook have all told me, "don't worry, if you don't like it, the color washes out or you can change it to something you do like."

My hair has always been a major part of me. I have had the luxury of having thick hair as long as I can remember. I was born prematurely and weighed less than 5 pounds and as my mother said "half her birthweight was hair!" I have to wear what I call industrial barrettes to hold it back because if a smaller one lets go...WATCH OUT! Without fail, every hairdresser I have met has said, "Wow...you have really thick hair." I ride horses and have to get helmets a size bigger so my hair can tuck up under it. Over the years my hair has been many lengths....short, long, medium. When I was a little girl I wore my hair long and in pig tails or braids. I didn't like people touching my hair. My mother even wrote a story about the girl who wouldn't comb her hair and an entire forest of birds, squirrels and raccoons living in there. When I was in grade school in the 70's, I got the "Dorothy Hamill" haircut, which was cute and popular but it gave me bangs which didn't look very good. In the 80's I went more traditional, and when we moved to New Mexico which was hot, I got it cut short, very short and I kept that haircut up throughout junior high and high school. I loved that haircut, it was easy to take care of, didn't get tangles in it, and didn't take up too much shampoo or conditioner. During those years I had a great hairdresser (or do we call them "stylists" now?) named Gregory. He was tall, thin, always wore leather pants and an open shirt. He had amazing strong hands and I would love when he would massage my scalp. He would make mousse animals for me on his hand before he put it in my hair, even making the reindeer he'd do around Christmastime fly with the moving of his pinkie. He was excellent at "styling" short hair and whenever we were finished he would ring a bell and declare it a "HAIR VICTORY." When I got to college I did what all college students do, I experimented. Only I was experimenting with my hair. I came home one Christmas looking exactly like a lion because I had let my friend Tonya "crimp" my hair. Somehow I thought it looked good. Towards the end of college I was letting my hair grow long. I spent one rainy Sunday afternoon french braiding my own hair until I got it right.

After I graduated from college and started working. I cut my hair again to look more like the other women I saw downtown in their "power suits," tennis shoes with panty hose, and briefcases. After my step-father and mother died within six months of each other, I had other things to worry about other than my hair so I continued to let it grow. That was in 1998. I didn't get my hair cut again until 2005. It had gotten long, not Crystal Gayle long....but I remember being on a cruise with my father and I had braided it in a long braid down my back. We were on a shore excursion in St. Kitts or somewhere and a woman exclaimed "MY GOD! How long is it?" When I realized she was talking to me and talking about my hair... I told her that when it wasn't in a braid it went halfway down my buttocks (although I believe I used the word ass). In 2005 I moved to Florida and long hair and humidity do not mix, so I cut it off. It was also a pain to take care of. It took me longer to comb out my hair than it did to take my entire shower. After that I let it grow again until last year.

So that's my hair history up until now. Pretty much I've left my hair alone except for changing the length. I did the Dorothy Hamill haircut but never did the Farrah Fawcett or the Jennifer Anniston. I've sort of always wanted to have hair like Helen Hunt in "Twister" but my hair is too thick for that. Nowhere in that history do you find that I have colored my hair. I'm 39 years old and I'm starting to get grey hairs here and there. I've never been one that has been much for change, but I think I am going to try it. I'm going to let a "stylist" do it instead of doing it myself. I don't know where Gregory ended up but he was lousy at coloring hair anyway. Let's just hope I hear that bell one more time and can declare another "HAIR VICTORY."

Post Script--Saturday Afternoon. I've added a pic of the new hair! I think Gregory would have been happy. I know I am.

Every Tattoo Tells a Story

I remember when I first decided to get a tattoo. A real tattoo. It was New Year's Eve 1996. I worked at a place where you had to go into work on New Year's Eve but you got to leave early. Some co-workers of mine were planning on grabbing an early drink before heading to various parties. I figured the place they were going was on the way to the 'el' so I tagged along. Well one pitcher of beer led to a few more and before I knew it, it was 8pm and they were planning on hitting another bar. I was out of money but wanted to wait until 9 when the CTA offered penny rides home. One of the women I worked with stopped for a bathroom break and brought us all temporary tattoos that you could buy from a vending machine in the ladies room. She had chosen a tiger for me, since I had gone to the University of Missouri. I placed the tiger on the upper portion of my left breast. I thought it looked good at the time, but again, my judgement might have been a little off. 9:00 came and I hopped on the 'el' with balloons tied to my head, and the tiger still on my chest.

The next day I took a shower and as I looked at the temporary tattoo before I washed it off I thought it looked good. I decided not to wash it off and to live with it for a few days to see if this was something I really wanted. When it finally started to peel about 3 days later, I reluctantly washed it clean. After the shower and looking in the mirror, I missed having something there.

At this time I was dating a guy who was a biker, and happened to have a large panther tattoo on his arm. He had gotten that tattoo at Lyle Tuttle's tattoo shop in San Francisco. For those of you who don't know, Lyle Tuttle is one of the tattooing Gods. His store has been around long before the boys of Miami Ink or Kat Von D were even born. It just so happened that the company I worked for was having their Annual Meeting in San Francisco in August. I knew that's where I would get my first tattoo.

August finally arrived and I was still determined to get my tattoo. I would be at the meeting for 5 days and even though I would have to work days, I would have one afternoon and most of my evenings free. I told some, ok, most of the people I was traveling with that I was going to get a tattoo and they didn't believe me. My co-worker and good friend Jackie said she would go with me. I already knew what I was going to get. A Native American bear fetish with a heartline running through it on my left breast. (Right where the tiger had been). The bear fetish represents strength and wisdom which I thought was appropriate for everything I had been through in my life up until that point. I decided to get it on my breast so I could still hide it at work. So Jackie and I hopped on a cable car and ended up at Lyle Tuttle's. Lyle wasn't there that night but a very nice woman was. She asked if she could help us. Jackie turned and said "her...not me." I told her what I wanted and she looked through some of her books to find it. She found a design that I liked and she told me to sit down. She asked if this was my first tattoo. I said yes. She said, "Well, I'm sure people have told you that it hurts." I nodded. "It doesn't really. Feels more like a bee sting and you get used to it." I was nervous, but tried to relax. She put paper towels around my shirt so as not to get ink on it, and placed the template on my chest. She asked if that position was ok. I told her yes and we got started. She was very gentle. She explained that the closer to bone, the more it would hurt. That was true. As she got near my sternum, it hurt more than when she was around the fleshy part of my breast. In about 30 to 45 minutes she was finished. Jackie said she liked it. I said I liked it...probably still dizzy from the excitement of actually getting something permanent on my body. The tattoo got bandaged, I got my little card explaining the after-care procedures and Jackie and I went to dinner. It was a little sore, but not too bad. When I got back to the hotel, I took off the bandage, and washed the tattoo gently with soap and water. I still have the t-shirt that I wore to bed that night, which still has the ink impression of my bear on it.

The next day people at the meeting asked why I got it where I did. Someone even said "Why didn't you get it on your ass so no one will see it?" I told her "Well then I wouldn't be able to see it." Some people thought it was neat. Some people thought I was crazy. I was still in love. When I got back to work, the story of my tattoo had spread and I told everyone it was fun, didn't really hurt, and that it was the only one I was going to get.

I was wrong.

I know that tattoos have become more mainstream and less "outlaw" these days. I can still look professional and hide all my tattoos. I never told my mother that I got the tattoo because I was afraid of her reaction, and now I have a memorial tattoo for her. I have gotten tattoos in Chicago and at a party in Northbrook. Most of my tattoos have come from trips to London, England, where I have been tattooed by a lanky teenager from Manchester, who spent the whole time with his tongue hanging out, a chain smoking Italian and a Dane. I have been tattooed by women and men. I have been watched while I have been tattooed and been photographed for an artists portfolio.

What shocks me is that some people get tattoos for the wrong reason. My best friend used to threaten to get a tattoo just because her fiance' said she wouldn't. That is not a reason to get something etched onto your body permanently. Each and every one of my tattoos mean something. The bear on my breast represents my life, the flowers tattooed on my right foot represent beauty. The horse on my right outside ankle, and on my right bicep represent my love for horses. The horse on my lower back is more of a spiritual horse. The bear claw on my left shoulder along with the ring of bears around my left ankle continue my life story of strength and wisdom. The cat on my left ankle represents my love for cats.

My memorial tattoos include angel cats by one of my mother's favorite artists, B. Klieban. They are on my right shoulder because I have a birthmark there from pressing against her body while in the womb. The elk (no it's not a moose), on my left bicep is for my step-father because we had a long-going joke that elk don't exist. It's on my left arm because he was left handed. There are 11 points on his antlers because his birthday was December 11. The owl on my left thigh is for my father. My father was very wise and passed it down to me. He also had a collection of owls for many years. It is a snowy owl due to "Hedwig" in "Harry Potter" because my father introduced me to the "Harry Potter" novels. It's on my left thigh because he used to call me thunder thighs when I was younger. It's on the left side because the left side is where my heart is.

I have two other tattoos. I have a disgruntled bunny on the inside of my right ankle...just because I liked it when I saw it on the wall of "flash" in a tattoo parlor in London. It is also because I am often disgruntled and have the same face and blue eyes the bunny does.

The final tattoo might be the only one I am not too proud of. It was sort of a joke, which I agree is the wrong reason to get a tattoo. But that one is on my ass and is hidden and only a few special people get to see it. But it still means something. Still is part of the "story" written on my body.

Twelve years and twelve more tattoos later I still love my first tattoo. I will admit, that over the years, the bear has sagged a bit and sometimes looks more like a giraffe. (I'll let you figure out the visual on that). I am planning on getting another tattoo. I don't know when, but I do know where and what it is going to be. It will have deep, personal meaning to me and it will, like all the others, tell a story.

A Couple of Poems

Here are a couple of poems I have written. I'm not too sure about my poetry. I like it, but it is usually pretty dark. (except for the humorous poems I write for friends and loved ones for birthdays). I also think a lot of my poems are really personal and won't make sense to anyone else. Please let me know what you think. If they get positive feedback, I'll post more.

These are untitled poems.

Sometimes I curse the ocean between us,

but yelling into something that large makes no sense...

Neptune can't hear me.

Not even if I jump in the water

and let him listen to the beating of my heart.

Would it send angry waves pounding against the rocks?

Or are the waters calm,

gently whispering waves,

lapping questions among the shore?

He's hidden in the depths,

and I'm not a mermaid daughter.

Although all of us are more sea than earth.

Perhaps a teardrop plea

will be enough for him to shorten the distance,

Or speed along the message of love

contained within.

This next one is one of my favorites I have ever written, and also one of my earliest

I woke up this morning with the sound of the sun

Melting the vision of my partner

Into a dark pool of plaid to match the sheets.

As I reached over to touch someone

Who had never been there

My body made a small groan--as if

It too was missing who, or what, had been lying next to me night after night.

The morning rolled on, and I rolled along with it,

Eating breakfast, getting dressed, going to work.

While at work, the vision gained a voice as it reappeared with the rising sun.

But the sun was burning the voice away,

Causing it to grow dimmer with each degree.

By high noon the voice was gone,

Not to reappear until the next morning when it replaced the vision.

I would wait for both the vision and the voice…

And pray for a cloudy day.