01/01/2010 Thanks a lot, Muse

To all my friends and family, I wish you a very happy new year! I hope you have all had a wonderful holiday season.

I have not made many blog posts lately, and sadly it is because my Muse took a December holiday without informing me first. So rude. You see, my Muse typically makes numerous appearances to me throughout a typical week, secretly whispering to me as I walk to the train or stare at my computer screen at work. She tells me, "why don't you write about this? !" to which I reply, "You know, Muse, that's a good one! " Then we ponder the topic over the course of a few hours before sitting together by the laptop and beginning to type.

But then, without warning, she left me all alone and with a very busy and stressful work schedule and a laundry list of pre-Christmas to-do's. I mean, no wonder I've had so few blog posts! I am now sitting here on the first day of the year, looking about my new apartment that is finally feeling like home, and hoping that my Muse will return from her sojourn so that we can get back to work.

Even with my missing Muse, I've been doing some thinking about the 2000's, and all that this decade has given me. I don't think I will have another ten years as heavily influential on my life as this past one (and no, that's not me being pessimistic and cryptic. I am thoroughly looking forward to the many years ahead, have no worries). At the turn of Y2K, I was a college newbie, and in these ten years I chose and developed my career, met and married my husband, moved out of my home state, and experienced a glorious resolution to a family crisis. With all of this reflection, I expect myself to be feeling pretty darn good about my present life. I am very grateful.

But I am also incredibly stressed about my job. I am drowning in work no matter how many hours I work each day, as I scramble to minimize the "to do" list that increases faster than my ability to check a task as done. It. . just. . sucks. Which is why I depend so much on my Muse to get me through. And for her to have left now, well, it is just incredibly inconsiderate. When she does return, I will try to not become angry with her. I will pour us a drink and allow her to put her feet up. And when she feels a tickle of inspiration to pass along to me, I will accept it with the sincerest appreciation.

12/13/2009 Your trip to Ikea

You've just moved to a new home, and finally have a free weekend day to head to the golden gates of the local Ikea. This is no small task, considering that the local Ikea is, in fact, not truly local. You join the glob of traffic heading into and out of the city, oozing inch by inch down 90/94 and onto 290.

You've lived in Chicago for 3 1/2 years now, and can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times that you've ventured into the suburbs. And 4 of those 5 trips have involved Ikea. You are armed with a list. And you know you will be spending a lot of money. Having this awareness brings you comfort. Over an hour later, you round the bend and are blinded by a blue and yellow aura emanating from the tall imposing building ahead. Angelic music fills the car. And before you know it, you are weaving your cart through the perfected floor plans and towering displays.

Halfway through, you stop off at the cafeteria where you each get the $1 meatball meal with a dollop of lingonberry jam on the side. As you are halfway through your meal you reach for your chapstick and realize that you acted a dolt and returned it to your work bag the night before instead of your purse. You are stuck in the bowels of Ikea without chapstick. As an individual who depends on chapstick as much as water, it does create quite a challenge. You occasionally reach for your lipstick in hopes of it providing some moisturizing relief to your parched lips. You begin to hope that you aren't turning yourself into Bozo the clown with your frequent applications.

In fact, the absence of chapstick is the only dose of reality you have in the middle of Ikea. You realize that Ikea is the suburban Chicago area's answer to the Vegas strip. Inside Ikea, there is no time. Your mind plays tricks on you. You drove there in a Suburban, right? A Uhaul? By the time you reach the rugs, you and your husband glance at each other. It is time to grab a second cart. Now both of you are winding toward the registers. The lines are long. You make the mistake of switching out of one line and into another, only to realize that this new line is actually longer than the one you were in. A trick of the eye. "Damnit! " You exclaim to your husband, who reminds you that you are in no rush.

Standing there, each of you with your own cart, you survey your collection. "$350? " one of you asks. "Hmmm. . .no, I'd say $425, " replies the other. You're both wrong. $474 is what blazes bright on the LCD screen. You're so harried at that moment, you don't even pause to consider the total. Ikea has no plastic bags or individuals at the check out to assist with the loading of your cart. As you move to the front of the line, a mad dash commences as you quickly unload the contents of your cart onto the conveyor belt, then dash to the other end of the register to collect the items and quickly throw them back into the cart. The longer this takes, the more the items begin to pile up, threatening to fall off the table. There is pressure from the people in line behind you, closing in. While the cart had been carefully filled throughout the trip, now you find yourself haphazardly chucking your goods back in.

The rush of your departure from Ikea is far from over. Ikea does not allow you to push your carts out to the parking lot to your car. Rather, they have a pick up bay for cars. You stand in the cold as your husband runs for the car, guarding the two carts that are awkwardly brimming over with rugs and baskets and a large mirror. In front of you, a mother and her middle school-aged daughter are loading their car. The back hatch is popped up and they are trying to pull down the seatbacks to allow them space to load the three boxes propped alongside the car. "I thought you said you knew how to do this? " the mother says to her daughter. "I did! " she replies, and starts hitting the back wall of the trunk, letting out a frustrated "Argh! " The mother walks to the front of the car and returns carrying a book. "Okay, this is what we're going to do, " she says, opening the book. "OH MY GOD! " yells the daughter in exasperation as she realizes that her mother is looking through the car manual.

At one point the daughter looks at you, and your gaze communicates your mutual helplessness in the situation. By this time your husband is jogging over to take one of the carts down to the car, which he's backed into a space a few cars away. You give the girl a sympathetic last glance and push away the beast on wheels. The CRV appears smaller than you remember as you begin heaving your purchases into the backseat. And just like that, you are pulling away. It is now dark out as you merge back on the expressway for the hour long trip home. Thus ends your trip to Ikea.

12/01/2009 Step Aboard the CTA Holiday Train! Ho Ho Ho

In riding the train home this evening, I saw a sign posted inside the car that confirmed that the holidays are definitely here. For you Chicagoans, you know what this is. Yes- the Chicago Transit Authority Holiday Train is on its way! For those of you that have never witnessed this spectacle before, it is quite the sight to behold. And as a new resident of the Roscoe Village neighborhood, I think I may have a very good chance of spotting the holiday train this year during my morning and evening brown line escapades.

Three Decembers ago during our first Christmas season in Chicago, my parents came in for a weekend visit. Now, perhaps I should preface this story with the explanation that anytime my parents ride the CTA with us, something weird happens. And by something, I really mean someONE. or someONES. Just this past weekend my mother ended up next to a raucous group of fifty-somethings on the brown line who were cracking open cans of Miller Lite on the train. I was half expecting her to be offered one. Apparently the whole high school concept of hiding these items in brown paper bags or pouring them into unmarked containers was lost on these folks. Where are the train police when you need them?

Anyways, back to 3 years ago- we had decided to take the #151 Sheridan bus downtown to Michigan Avenue. While standing at the corner of Diversey and Sheridan, we noticed a man calmly walk up to the bus stop. He stood outside the stop, rocking on his heels, seemingly minding his own business. He had shiny silver white hair that was cut chin-length with a center part and he wore a clean pressed pair of khakis with a coat. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the man began to speak. He spoke to no one in particular, though we noticed him making eye contact with the passers-by who watched him warily as the volume of his voice grew louder and louder, proclaiming how the "LORD HAS COME TO SAVE US ALL! AND THERE ARE MACHINE GUNS THAT MAKE 'DU DU DU DU DU' NOISES! AND GOD HAS MADE FOR US A PLACE TO HAVE GARDENS! " Yes, these were the things he was saying. And no, they made no sense. Keep in mind that my parents were with us, and that they had only come to visit us the city once before. Standing next to a crazy person on the street when you are not used to city shenanigans is not a very calming experience. Because it seemed that the man had chosen this corner for his quack church and out of fear of being selected for an exorcism, we ducked around him and made our way down to the next bus stop. The Wrightwood stop was a good choice. It was quiet. The "Preacher" as we called him during our remaining 3 years in Lincoln Park, did not follow us.

Minutes went by, and along came the bus. Well, not just any bus, but the CTA HOLIDAY BUS. Tinsel trimmed every window, which were spray painted with fake snow. Christmas music blared overhead. The yellow poles that line the CTA buses were all trimmed in candy cane ribbon and tied with a big bow at the top, while other bars had lights strung around them. Christmas cardboard cut-outs were stuck along any flat surface that was available. So you get the picture I hope. To add to this description, it is important for you to know that this bus was just PACKED full of people. The 151 bus frequently gets that way on weekends when everyone heads down to the Magnificent Mile for shopping, since there really are no train alternatives in that area. I've always hoped that the CTA would see this as a reason to create a train line going along the lakefront, a very underserved area when it comes to public transportation (reason #5, 432 that Chicago did not get the 2016 Olympics).

So to recap: It looked like a Christmas fairy had vomited all over the place. There was Christmas music blasting over the crappy speakers and people yelling over the noise. There were 300 people on the bus and no where to sit or move. My mom has bad knees and it's always such a pain in the butt when we get on a bus or train and there's no where for her to sit. The bus always bobs and sways and hits every rut and dip in the road so that you might as well be on some type of trampoline. We were forced to slowly creep our way toward the back of the bus with each stop as some people left and more piled in behind us. Finally we were able to get my mom a seat, and as my dad, husband and I became separated by a few rows each as we all ended up getting more and more squished toward the back. Because the music was so loud, it seemed that everyone on board was shouting. It was loud, and it was hot. He must have been quiet at first, from his seat in the very back of the bus. But then we heard it. "THE LORD BLESS YOU AND KEEP YOU AND THE ARCHANGEL GABRIEL TOLD THE SOLDIERS FEAR NOT! " I snapped my head toward my father, mouthing "Oh my god he's on the bus! " My father then turned his head to make eye contact with my husband, who then glanced over at my mother a few rows away. But my poor mother could not contribute at all, because it looked as though she had sat herself next to another somewhat-crazy individual, a woman who kept talking to her about something that we can't remember now (the Preacher used up all of our memory of that trip).

Over the past few years, Jim and I bumped into the Preacher quite often at the post he seemed to frequent most often at Diversey and Clark. At one time he cut his hair much shorter, then when we spotted him again it was even longer than it had been during that December bus ride. In the summers with our windows open we heard his voice cutting through the sirens and other city noises. But our favorite story is one that I am so sorry to have missed. Jim was walking home one day and heard the ever-familiar noise of the Preacher bellowing out his declarations. A police officer began walking over to tell him to beat it. Holding up his arm like a crossing guard, the Preacher yelled "STAND BACK LAWMAN! " Once onto the Mag Mile, the Preacher exited the bus and quietly walked away. Who knows what congregation of unassuming individuals became his new victims down in Streeterville. A few stops afterwards, we too left the bus. It pulled back into traffic, making everyone turn their heads to watch as it jingle-belled its way down Michigan Avenue.

10/23/2009 Wow

Somehow, it has been almost a full year since Jim and I were married, and I've been thinking through the events of the days leading up to October 25, 2008. I just loved our wedding (wedding planning, notsomuch). We were married at The Belvedere Inn, a bed and breakfast in Saugatuck, Michigan. The Inn had ten guest rooms which we filled with our friends and family. Having all those people together under the same roof was so cozy and comforting, and then for the wedding when everyone arrived, it got even better! This seems a strange comparison, but I'll make it anyways. When my sister and I were younger, one of our favorite make believe plays was to pile all our stuffed animals and dolls on the bed at night and pretend we were on a boat in the sea. What really happened to lead up to this is that we were on a boat ride at an amusement park, when SUDDENLY the guard rail SNAPPED in two and there we went, in our little covered boat, out to sea with no one to save us. We seemed to get over the feeling of despair one might feel in this situation and moved on to the care and protection of Heart to Heart bear, Cabbage Patch Dolls A, B, and C, Nellie the elephant, and Teddy Ruxpin. I loved that make believe game. Lying there in the dark, surrounded by all our stuffed animals, next to my sister, made me feel so safe and warm (though occasionally one of the kids would fall in the water, which sometimes became hot lava, requiring a daring but successful rescue attempt and stern disciplinary action). But honestly, staying at the Belvedere that weekend, with everyone we loved all around us or just down the street, gave me such a similar feeling. It was that comforting sense of togetherness and continuity, a richness that I can easily conjure up if I just pause and imagine it all again. And all those people are still there in our lives, just spread out. It makes us realize how fortunate we are. Tonight, a year apart from that weekend, we are sitting in our apartment that now has not one but TWO leaking rooms (one from the ceiling, one from the floor. go figure), and my husband got so mad when I showed him our sopping wet carpet that he sent an awesomely angry email to our building manager who has made the choice to not take us seriously for over a year now (reason #534 that we're happy we rent and don't own! ). The ceiling continues to bead with drops of water even though the rain stopped hours ago. But it is our wedding anniversary, and the thought of my life now with Jim, our cat, and our families, just makes me so happy. Even with the drips. I'll leave you with this picture that Kris took on our wedding day that made me so pleased when I first saw it. October 25, 2008 was a bear of a fall day in Saugatuck Michigan. Rain in the morning, wind, threatening rain all afternoon, goosebumps aplenty, and Kris managed to forever immortalize this strip of blue sky on our wedding day: -)

10/18/2009 Birthday party madness

We ventured to Oak Park yesterday for our nephew's birthday party. He is turning FOUR this week, which is so hard to believe. It was not that long ago when I received the text saying he had been born (ironically, while sitting in my "Death, Loss, and Grief" class in grad school- the announcement allowed me to leave with a definite pep in my step instead of the morose way we usually filed out of there! ). At that time he was Jim's new nephew, and it's been a joy for me to watch that title evolve into "OUR nephew. " Long-term relationships come with many benefits. It's been so much fun watching him grow up into the amazing little boy he is today. When we walked into the house yesterday, it was pure madness (or, as one father described to us, similar to a prison riot). Kids shrieking, yelling, banging things- all organized chaos. In talking to the other adults you had to raise your voice louder than at a bar on a Saturday night. We arrived to a blur of children running around and around the dining room table. Our nephew shot past in a flash of maize and blue. He happened to look up and when he saw us, got a huge grin on his face, and exclaimed, "Heyyy! ! !" He is such a genuine, sweet boy. He sang happy birthday to himself along with all the other kids and was excited about every present he opened. Years ago, I babysat for this family whose boys were so overindulged that in a corner of their playroom sat a pile of presents that they didn't even care to open. Those kids had so much, that nothing was even special for them anymore. To this day, I think that has been one of the saddest things I've ever witnessed. The level of appreciation that has developed in our nephew for the people in his life, for activities and presents, has been a pleasure to see. It will be exciting to watch as he continues to evolve into his own person. I know his life can take him in a million different directions from here, but I think this kid is off to a great start.

10/16/2009 Homework!

I've been taking a creative writing class at StoryStudio Chicago for the past few weeks. It's been a lot of fun. The best part is just being in a classroom again. Gee wiz I sure like it! We have writing assignments and HOMEWORK. I was good and tried doing some of it last weekend right after the class (we each drew slips of paper and had to write about the person described. I got "tollbooth attendant on a Monday morning. " I named her Louise).

However I sort of waited on finishing the rest until this evening. I guess procrastination never truly abandons us. I went out with some of my coworkers after work today for a drink, and as I was sipping my martini and thinking about the start of the weekend I thought, hmmm, now that I'm imbibing, maybe I should have done my homework earlier! But that thought didn't last too long as my attention returned to my 4 coworkers and our immense pride in ourselves for actually GOING OUT after work- as in, SEEING EACH OTHER OUTSIDE OF THE OFFICE. Not only that, but a group of us actually peeled ourselves away from the computer and the phone and ate lunch TOGETHER today and AWAY FROM OUR DESKS. This never happens. And it made me happy.

With this feeling of satisfaction, I got home and was picking up the cat and cooing into his face and telling him how much I love him, when that rotten animal lunged at me with his TEETH, hard, so that I now have this huge scratch going down my nose. I mean what kind of "congrats on being halfway done with being on call" greeting is that? That boy is in some trouble. So, I cleaned up my nose, sat down on the couch, and worked on finishing my assignment for tomorrow.

And I wanted to share this assignment, because I've really enjoyed working on it and it's a good "get me started" exercise. We were all given a copy of the poem Where I'm From by George Ella Lyon (who I guess is a woman named George? ? ). What we had to do was make our own version of the poem. We read our rough drafts in class last week and had to polish them up for tomorrow. Y'all should try it- it's kinda cool to see what comes to mind!

Here's mine:

I am from Windex,
from the wet vac and the spot remover
I am from the hobbly nobbly roots
and the shade that never allowed the annuals to grow.
I’m from the lilac bush,
deep purple piercing through the windshield gleam
on a country dirt road,
its shoots rescued by DeLisle women
before the earth was churned into a subdivision.

I am from Shake n’ Bake pork and mashed potato flakes.
Keep your elbows off the table, and
Say Please and Thank you.
Place the fork and knife on the side of your plate when you’re done.
I’m from green customs labels and packages on the doorstep,
chocolate digestives, custard creams, and ginger snaps
nestled within bubble wrap and
Marks and Spencer socks.
I’m from the cacophony of barks and toe nails
scrambling on Pergo floors
to the frightened person standing on the porch.

I’m from latchkey mornings and papers to grade,
Working parents dissolving in the June warmth. One summer was filled with musty library books and crinkly laminated covers,
the “Shelby Township’s top readers” headline rolled into the newspaper box,
and my sister’s face in newsprint.
Then came a crisp morning and we trudged off,
backpacks bouncing with each step
taken through the dew.

Lindsay Walker Rhodes

10/02/2009 Standardized Patient Revisited

We have a couple of students rotating in our department at work at the moment. Today they had to perform two genetic counseling sessions with a standardized patient in their genetic counseling program. Which, for those of you away from the realm of patient care training, means that you must perform a genetic counseling session with an actor pretending to be a patient while being videotaped- knowing full well the whole time that several bigwigs are watching you, and will be able to watch you again, for all of eternity. Or until the tape breaks. Or you burn it.

It brought me back to when we had to do our standardized patient assignment our second year of grad school. Our program director welcomed us back to the start of our second year, filling us in on our rotation schedules, our classes, our thesis deadlines- nothing too big. It was our second year- we knew the ropes.

Then there was a pause. An unnatural clearing of the throat. "Oh, um. . .one more thing. . in three weeks time, we're going to have you try something we've never done before. . a full counseling session. . with an actor. . with three of your program directors/supervisors in the room. . with a video camera. " All six of us spent the next 21 days with a constant stomach ache. Perhaps this malaise started when, in the process of explaining the assignment to us in more detail, our director referred to herself and our other supervisors as "judges. " When this was pointed out to her, she chuckled and said, "Oh, did I say JUDGES? Hahahahohohoha- Oh, I didn't mean THAT."

I am so not into the "freak the shit out of your students" game that so many in my field seem to enjoy. Yeah, yeah we need to develop the skills to work under pressure. All in good time my friends, all in good time! They frazzled us further by making us wait until 24 hours before the standardized patient exercise was clocked to begin before emailing us the details of the case. Our students today had to do one family history of breast cancer case, and one prenatal case involving an abnormal quad screen. Yeah, something routine like that would have been nice. For us, we were given the whopper topic of congenital myotonic dystrophy. "Yeah. . so, this is a serious condition. . and your baby may die. . and you probably carry a trinucleotide repeat. . that probably expanded when you passed it down to your child. . and you're not affected like the baby but next time you climb a ladder or shake someone's hand you may not be able to let go. So. . I wonder how you're feeling right now?"

I was the last to go out of our group, and I don't think I've ever been so nervous in my whole life. I am not kidding folks. I jumped up and down in our little student room in order to get out my jitters beforehand. I pretended the red light of the camera was not boring a laser beam into my brain. Each time one of my "judges" shuffled her paper a jolt of adrenaline shot down my spine. And when when I inquired about her coping and my actress replied by saying that she had no support system, I wanted to slap her. . for making it that much harder for me to know what the H-E-L-L to say in response to THAT. Hearing our students talk about everything they have to do in their program makes me feel so badly for them. Oh, the memories. I was there. And, thank God Almighty, I will never be there again.

09/27/2009 Weekend cat nap

Poor Major. There are some weekends when Jim and I just cannot stop ourselves from constantly infringing on his personal space when all he wants to do is sleep. We pet him, snuggle into him, twirl him around, and dangle toys in front of his face. He's just too irresistible!

I loved this sweet boy so so much.

09/26/2009 Ode to my teeth, also, why I went crazy at Express last night

My teeth have turned to mashed potato mush. Growing up, I had teeth of steel. Even after 5 years of braces (my glamour years) I had no cavities. Then two years ago I went to a new dentist for a cleaning. After much head shaking, they led me to a dimly lit room and, with soothing music playing in the background, informed me that I had SEVEN cavities. SEVEN. So many that I would need two visits to get them filled. One by one they brought up my xrays on their fancy screen. Which really wasn't necessary- OK, OK, GOT IT- I HAVE CAVITIES. I SUCK. No need to rub it in my face by pointing out the dreaded plaque burrowing through my enamel with your laser pointer. I will not lie. This kind of demoralized me.

Driving home after that appointment I called several people for moral support. Did this mean I was a bad person? Was I leading my body to an early grave? Screw it, maybe I should just start smoking and injecting illicit drugs to speed things up? Honestly, I don't understand how this has happened. Me with my fancy Sonicare toothbrush. Me with my regular flossing. Me with my love of milk. When I talked to a different dentist about it at my last visit, he gave me some truly half-assed response about how people today are getting more cavities because of our reliance on bottled water. Cool dude, except that I never DRINK bottled water (you think I'd waste my money on bottled water? pshaw! ).

My pride healed somewhat with time. But then last night I returned for another routine cleaning (what moron schedules a teeth cleaning on a Friday night? Oh wait- me) and was informed I need another THREE fillings. They even offered to fill them right then and there. While it was tempting to get this next stage of misery over with, the thought of spending my entire Friday evening with this dentist did not appeal to me one ounce. So I ran out of there (I get to go back next Thursday-yay! ) and instead met my husband at Whole Foods. Friday night was getting even better- first the dentist, then a grocery store! But holy cow has anyone been to the new Whole Foods at North Avenue and Sheffield? The original location for this Whole Foods was closed down a couple of times by the Health Department for a little nuisance they like to call a rat infestation. This new fancy store is something else. First of all, at the entrance is a BAR. Like with a mahogany finish and beer taps and flat screen tv's. And it looked like people actually met up there just for the bar- at a Whole Foods! People browse the aisles while carrying their pint glasses. Deeper into the store is a WINE bar. Again, people all dressed to the nines on a Friday night, sitting in the middle of a Whole Foods sipping wine. I would have taken pictures, but I know that Whole Foods does not enjoy that. We took a photography class last December, and two members of our class were asked to leave the local Whole Foods during one of our photography assignments. And you wouldn't want to get kicked out of this Whole Foods. No sir.

Jim had his bike with him, and after our shop we parted ways so I could head back to the dingy disgusting why-does-that-puddle-never-go-away North and Clybourn red line stop (good God if Chicago gets the Olympics, will they at least re-do the red line? ). Well, on this walk I passed the Express store on North. All I saw were red "Sale" signs. Even with that, I kept walking. Then I stopped. It may have been the failure I felt because of my teeth. It may have been the fancy feeling I felt just from walking through that beautiful Whole Foods. But my body was hit with this incredible urge to shop NOW. Buy nice clothes NOW. ON SALE. So I did a pivot turn right into that store. And of course I got one of those good sales ladies who was all, "do you need another size? have you seen our skirts are also on sale? Oh, you're looking for work clothes? Let me HELP" and doesn't make you feel like a loser for not being able to even remember the last time you bought work clothes. Jim, who stopped to get us some hamburgers from Five Guys, gets a text from me that reads "GONE SHOPPING" which is all I could manage to get out while carrying our Whole Foods eggs and oranges and my accumulating pile of clothes. And when I stumbled through our door an hour later, arms shaking from carrying my purchases, I found my hamburger warming in the oven and my wonderfully supportive husband didn't flinch a muscle when I told him how much I spent but rather told me that I needed clothes, and it was absolutely fine. And with that, I went to bed. Without flossing.

09/22/2009 The Children's Hour

The Children's Hour by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Between the dark and the daylight,

      When the night is beginning to lower,

Comes a pause in the day's occupations,

      That is known as the Children's Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me

      The patter of little feet,

The sound of a door that is opened,

      And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,

      Descending the broad hall stair,

Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,

      And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence:

      Yet I know by their merry eyes

They are plotting and planning together

      To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,

      A sudden raid from the hall!

By three doors left unguarded

      They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret

      O'er the arms and back of my chair;

If I try to escape, they surround me;

      They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,

      Their arms about me entwine,

Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen

      In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,

      Because you have scaled the wall,

Such an old mustache as I am

      Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress,

      And will not let you depart,

But put you down into the dungeon

      In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,

      Yes, forever and a day,

Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,

      And moulder in dust away!

We toured the Longfellow House in Cambridge, Massachusetts on Sunday and it was definitely one of the favorite parts of our Boston weekend. Not only was it the home of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, but it served as General Washington's headquarters during the British occupation of Boston for 9 months in 1775-1776. Yet another place around Boston that satisfies both your historical AND literary sweet tooth (does that make them sweet teeth? ). I mean, check out this door. This is the original door and key to the home. George Washington opened this door. He touched that actual key! And many years later Longfellow, Emerson, and Hawthorne passed through that same doorway. So cool.

The tour was only $3 and went every hour, which is why I'd rank this very highly in one's consideration of partaking in an organized tour during a Boston trip. Even if you aren't familiar with Longfellow or the historical story of the house- I think most people would enjoy this. Our tour guide looked so much like Luke Wilson. You can imagine Luke Wilson as a good tour guide, right? He was a great storyteller and magically minimized the distractions of a few people in our tour group who were just so strange! Jim said he almost text me mid-tour to say that he bet that they did each other's highlights. They were a pretty special bunch (we couldn't figure out if they were boyfriend-girlfriend or brother-sister. That ain't good).

Here is Longfellow's study (the only room he was allowed to decorate himself, we were informed! ). From there you step into the great room of the home, where the horrific accident occurred that caused Longfellow's wife's death in 1861. I consider this a fairly uplifting site, so I won't include the details. Thinking about this while standing there in those same rooms was really eerie. Afterwards, Longfellow was so grief-stricken that he remained home bound until 1868. The Cross of Snow references this picture of his wife 18 years after her death, and it still hangs over the fireplace in their bedroom. It was one of his only love poems. During those years, he began translating Dante's Divine Comedy from Italian into English. The man knew so many languages. Apparently by studying in a country for just one month he was able to learn and read the language. I consider this insane, especially when my tried and true "Hola. Me llamo Lindsay. Soy una consejera genetica de la Children's Memorial. Un momento por favor, voy a llamar un interprete" is the only thing I can muster from FOUR (count that 1-2-3-4) semesters of Spanish in college. Longfellow taught foreign languages (Italian, French, Spanish, etc) on the side to Harvard students at a time when students only learned Latin and Greek, and the beauty of it is that he proceeded with this without first getting Harvard's approval. I think I would have liked Longfellow, even if I would have failed his classes.
It took me almost all morning to regain my bearings after taking 2 days off work. Part of me feels it's sometimes not even worth it to miss work because of how much more you end up working before and after taking that time off! But then at the same moment you realize how much you'd miss if you never took these excursions. Why are we working this hard anyways? ?!

09/21/2009 Boston Field Notes from the Blatant Tourist

We just got back from a quick weekend trip to Boston! This trip was born out of happy impulse as we chilled on the couch a month ago and commented that it would be fun to jet off somewhere. We hopped online and found decent airfare at Southwest Airlines, (especially reasonable when you choose the cheapest flight with a 6 am departure time! ), got a hotel reservation on hotwire. com, and poof! , we had ourselves a vacation. It ended up being a very fun three days and I'll probably create a few blog posts as I go through our pictures. Boston is a good weekend destination and the city is very walkable. Right now, my legs hurt from all the walking around that we did. We reserved a Zipcar on Friday to take us out to Lexington and Concord, since there aren't good ways to see those areas without a car (and if you enjoy American history and literature, you can't skip out on that day trip- more to come on that). It was actually really convenient to take a Zipcar and saved us having to rent a car for the weekend, pay for parking, gas, etc. And one additional thing to pass along is that even if you don't have Zipcars where you live, you can still get an account and use the car sharing program when you travel to other cities that do have them. We brought our Garmin along and that friendly voice helped direct us through the Boston streets and highway with relative ease (which says a lot! ). For those of you who know me, you know that I can be (a) a nerd, and (b) an organizing and planning freak of nature. When we went to Disney World last year, not only did I read a huge guidebook cover to cover (in the middle of planning our wedding, mind you), but I even cut out and LAMINATED the park maps that came with the book so we could carry them with us. Here's how I see it- when you go on these types of trips, you can either stroll along with your hands in your pockets and risk missing everything you don't happen to stumble upon, or you can break out the guidebook and the map and walk around with your camera around your neck, stopping to reapply sunscreen every 3 hours. It is probably no real surprise which role I embraced, and my husband, who I'm sure rolled his eyes as he saw me prepping our touring artillery on the bed each morning, was actually quite impressed with everything we were able to take in during those 3 days. And yes, sometimes before proceeding through a cemetery or neighborhood we stopped so I could read aloud the descriptions from my little Boston book. And yes, we sometimes got side-tracked trying to find things like the plaque signifying Rose Fitzgerald's birthplace in the North End (we never did find that notice! ). But it was great to be in control of where we ventured and allowed us so much more freedom to explore away from the main circuit. With an organized tour we couldn't have done that. So there! But, I must admit, I was somewhat relieved by all the other tourists who seemed to stand out just as much as I did! ! Ha ha! My little book led us off the beaten path to this absolutely amazing cobblestone street buried in Beacon Hill. If you look closely, you can see a very lucky Golden Retriever relaxing beneath the American flag.

12/2/25- I knew I could find this pic!

09/15/2009 Gritty Pretty Chicago

Chicago is such an interesting city. So easily you walk through areas that are steeped in history yet still polished and pristine. Then, turning the corner, you find yourself surrounded by grit and rust and quickly cover your ears from the screeching brakes and brain-shattering rumble of a passing CTA train. My husband and I had a fantastic day exploring some of the area around us this past Sunday. We started off in the loop, which becomes eerily quiet during the weekend. It's even difficult to find an open restaurant! This led us to wander up to Streeterville for lunch, and from there we ambled north along picturesque Dearborn street through the Gold Coast and into Lincoln Park, inching westward to the movie theater at Webster and Clybourn for a movie and Pequods pizza (of course). The sun was shining and the weather was gorgeous.

12/2/25

I remember that these were the pictures we took on this day :)

09/03/2009 Shampoo Sarcasm

I finally went through Sunday's coupon inserts this evening. I'm not very discriminating in my coupon clipping, and will hang on to coupons for all different types and brands of products if I feel I might purchase them given the appropriate situation (see here). The whole process of purchasing goods, toiletries and cosmetics especially, can be such a racket. What makes us buy certain things? What types of gimmicks draw us in? For example, tonight I came across a coupon for Nivea Body Wash for Women. Now, what in the heck is so special about this body wash that it's better for a woman and not a man? Are we as women drawn to this entirely because it was made for us? Does our estrogen surge at the thought? Perhaps there is some gene expressed on the Y chromosome that makes a man shriek in disgust at having this as his only cleansing option in the shower. Give me a break. Keeping track of His and Hers soaps is not necessary. Life is already complicated enough!

Along these lines, I am intrigued by the language on lotions and cleansers that try to get our attention. I am currently using the shampoo that is pictured here. Underneath the word Shampoo on the bottle it says "With Liquid Crystals. " Oh my gosh! LIQUID CRYSTALS! Thank God! So, I've gone to the Pantene Pro-V website to learn more about my shampoo. This is what it says:

BRUNETTE EXPRESSIONS DAILY COLOR ENHANCING SHAMPOO Helps keep your brown hair strong against damage* Pro-Vitamin system, with prismatic shine enhancers, boosts dark brown tones by protecting against daily damage and stresses that can dull brunette
hair. Designed to protect against damaging elements for true, multidimensional brunette tones. * Gently cleans to help remove build-up and impurities in darker brown shades while leaving hair lush with moisture
Non-color depositing formula gives radiance to flat color
Moisturizing formula helps fight dryness and dullness for healthy shine and strength against damage
Pro-vitamin formula delivers moisture to the hair and gives radiance to flat color

* shampoo and conditioner vs. Pantene shampoo alone

Hmmm. But where's the part about the Liquid Crystals? How can I learn more about their skills and magic? Part 2 in looking into this- examine the bottle. Here's what is says (yes, I am typing out the description on the back of the bottle. It's a slow TV night): "Pantene Pro-V Brunette Expressions Shampoo formula with Liquid Crystals helps protect against daily damage and improves the way light interacts with your hair, bringing out depth and richness. Liquid Crystals help reveal the 3 facets of your color: tone, depth, & vibrancy. "So there you have it Ladies and Gentleman! Your answer! Albeit, I still don't truly understand what these are. But, anyways, my point is just that it's funny when you start paying attention to these things. Imagine seeing the phrase, "NOW with Ginkobalobahoba extract" on the side of a bottle of hair mousse. Someone will pick up that product, think, "ohhhh, ginkobalobahoba! I think I saw Dr. Oz talk about that on Oprah! " and then into the cart it goes. In actuality, maybe Dr. Oz mentioned ginkgo biloba and not ginkobalobahoba, and if Dr. Oz did mention it, perhaps he recommended it be administered in capsule form and not slathered over one's head. I had a great chemistry professor in college who went off on a tangent during class about how everyone wants all-organic vitamins, when we can get the equivalent benefit of a calcium supplement by eating chalk. Then he brought in a pure piece of calcium, secured a protective barrier around it, adjusted his safety googles, and told us to brace ourselves. He threw one little drop of water on the calcium and IT TOTALLY BLEW UP. It was awesome.

08/30/2009 Apparently I shouldn't have mentioned the weather

Friday turned into a fairly blustery and remarkably chilly August day and, after shivering at my desk with 2 working hours remaining, I decided to treat myself to a coffee from the hospital coffee shop. An older woman behind the counter was chatting amicably with a man and his daughter. When it became my turn, I placed my order and as the lady was ringing me up I cheerfully commented, "My goodness, it's so cold out today that I need a hot drink! " It was as though I had made some insensitive comment about childhood cancer. Everything went silent. The lady's congenial expression wiped away from her face and she blinked at me as she handed me my change. Even the clink of my quarter in the hospital donation jar did not gain this lady's approval. I slinked out of there while thinking, "What. . .? " I keep replaying the interaction in my mind and still don't get how our relationship turned so sour. Whatever happened, I guess I need to shape up in the future to improve my standing. The weather won't be getting any warmer, and I'm going to be needing some hot beverages!

08/29/2009 Chopping weather

I know many would disagree, but I have just loved the weather this summer. For those of us without the luxury of work-free summer days, these cool temps have made working in July just that much easier. Last weekend, the mornings felt so fall-like, sunny and crisp, that I expected to hear the Fox Sports football music coming across the television. I just love the fall. . the crunch of leaves underfoot, the pilling sweaters that have been worn for years, chili on the stove, and the sight of one's breath in the air for the first time. Many feel reborn in the spring. For me, the world comes to life in the fall. As the temperatures gradually dip over the next month, I look forward to making one-pot meals-stews and soups and chili. And, I have a fancy new knife to use on those carrots and celery and potatoes. We took the Knife Skills class at The Chopping Block a few months ago, and during that outing my husband treated me to a new Chroma knife. It's gorgeous. Designed by Porsche, it's got a nifty nubbin that fits under my thumb and its contours are perfect for my hand. When we have guests, all I want to do is drag them to our kitchen and say, "Let me show you my knife! " But I don't, because that might be considered odd. :-P

08/21/2009 Cone of Shame

I picked up the cat this morning and my hand happened to find a bald spot over his right hip. Tonight we've been watching him and he keeps going back to that area or his belly to lick or pull out fur. He doesn't seem to be in any pain nor is he acting differently, but still, ripping out one's fur is not associated with optimal feline mental health. Several thoughts are going through my mind: 1) This sucks, since there might be something wrong and he's never done this before, and 2) Why do our cats always acquire medical issues on Friday nights? , and 3) Why aren't we friends with any veterinarians? Why do I only know geneticists or MFM's? I am convinced that we will go to bed and wake up tomorrow to find the issue 100% resolved. In the meanwhile, I thought that it would be a good idea to seek out some preventative care, and I dug out the medical cone that we used for our cat Oliver. Major wasn't too pleased. Cat: 1, Cone (and Human): 0.

08/14/2009 Two Years Later

We had a great afternoon today at the Metropolitan Club at Sears Tower (I will not refer to it as Willis Tower, no sir), where we watched the Thunderbirds practice in prep for the Chicago Air and Water Show this weekend. Feeling the desk vibrate in a windowless office while the Thunderbirds roar overhead is enough to make anyone batty, so today I did something very unusual and left work at lunchtime to catch the practice. Sitting there absorbing the seemingly peaceful and quiet skyline (that is, after the Thunderbirds finished their run! ), I remembered where I was this same week two years ago. Let me tell you, it was far from sipping wine in the Met Grille on the 67th floor. It was this week in 2007 that I took the Genetic Counseling board exam (the actual anniversary is August 15th and 16th, thanks to my savant skills at remembering dates), for which I had been studying since January. On top of that, my husband and I trained the whole summer to complete the Chicago Distance Classic half marathon the Sunday before the board exam, raising money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society in honor of my sister, who had been undergoing cancer treatments during this time. It was a summer of hyper-discipline and diligence, with hours of training and icing sore muscles and studying late into the night. It was also the summer that my husband and I got engaged, and the time when, cruelly, we were under the happy impression that my sister's treatments had come to an end. But today, two years later, I was sipping wine and staring into the city with my husband, with my sister healthy in Kalamazoo, my running shoes dusty in the closet, and the feeling of contentment.

08/10/2009 But I don't want to!

There are some household chores that are just so annoying that we try to avoid them at any cost. Here's one of them- emptying the drying rack. Here are my thoughts on this- you cook, you clean as you go along and afterwards, and then you think you're done. But no, you're not, cuz one hour later you've got heaps of kitchenware to put away. I feel this is really, really unfair. So, to get around this, Jim and I sometimes pretend the drying rack is not already overflowing and just keep adding to it. It takes talent to get those pots and pans to balance! As I was taking these pics, Jim looked at me quizzically and asked, "What are you doing? " "I'm making a post about how much we hate putting dishes away, " I replied. "Well, let me remind you, that I've been the one putting them away recently, " he said. I think the idea of being portrayed as a dish ignorer worried him. I did not remind him that setting the clean skillets on the stove top as though that is where they belong does not technically qualify as being put away. :-) I love him. Ironically, I have no problems unloading the dishwasher. My aversions are fairly inconsistent. Join us next week as I complain about the pile of ironing I've been ignoring for the past 3 weeks.

08/08/2009 Genetic counseling nightmare!

My job as a genetic counselor can be pretty hectic at times. Thankfully the work load and stress ebbs and flows, and overall I remain content to be in the career I am. Well, Thursday night I came home and could not shake the day's work weight. To alleviate this, my husband and I went to our ole' standby, Pequods, for some pizza and beer. In our opinion, Pequods pizza is the remedy for all problems in life. Major world conflicts would be solved if only Pequods was served during negotiations. I feel strongly about this. We even went to Pequods the night we got engaged. I mean, just look at this pizza. Don't even get me started on the carmelized crust. Yum. So, I was happy again, and went to bed knowing that the weekend was not too far off. Well, standing in the shower Friday morning, it hit me out of nowhere that I had had a truly horrific, disturbing work dream overnight. Has that ever happened to you? You wake up exhausted without knowing why, and then, WHAM! you remember why you tossed and turned all night. Now this was the kind of dream that has its own chapter in a Dream book. It was the kind of dream that a shrink hears about and thinks, "yikes! " In this dream, I am at my parents' house in Michigan for a weekend. It is Saturday morning and I am still in my pajamas. Well, out of left field, my dad tells me that a former employer called saying they needed me to counsel patients for them today and oh, by the way, the patients will be arriving here any minute. A file folder of records slides across the kitchen table towards my orange juice. I feel a ball of panic rise in my gut as I flip through the records and can make NO sense of them. Are these patients coming for prenatal genetic counseling? Peds? Is it just genetic counseling, or do I also need to coordinate testing? For what conditions? What kind of doctor's office sends records like this? Then I ask, "Did they say how the heck I'm supposed to get paid? " And my dad admits he didn't ask. Well, I freak out. And as I'm freaking out, NO ONE in the house understands my distress, including my husband! They all think I am being unreasonable. What's the big deal? You'll be done by noon. We can still enjoy the day! In the middle of all of this, our phone rings and it is a family friend who starts crying to me about a family crisis. As I am on the phone with this person, our doorbell rings, and it's my first patient. "Listen, listen, I am so sorry, but I have to go, " I try explaining to the sobbing friend. I hang up and bolt upstairs to get dressed as my sister escorts this couple into our study. Thankfully at this point the dream ended, saving me the inevitable task of having to tell these patients that their HMO Illinois insurance could not be used in Michigan and that I was unqualified to perform amniocentesis procedures, which, I am sure, would have made them really, really mad. If that dream was not a sign that I needed a weekend, I don't know what is! Maybe another Pequods pizza is in order?

08/02/2009 Away from the noise

Within Chicago one can find pockets of stillness and peace within the busy hustle and bustle. Some of these spaces you don't even realize you're entering until suddenly it dawns on you - it is quiet. Yes, the occasional sirens can be heard, but they are muffled and without that shrill edge that we hear from the EMS vehicles that wail past our building. I just love these places. Deep within several neighborhoods you can also find this - the rhythmic squeak of a swing set, children's voices playing inside fenced back yards, a happy dog bark here and there, and in between, silence. The picture above is taken from Millennium Park, looking toward the brand new Modern Wing at the Art Institute of Chicago on a cold and rainy day in June.

11/9/2025 note- I don’t know what pic I had posted back then, but here is one I found on my phone that I took in 2017. I think I took this from the #3 bus, if memory serves me!