72 days

So much for "till death do us part."

Kim Kardashian filed for divorce today from her husband of 72 days, Kris Humphries.

All those people who said it wouldn't last were right.  And anyone who bought an "Our 1st Christmas Together" ornament as a holiday gift for the happy couple is probably frantically searching for their receipt and planning a quick trip to the mall.

In her official statement to E! News (the same network that filmed and broadcast her lavish --rumored to have cost $10 million -- wedding) Kim said,"After careful consideration, I have decided to end my marriage. I hope everyone understands this was not an easy decision. I had hoped this marriage was forever, but sometimes things don’t work out as planned. We remain friends and wish each other the best."

Seventy-two days doesn't seem like an adequate amount of time to have given her decision "careful consideration" or to have genuinely tried to make her marriage work.  Did she even think about seeing a  marriage counselor?

For his part, Kris told People, "I love my wife and am devastated to learn she filed for divorce… I’m committed to this marriage and everything this covenant represents, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make it work."

These two statements definitely sound like they were made by people who weren't reading the same book, let alone on the same page.

Kim says "I have decided to end my marriage."  There's no mention of Kris in that declaration; it's all about Kim.

Kris says he's "devastated to learn she [Kim] filed for divorce."  It doesn't sound like it's a decision they reached together.  In fact it sounds like Kris was blindsided by Kim's move.  Kris was probably also caught off guard by the fact that Kim attended a Halloween party in New York City on Sunday with another guy.  So while Kris might be "willing to do whatever it takes to make it work," Kim has clearly moved on.

My cynical side thinks that all of this was planned -- some sort of weird, unfathomable publicity stunt.  Although why anyone would want to participate in a scheme that makes them look like a cross between a heartless b*tch and a clueless fool, I have no idea.

If all of this is for real, I truly feel sorry for Kris Humphries.  He seemed like a fairly decent guy, though from the start it appeared that he let Kim wear the pants in their relationship.  Kris may be "devastated" but it's a pretty safe bet that it won't be long before he realizes that 72 might just be his lucky number.

Sorrow and Hope

Just like everyone else, I have good days and bad days.  Sometimes I even have bad weeks.

This has been a bad week.  A very bad week.

I had the house to myself for four full days and I wasn't able to accomplish much beside cleaning both toilets and doing the dishes a few hours before my husband came home from his business trip.  Most nights I stayed up till four in the morning and then struggled to get out of bed before noon.  I did complete my Bible lesson and even managed to go to to the study on Wednesday night.  But most of the week I was enveloped in a cloud of depression and sorrow.

On Tuesday I read about an HC freshman who died Monday evening.  He was walking along the railroad tracks that border the eastern edge of campus when he was struck by a freight train.

I am very familiar with those train tracks.  I warned E many times to be careful crossing the tracks when she walked or rode her bike to N's cottage or the indoor tennis complex.  In my overly protective mother's mind, it seemed irresponsible to have railroad tracks so close to a college campus filled with barely adult students who were often reckless because they still thought they were invincible, impervious to danger or death.

I don't know the details of this student's death beyond what's been reported in the newspapers.  It was almost nine o'clock at night, so it would have been dark.  The engineer saw the student and tried to stop the train in time, but he couldn't.  Because it's a residential area, the trains move fairly slowly.  It's hard to believe that the student didn't hear the train, the horn, or the bell on one of the crossing gates.  Even with his back to the train I can't imagine he couldn't see the headlight as the train approached.  The engineer said the student was walking, and then he stopped.

Why did he stop?  Why was he there in the first place?  This boy's dorm was three to four blocks west of the tracks.  The closest campus buildings to where he was struck are the Art Center and the Fieldhouse.  It seems unlikely that he had a night class at either of those venues and yet, if he did, there should have been other students walking in the same area, heading back to their dorms and cottages when class let out.  But the only eye witness to the accident that I'm aware of was the railroad engineer.

I hope I'm wrong, but it seems possible that this student chose to end his life.  If that's the case, I can't imagine what was going on that made death preferable to life.  Everything I read in the papers indicated that this kid was a good student, a great friend and teammate, a leader, a person with the determination to be successful at whatever he set his mind to accomplish, and an individual who was comfortable enough with who he was that he didn't feel pressured to fit a mold that his peers or society might prescribe for him.

This boy was eighteen.  He had been at HC for just two months.  Today his family buried him.

I have walked along side a child who has expressed the desire to end her life.  I look back on those times and fear still grips my heart because I can't be sure that she has left that darkness behind.  I wonder if the next disappointment will trigger those destructive feelings again and I feel helpless to help her navigate the landmines that litter her life.

Did this boy's family have any inkling that something might be wrong?  Or was his death truly just a horrible accident?  I doubt I'll ever know.

Dear Lord, you know this young man.  You knit him together in his mother's womb and entrusted him to his family for, in our perception, a too brief eighteen years.  I pray that he is now at peace in your presence.  Father hold his family close as they grieve.  May your heavenly angels, as well as the saints here on earth, surround this family with compassion and love.  I pray especially for his roommate, friends, and cousin at HC.  Help them to reach out to campus ministries and HC counseling staff.  May your Spirit, which filled the chapel to overflowing on Tuesday morning, continue to rest in every heart and mind on campus as HC mourns the death of their student and friend.    

Thankful Thursday -- Popcorn Edition

No, I'm not thankful for popcorn, although I do really, really like love caramel corn from Garrett's in Chicago and Del's Popcorn Shop in my hometown.

I first heard the word popcorn applied to something other than the snack food when my oldest child was in junior high.  Her small group leader at church encouraged the girls to participate in the group prayer time with "popcorn prayers" -- short one sentence prayers.

I thought this was a great idea for a number of reasons: more time for more prayer and praise, increased opportunity for more people to pray, less pressure to pray according to a specific formula or with the "right" vocabulary, excellent introduction to out-loud, group prayer for kids who came from faith backgrounds where only the pastor or an adult prayed aloud. 

So today I'm going to do a Thankful Thursday based on the KM's popcorn approach to prayer.

I am thankful that/for:

G is home safely from his business trip.
It hasn't snowed yet.
Our furnace is working well.
As the Monumental Marathon approaches, E's knee is feeling good.
K hasn't had a migraine headache for a long time.
M seems content and reasonably healthy.
I had a nice walk and conversation with my friend K on Sunday.
N is making good progress with his internship applications.
Halloween is just one day, but Thanksgiving is a lifelong attitude.

: )

I am so weak

I gave in this evening and got carry-out from smashburger.

It was late, almost 9:00 and I hoped that "Anthony" wouldn't be working . . . but he was.  Fortunately this time it wasn't awkward at all.  He came out of the kitchen area and said "hi" and I said "hi" and he went back in the kitchen and that was the end of it.

What a relief.

However, the lady working the cash register sort of gave me the third degree, almost accusing me, saying, "you've been here before, haven't you?  I'm sure I remember you."  Well yes, I've been here before.  Isn't that a good thing when a restaurant (or any business) has repeat customers?

Anyway, I ordered a small burger on a pretzel bun with blue cheese and haystack onions.  I had a coupon code for a free side, so I decided to try the fried pickles with buttermilk dipping sauce.  The burger was good; it probably would have been better if I had chosen some sort of sauce, maybe the smash sauce, because it was a little dry without mustard or some other condiment.  The fried pickles were way too salty -- I won't order them again.

I doubt if I'll go back to smashburger on my own.  Maybe G will want to check it out (they have a made-from-scratch veggie burger that's supposed to be very good) or I might get lunch there with a friend. 

As much as I enjoy the food, I need to cut back on discretionary spending and high calorie splurges.  Smashburger will have to be an occasional treat from here on out.

How wrong is it . . .

that when my husband told me he would be home from his business trip on Thursday, I asked him if he was sure he wouldn't like to stay for another day?

I could have sworn he told me he couldn't get a flight out on Thursday afternoon or evening, so he was going to catch an early flight Friday morning.  Come to find out, he's done with work Wednesday afternoon, but has to wait until Thursday morning to fly home.

I was really counting on having that last day alone in the house . . . and our bed. 

: /

Rethinking an addiction

I ate at smashburger three times last week.  One time all I got was a milk shake, but the other two times I had a cheeseburger and fries.

After my visit Friday night, I might not go back.  : /

The food is great.  I could easily eat there at least once a week.  It's a little pricey, but that's not really the problem.

Every time I've been there, the same guy has been working at the pick-up window, expediting the dining room orders and handling the carry-outs.  He seems nice and he's very friendly.  Too friendly.

I don't know his name, but he seems like an Anthony, so that's what I'm going to call him.  On my first visit, Anthony was appropriately friendly.

On my second visit, the following day, he remembered me from the first visit.  Most people would think that was a positive response that could encourage repeat customers.  However, I was slightly creeped out.

When I went back on Friday, I was dismayed to once again see Anthony working the pick-up window.  The restaurant was sort of busy, so I hoped I could sneak under the radar and he wouldn't notice me.  But since I was placing a to-go order, that was unlikely.

Sure enough, Anthony handed me my white paper bag.  He called me by name (you have to give your name for carry-out orders) and remarked that it was good to see me again.

I should have just smiled and walked away with my order, but I didn't.  Why did my mother raise me to be polite and speak when spoken to?  I said something about smashburger being my new addiction and Anthony said that it wasn't such a bad addiction to have. 

Again, when will I learn to keep my mouth shut?  I replied, "Yeah, except for . . . " and I patted my amply padded hip.  Anthony smiled and said, "Oh I don't think you need to worry about that."         

Finally my brain and good sense kicked in and I did what I should have done in the first place -- smiled and walked out of the restaurant.

In no way do I think that Anthony was flirting with me.  He probably was just being polite.  I am over 50, overweight, and past the point in my life where people might view me as an attractive woman.  For heavens sake, my own husband doesn't have any interest in me, so why would any other man look at me and see anything besides a woman whose better years are long behind her?

It's hard to describe the undercurrent of uneasiness I felt after the Friday night encounter.  I described what happened to a friend and she didn't seem to get the same red flag feeling that I did.  If I do go back to smashburger, I think I'll go with a group of friends or I'll ask my husband to come with me. 

Or maybe it would just be better to not go back.  I have too many addictions as it is.

Thankful Thursday

We bit the bullet today.

We had waited as long as we could, but we just couldn't wait any longer.  If I had my way, I would have waited a few more weeks, but with G leaving for Las Vegas on Sunday, it needed to be done sooner rather than later.

So what am I talking about?  What could possibly cause so much angst?

We turned on our furnace today.

For me, turning on the furnace is an act of giving in, a reluctant acknowledgment of the reality that summer is over and the warmer days of fall are quickly fading.  While I will persist in wearing flip flops and capris well past an acceptable point, that's a decision I make for myself.  The temperature of our house is something that affects me and my husband and on which I feel we should agree.

The past few days G has been cold, even after he put on a sweatshirt and long pants.  I've been cold too, but I was willing to suffer a little bit in order to delay the inevitable.

Although I am sad that today was the first day of the winter heating season (and the accompanying horrendous heating bills) I am very thankful that our furnace came on without any problems. 

Our furnace is only eight years old, but they don't make furnaces like they used to, so the life expectancy of a furnace now is somewhere in the 10-15 year range.  The previous furnace was original to our home -- we figure it had to be over 33 years old when it finally breathed its last blast of lukewarm air.  I would like to think that our current furnace will still be going strong when we finally leave this house for our retirement spot, but there are no guarantees.

Thankfully, our furnace started today and has run well all day.  I pray that it will continue to warm our house safely, consistently, and trouble-free all winter (and early spring) long.    

An "Alexander" day

Today was an "Alexander" day.  You know what I'm talking about -- the kind of day depicted in the book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. 

I had a killer headache.  It wouldn't go away.  It was so bad I decided I couldn't go to Bible study this evening.

Since I was staying home, I decided I would make a broccoli and cheese omelet with a tiny little bit of leftover broccoli.  Except when I looked in the fridge, I discovered my husband had just tossed that minute amount of broccoli into a stir fry for his dinner.

Because I was in pain from my daylong headache and because I am a b*tch, I complained that he used the last of the broccoli.  In G's defense (and because he doesn't talk to me during the day) he didn't realize I felt like crap, so he thought I was going to Bible study and would get something to eat there.  He made some snarky remark and I snapped back and then he snapped back and, when he finished eating his stir fry, he stormed out of the house to buy more broccoli at the grocery store, even though I told him he shouldn't go because I had no intention of eating any broccoli that he bought.

Yes, I truly am that big of a b*tch.

So for my Plan B dinner, I decided to toast sliced almonds and steam some cauliflower.  I started the almonds and cut up the cauliflower, rinsed it and put it in the really nice steamer pan I bought years ago at Marshall Field's.  I kept an eye on the almonds so they wouldn't burn and hoped I'd timed it so they would be perfectly toasted shortly before the cauliflower was done.

When I checked the cauliflower, I wasn't pleased to discover that it hadn't cooked . . . at all.  So I turned up the heat, hoping to hurry it along.  A few minutes later, a little doubt crept into my mind.  Had I filled the bottom of the steamer pan with water?

I obviously had put the cauliflower into the steamer basket, but I didn't remember filling the pan itself with water.  I went to the stove, lifted up the basket portion and was horrified to see a bone dry and slightly discolored pan.  It was at this point that I also noticed an acrid smell.

Great.  Who knew how hot this pan was.  It was probably too hot to attempt to cool it down with tap water.  I cautiously let a tiny drop of water drip out of the faucet and into the pan.  The droplet briefly sputtered, sizzled and ricocheted in a crazy dance around the bottom of the pan before it evaporated in a puff of steam.

Yep, that pan was d*mn hot.  I had a tea kettle of warm water on the stove and I hoped if I poured that in the pan, it might help to gradually cool the super hot stainless steel.  To play it safe, I set the pan down on a braided rug in front of the sink before I poured in the water.              

Warm water, cold water -- it didn't make much difference.  When the water from the tea kettle hit the bottom of the pan, there was a huge cloud of steam and lots of scary hissing.  I picked up the pan, carefully swirled the water around in a vain attempt to cool off the sides of the pan, then dumped the water into the sink.

As I turned the pan upside down, I was shocked at what I saw.  There was a weird black circular pattern on the bottom of the pan.  It almost looked like the rings of an electric burner . . . except I don't have an electric stove and the burner grates for my gas stove aren't circular.  So where did the black cr*p come from that was all over my pan?

It was then that I noticed the round burn/scorch mark on my braided rug -- a round mark that corresponded exactly to the diameter of the bottom of the pan.  As I looked at the rug more closely, I saw that, in addition to burning and blackening the rug, the heat of the pan had melted some of the outer fibers completely, exposing the white, padded coils beneath the green and gold fabric.

As I contemplated the ruined rug, I searched for a safe place to set the still hot pan, and in so doing, knocked the steamer basket full of cauliflower to the floor.

Great.  Ruined rug, ruined pan, ruined dinner.
    
During this entire debacle G was watching television in the next room.  Not once did he ask if everything was okay or if I needed help.  It's possible he didn't hear anything, but it's more likely that he decided it was better to leave me alone.

When G emptied the kitchen garbage can before he went to bed, I'm pretty sure he couldn't have helped but seen the burn marks on the rug, but he never said a word.   Guess we're sweeping the whole episode under the (burned) rug.

I can only hope that "Alexander" doesn't make an appearance tomorrow.

Danger is everywhere

I seem to remember a movie called "Mother May I Sleep with Danger?"  I'm sort of hazy about the plot, but judging from the title, danger was involved.

I don't intend to ever sleep with danger, but I'm pretty sure I ate lunch with it today -- and I didn't even think to ask my mom for permission first.

I planned to go to Wendy's for lunch because I had a coupon for a free hamburger with the purchase of fries and a drink.  It's been a long time since I've eaten at Wendy's and I figured it was a good chance to check out the new and improved Hot 'n Juicy cheeseburger for free (almost).

As I waited at the stoplight across from Wendy's, I noticed a banner to my right that announced the grand opening of smashburger.

Oh. My. Goodness.  I have been waiting very impatiently for smashburger to open at this location.

So let's see -- eat at Wendy's (for mere pennies) or try the new kid on the block and spend way more?  Safe and affordable lost out to the allure of something new, dare I say, something dangerous.

My smashburger was amazing.  I ordered the BBQ, Bacon & Cheddar.  It comes on a buttered and toasted egg bun with crispy onion strings.  I also ordered fries and a coke.  Unfortunately I didn't pay close enough attention to the helpful, but clearly nervous girl who took my order and I ended up with regular French fries instead of the smashfries I really wanted -- fries tossed with olive oil, rosemary, and garlic.

Oh well, I guess that little slip up is just an excuse a good reason to return.  Would tomorrow for lunch be too soon?   

Dangerously good

Weight Watchers uses the term "red light foods" to refer to foods that are problematic for overweight people, especially dieters.  If you know what your red light foods are then you should treat them exactly the same as you would react to a red traffic light -- STOP.  In the same way that running a red light is asking to be involved in a car accident, taking a bite of a red light food can often lead to a disastrous eating binge.  If you don't stop before you take that first bite, you may very well find that you can't stop until all of the bites are gone.  : /  

I have a very long list of red light foods . . . which I routinely ignore.  Today I added another food to the list and you better believe that when it comes to this treat, I will totally ignore the list and the accompanying huge red light.

Trader Joe's Dark 70% Cacao Chocolate Bar with Caramel with Black Sea Salt.*

Oh. My. Goodness.  This is one dangerously good chocolate bar.

From the deliciously bittersweet dark chocolate to the silky smooth caramel filling to the perfect contrast of grains of Hawaiian black sea salt, this is definitely a red light food.

Fortunately, Trader Joe's is a little bit of a drive from my house so I don't shop there very often.  All of the traffic lights -- red, yellow, and green -- between my home and Trader Joe's may be the only thing that saves me from disaster.

*Even though the name of the chocolate bar sounds awkward because of the double use of "with," that is exactly how the bar is identified on the back of the packaging.  I would have substituted "and" for the second "with" but I won't let that syntactical clumsiness keep my from consuming far too many of these amazing indulgences.  : )

The right moment and the "write" moment

I wish I had come up with that phrase, the "write" moment, but I didn't.  I saw it in a post by a blogger who doesn't post very often.  This is what she had to say:

"Usually, I ruminate and ruminate until I’m sure I have the perfect artsdevivre* moment to share. I wait until I feel fresh and ready to write the perfect post. As you can see, this does not produce, er, frequent, writing.

Point being, I am always thinking about artsdevivre, trying to find the beauty, not get upset over the little (sometimes big) things. So I need to share them more often. Because if I wait for the “write” moment (pun intended) to write, it’s not going to happen."

I can so identify with this.  As a frustrated perfectionist, I struggle with wanting something (anything, everything) to be perfect.  I'll come up with an idea for a blog post -- I can clearly see it in my mind, but then I hold back on following through and actually writing it.  I know (or I fear) that I won't be able to execute the post in the exact way I want, the way I've perfectly envisioned it in my imagination, so I never make the effort.

What holds me back?  I think it is mostly fear of failure -- the fear that someone else will read my attempt and will be able to discern that the reality fell far short of the beauty of the original thought.

If I only neglected to seize the "write" moment, it wouldn't be so terrible, but I also hesitate to act when it's the right moment.  I don't know how many birthday and sympathy cards I've purchased but never followed through on mailing.  The same for phone calls and other acts of kindness.  I know what to do, but I just don't do it.  : //

I wish I could overcome the mindset that everything has to be perfect.  Nothing is perfect.  Undoubtedly there are famous authors who, as they re-read their published works, wish that they had phrased a sentence differently or been more (or less ) descriptive in setting a scene.  Perhaps even Michelangelo glanced up at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and lamented that he hadn't achieved the exact shading he had hoped for in the Creation of Adam.

I need to get over myself and act on my good ideas and impulses.  It's time to stop requiring perfection for the "write" and right moments in my life.

*I am terrible at the hyperlink thing.  If you're interested in reading artsdevivre's blog, you can find her at artsdevivre.wordpress.com  

Thankful Thursday

My husband had his annual checkup today.  Unlike me, G is good about going to the doctor and trying to be as healthy as possible.

The doctor told G that his blood pressure is just a little high, but it's not anything to worry about at this point.  Tomorrow he has to go to the lab to have blood drawn for additional testing -- cholesterol, triglycerides, anemia, PSA, and probably some other things I don't know about.  I totally anticipate that all of his test results will come back within the normal/acceptable range.

I am fully aware that even though G seems extremely healthy today, there's no guarantee for tomorrow or the next day or next year.  But for today, for this moment, G is healthy, and for that blessing, I am very thankful.

Running for two

Yesterday my husband ran in his 11th Chicago Marathon and his 14th marathon overall.  While that's a great accomplishment, there are some people who have already run fourteen marathons this year alone.  So G, if you think you're hot . . . you're not -- move to the back of the line.

Moses Mosop of Kenya was the Chicago Marathon men's winner.  With a time of 2:05:27, Mosop set a new course record.  He claimed he was only able to run at 85% of his optimal fitness because of an injury that set him back in his training schedule.  Had he been at full strength, he speculated that he could have run 2:02!  Mosop's win was definitely impressive, but he wasn't the most impressive competitor of the day.  So Moses Mosop, move to the back of the line.

For the first time in Chicago Marathon history, a runner won for the third year in a row.  No runner, male or female, had ever achieved a three-peat until Liliya Shobukhova of Russia won the women's division on Sunday.  Shobukhova's 2:18:20 finish was almost two minutes faster than her personal best and it was four minutes faster than the second place female finisher and all but twelve of the male competitors.  Only one woman, Paula Radcliffe, has run a faster marathon (three marathons actually) than Shobukhova.  Since she won the 2010 Chicago Marathon, Shobukhova has earned $1,335,000 in prize money and bonuses.  For the 2011 win she earned $100,00 for her first place finish and a $40,000 bonus for running faster than 2:20.  All of this adds up to a bunch of truly impressive achievements, but there was still one runner at the marathon who accomplished something that Shobukhova, not to mention my husband and Moses Mosop, could ever hope to duplicate.  So move to the end of the line Liliya -- let me know if you need any help carrying your winnings.  : )

One amazing woman finished long after Shobukhova, Mosop, and most of the rest of the runners.  This woman was competing in her 8th marathon.  Her personal best was 3:25, but on Sunday, she finished the race in 6:25.50.  Some people would consider it a failure to add three hours to a PR, but for Amber Miller, running, and walking, the race course from start to finish on October 9, 2011 was a greater accomplishment than anything most of the other runners could imagine.

What made Amber's marathon experience so amazing and unique?  She was running for two!

Amber was pregnant -- 39 weeks pregnant, days from delivery -- when she competed in and completed the marathon.  She had run two other marathons while pregnant (one early in her first pregnancy and the second in May of this year when she was 17 weeks pregnant).  Her doctor cleared her to compete as long as she ran half and walked half of the 26.2 miles.  Additionally, her husband ran with her to keep an eye on her.  It seemed like Amber and her husband had prepared for everything, but they didn't anticipate what happened three-fourths of the way into the race.  Amber began to have contractions.

Apparently Amber had previously experienced a few contractions in her training runs, but the contractions always stopped.  This time the contractions didn't stop and by the time she crossed the finish line, her contractions were approximately five minutes apart.  Most women head to the hospital at that point, but Amber had just run a marathon and she was hungry.  So she had a sandwich!  And then she and her husband made their way to the hospital (the same hospital in the western suburbs where I delivered my three children -- except for the one that was born in the ambulance on the way to the hospital!).

At 10:29 p.m., fifteen hours after the start of the marathon and seven hours after Amber crossed the finish line, baby June Audra, all 7 pounds 13 ounces of her, made her entrance into the world.

After the marathon lots of runners probably headed home to take a shower and put their feet up.  Amber went to the hospital and essentially entered into another marathon, the physical endeavor that is known as labor and delivery.  In the many interviews that she gave today, Amber admitted that, compared to labor, running a marathon is easy.  I imagine that many women would happily run a marathon and many women would gladly endure the painful exertion of labor, but I doubt that anyone would willingly agree to do both on the same day!

In my opinion, Amber Miller is the undisputed champion of the Chicago Marathon.  Not only did she finish the race and receive her shiny mylar wrap and finisher's medal, but she was also able to claim a "prize" that will be precious to her long after the other trinkets have been thrown out or stowed away in a drawer.

Congratulations Amber -- maybe one day you and June Audra will cross the finish line together again!

Marathon Day and a marathon day

Today was the Chicago Marathon -- the day that my husband looks forward to all year long.

In order to be ready to  leave our house by 5:00 a.m., I had to get up at 3:00 a.m.  I am not a morning person.  I'm a night owl, but it wasn't feasible to stay up all night, so I managed to get about four hours of "sleep" before the alarm went off.  Amazingly we did leave on time and we also made it downtown relatively quickly.  When we pulled into the Grant Park Underground parking facility before 6:00 a.m., my husband was very happy.

Normally I would hang out in the car for awhile after G left to go to the starting area, but today I decided to go ahead and head over to the coffee shop, Intelligentsia, where I always get my pre-race mocha.  I thought I remembered that the shop opened at 6:00 a.m. on Sundays, so I figured I could get my coffee, relax for half an hour or so and still have time to make one last pit stop before I headed over to State Street to meet up with E, N, and K.

I was really disappointed when I got to Intelligentsia and discovered that they had changed their hours.  : /   There was a woman working at the coffee bar and the lights were on, so I opened the door and started to go in only for the woman to tell me that they weren't open yet.  Okay, so why was the door unlocked?  Now I had 40 minutes to kill before I could get my coffee.  I was not happy.

I walked around for a little bit and found the two pastry shops that I wanted to go to later on in the morning.  Finally, when it was almost 7:00, I headed back to Intelligentsia.  By now there was a cluster of about ten people gathered around the front door.  Great.  This coffee shop is known for it's precision (some would say fanaticism) about coffee -- nothing happens quickly at Intelligentsia.  Even without a line of customers, it can take five minutes or more to get your order.  I needed to be in front of the Channel 7 studio at 7:20 but I wasn't sure I would even have my mocha by then.

Fortunately the counter staff seemed to be working a little faster than usual.  I placed my order, paid, and then dashed to the washroom.  When I emerged, I still had to hang out at the coffee bar a few minutes until my mocha was ready.  I waited until I was outside of the shop to take a drink . . . and I experienced immediate and intense disappointment.

Normally the espresso drinks at Intelligentsia are super hot.  I really like hot coffee, so where I would order a mocha at Starbucks and ask the barista to make it extra hot, at Intelligentsia, I have never had to ask for that modification.  In fact Intelligentsia's mocha is almost too hot.  But today . . . the drink was only moderately warm.  It felt like the milk had been steamed and then allowed to sit until it cooled to a tepid temperature.  Blech.  Additionally the espresso was incredibly weak and the chocolate was practically nonexistent.  I paid $4.50 and waited over half an hour for this?  I will not return to Intelligentsia any time soon.

A proper perspective

I enjoyed an evening out tonight.  While my husband stayed home and carbo-loaded in preparation for the Chicago Marathon tomorrow, I went to dinner at my small group leader's home.  Actually I should say my small group leader's mansion.

Honestly.  This woman lives in a mansion.  Her house is a huge three story brick mansion with three story white pillars on either side of the front door.  The property (must be at least an acre) also includes an in-ground swimming pool and horse stables.  I've been to this house before and I know from that visit that the third story is primarily a fully-finished attic playroom.  I haven't seen the basement, but I suspect it is also totally finished and decorated as exquisitely as the rest of the house.  Maybe there's even a bowling alley down there!

I have to admit that in spite of the splendor of this woman's home -- and it is definitely splendid -- the woman herself is refreshingly down-to-earth.  I learned tonight that her parents were German immigrants and I didn't get the impression that she enjoyed the über-privileged upbringing that she and her husband have been able to provide for their own children.

Even though this woman is surrounded by incredible luxury, I suspect she would gladly give it up if it meant she could have more time with her mother who died unexpectedly just a few months ago.  I also think that she would surrender her beautiful possessions if the Lord asked her to part with them in order to advance the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

My small group leader has her priorities in order.  She knows what's truly important and what's just pretty fluff.  I need to remind myself of that whenever I'm tempted to compare myself to someone who drives a nicer car or lives in a bigger, newer house.

Jim Elliott said it best -- "He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose."

That's the perspective, the eternal perspective, I need to embrace every day.    

Dreams die hard

Have you ever wanted something really badly?  So badly that at times the object of your desire was all you could think about?  So badly that even though it physically hurt to think about what you wanted but couldn't have, you thought about it anyway?

I've been in that awful, horrible, painful place for more than two years.

I desperately want something that I will never have.  Never in a million years.  As much as I long for my wish to become a reality, I know with certainty that if the unthinkable were to occur, it would irreparably change every aspect of my life.  Honestly, damage is a more accurate word than change, and destroy might be more precise than damage.

And yet, knowing what I do, I still think and dream about what I want, what I think will make me happy.

How stupid is that?

Thankful Thursday

My parents are amazing.  Whenever I've needed help, they've been there for me.  From baby-sitting (they live three hours away) to a loan (small, big, and in between) to prayer support, I know that I can count on my mom and dad to do whatever they can to help.

This past weekend they welcomed me and a carload of stuff -- the entire cargo hold of a full-size Chevy Suburban -- to their home and cheerfully helped me set up for a rummage sale.  (We called it a Grandma's Attic sale.) 

My dad loaded sawhorses, huge pieces of plywood, and old doors into his pickup and set them up to display the sale items.  My mom helped decide how much to charge, priced everything, arranged it all on the "tables" in the freezing predawn hours, made signs and then drove around the neighborhood nailing them to telephone poles.  Mom also kept everyone warm and fed with coffee, hot dogs, and chocolate cake.

When the sale was over, my parents helped me pack up the stuff that didn't sell and hauled the saw horses, plywood, and doors back to the storage space.  Sometime during the afternoon, when she wasn't chatting with customers and manning the cash box, my mom found time to fix beef stew for dinner. 

The sale was actually a lot of fun.  But it was a lot of work too.  My parents could easily have said that they didn't want to have their weekend disrupted by a rummage sale with a bunch of people milling around their backyard and driveway, but they knew I needed to get rid of this stuff and they also knew I needed to try to make as much money as possible.  Because they are great parents and because they love me, they gladly agreed to help.  Amazingly, my dad is even talking about having another sale in the spring!

I am thankful that my parents are ready and willing to help with whatever I need.  I can only hope that I can be as helpful to my children as my parents have been to me.           

Thankful Thursday -- still thankful four days later

Knowing that I probably wouldn't have access to a computer or time to write a post even if a computer was available, I meant to write the Thankful Thursday post early in the day before I took off for a long weekend with my parents.  But as is often the case, life is what happens when you're making other plans.  I was pressed for time and frankly forgot to post before I packed up the car and drove to Decatur.

In the end, I was glad that I ran out of time.  My experience on the three hour drive to Decatur was the inspiration for this last week's Thankful Thursday.  : )