Choices (a favorite)

I go to the mountain side
of the house to cut saplings,
and clear a view to snow
on the mountain. But when I look up,
saw in hand, I see a nest clutched in
the uppermost branches.
I don't cut that one.
I don't cut the others, either.
Suddenly, in every tree,
an unseen nest
where a mountain
would be.

 poem by Tess Gallagher, photos by me

Sprung buds

We're all left wondering what to do with ourselves in this 60-degree mid-December weather.

teeny, tiny Santa parade

On New Year's, and shoes

Since it's been ingrained to create new-you resolutions when a new year dawns, I *try* to create and stick to New Year's resolutions.

Sometimes, however, I find myself sitting, around Dec. 30, thinking, concentrating, almost willing these great new-you ideas into my otherwise content (I think) mind.

A few weeks ago, I packed two verrry cute high-heeledish boots to my work trip to the city. Super cute. Both pairs bought during one of those "I NEED those beautiful boots - the last ones left, the ones on super-sale" moments. Neither pair fit me. "I'll break that leather in and these will be the best boots anyone's ever owned," I told myself while happily carting them to the register to pay and all the way home (I should have been thanking God then they were in a bag and not on my feet).

On said trip to Chicago, I wear a pair of said adorable, ill-fitting boots. After a several-block commute, running a few errands on foot and then later walking a few miles for drinks with my friend, my feet begin the gradual numbness/hurt/hurt/deep hurt/numbness that comes with wearing ill-fitting shoes. Often.

And I love comfortable shoes! But, alas, I'm a sucker for a bargain and somehow feel special and destined to own the shoes when they're the only, lovely, last-to-be-snatched pair there.

So. I told myself, without prior thought about resolutions this year, that I'd resolve to buy shoes that fit me. Only. Regardless of the price. Or how wonderful they are. Or whether they're the last pair around. I know that sounds silly, but really, I'd say it's not that uncommon for the average woman to suffer some in the shoe department. Oh! To suffer some when it comes to foot comfort, then.

And then I realized, well, silly, this doesn't have to be a process, this resolution-making. It's just picking up on opportunities to make a positive change for yourself. It's not sitting and drumming up a list of things, once a year, because it's 'time.' That feels a lot better. And my feet will, too.

Sun Rise

Isn't there something so magical about waking up with the sun? Having your whole day ahead of you, being greeted by a big, powerful sky? Isn't there something so glorious about the quiet, the peace, the seeming solitude?

Having your camera at the right time

This conversation went something like,

"Hello, Aunt Karen?"

"What are you doing?"

Are you making supper?"

"Can I come over?"

"Can I come over and eat some of your supper?"

Grand

falltime

Colors and crunching and coziness.

Beauty everywhere;

delightful explosions.

Nature beckons us; come explore.

Come enjoy the miracles I've created just for you.

Kissed at the Bus Stop

Yesterday morning, I* got up early to get to a Lincoln Park elementary school math class (it's fun!) ... up before the sun to commute to the kids.

I was alone at the bus stop for only a few minutes before an elderly (oh so elderly) gentleman approached on his walker and sat next to me. We exchanged a smile ... and then a kiss. But I'll back up.

We talked about our ages. He guessed 11 years off (yay me!) and I guessed 15 years off (yay 95-year-old physically and mentally spry man!). We talked about what we do: I'm on my way to a math class, a requirement for my education at DePaul; he graduated from Northwestern in ... 1939! I asked him how long he practiced law, and he told me he still stops in the office (and my heart swelled and then ached a little, remembering my own father, whose work beckoned him years after retirement, and up until his early death).

At some point in our dark-morning, bus-stop conversation, he said he wanted to give me a kiss, so I let him - on the cheek of course (I am *very* good at deciphering dirty old man from sweet, charming, innocent man; he's the latter). We hugged, too. At another point in the minutes-long conversation, he asked for my hand. So we sat, at the bus stop, holding hands and chatting. "Your hands are so warm!" he told me.

He asked if I'm married, if I've been. When I told him no and no, he said "good!" I took that as a women-get-married-too-early-or-not-for-the-right-reasons answer, not a good-because-I-want-to-marry-you answer.

When he inquired further, and I told him I never met the *right* man and, happily, may never marry, he smiled and really looked at me with a glimmer that may have been there or I may have imagined, and said, "I like you!"

We sat, we talked, we held hands. We talked, we sat in silence, holding hands.

And then my bus came, and I leaned in and gave him another smack on the cheek ... and then I was off, to see the sun rise over the lake and hear those sweet fifth-graders sing The Star Spangled Banner again.

Days like this remind me sometimes maybe I'm just looking in the wrong direction: for love, for acceptance, for conversation, for the people who are what I admire in this world which may sometimes seem self-centered and unnatural.

David, thank you. You made more of an impression than you'd guess, a long-lasting impression for a four-minute, spontaneous encounter. All just for giving your self and being friendly.



*I've decided to start capitalizing.

these conversations

over the years, i've bit my tongue and withheld strong opinions so many times, i very rarely speak up anymore. it seems like people don't listen so much (and, really, i just mean hear ... i've had people ask me a question and then not pause for my 2- to 5-second answer). and, i often wonder why expressing my opinions matters to anyone but myself - not in a poor-me way, in a realistic one. i so enjoy a solid, meaningful conversation, but so many seem trivial and trite. maybe we've forgotten how to communicate face-to-face. we need to stop to listen.

the blackstone / erik debat

not only was i lucky enough to stay at the blackstone - and on top of that appointed a well-decorated (books!) room flooded with light - i got the likely-otherwise-missed opportunity to check out a fabulous collection of artwork by chicago artist erik debat.

why, of course i'll push that 'art hall' elevator button.

and i'm so glad i did (as if i wouldn't have). it's oddly unique and cohesive. compelling. wanna-look-closer kind of art. and so i did. and then my camera battery died and i decided to spend the rest of my day in the sunshine.

surprise parade

what better happiness than encountering a large, energetic, we're-into-what-we're-doing high-school marching band ... right before they begin

steve jobs

inspiring

colorful messages left at apple

he only wanted jelly

he was drinking a jug of milk and asked for jelly.
i said no, no, i hardly have money (he didn't ask for money!) for myself (not entirely true)
he asked for jelly to make a sandwich
no no no i can't
how about a dollar, he asked,
and i kept walking and ignored him.

i avert *my* eyes and look down
when i see a homeless person
because it hurts me not to give
and because i'm not sure what my money
the money i work for,
usually,
will be used for
but mostly because of the guilt.

i ate my lunch
my $12 chicago lunch
and was full
and started to feel empty
because i *could have* spared a dollar
or some jelly
it wouldn't have been hard
it wouldn't have hurt me
or my wallet.

i bought him jelly and peanut butter and whole-grain bread
and felt better, ready to deliver.

but he was gone.

i looked and looked, and circled the block, checked the places he may have went.
he's gone.

and i feel much worse than i would've
had i given him the jelly he wanted.

a lesson learned
i hope.

the bedford

this is the bedford. it's a neat little bar housed in the basement vault of the former mb bank on ashland and division.

i love the mystery and grand fantasy of what used to be, decades ago, living inside all these little boxes - and who came to visit them.

now, there are places to snoop, stories untold and a small menu of well-made drinks. my favorite is the cucumber cooler: gin, muddled cucumber, aperol, simple syrup and lime. it's just the right amount of kick, sweet, refreshing: heaven.

i'm not so into the hip bar of the moment, but i do like old places full of beautiful things and memories i can pretend are mine.

looking down

i remember now, looking down, passing by, secret smile, why i left the city and its averted eyes and resistance to touch and unoffered smiles and impersonal encounters; commuters with headphones, with computers, on phones, looking in and at and down and through. i forget sometimes that i came back to small town for instant welcome smiles and eye contact and feeling like a person instead of a machine.

gilman, co

i was lucky enough to not only pass by gilman on my road trip through colorado, but especially happy to have my friend, dustin, in the car to tell me why i wanted to look longer. cool!

there's something so magical, foreign, curious, foreboding, inviting about little towns with no one in them, don't ya think?

valley girl!

well look what i found whilst flipping through marriott's sub-standard tv channels tonight. glory!

(image via: coolchaser.com)

nbb

one of my favorite stops on our trip west was our tour of new belgium brewing. in fact, i've added 'becoming an employee owner' to my five-year plan ... well, i envision a five-year plan with this lone goal in mind (i figure owning a 10-plus-year-old fat tire bike propels me even closer to said goal).

(that's their 1554 beer, our first sampler - and my personal favorite.)

missed

like a familiar spot, a campground, a hidden nook nestled and tucked and beckoning, with all those lives inside it, unvisited spaces along our path, passed, these moments and memories fade and blur; ghosts.

changes

i'm back in the city again, temporarily, for a little school and a little work. excitement for this time of year, routine: coffee studies, city commutes, brisk air and changing leaves on campus.
with that will come new goals, which also excites me. i've been feeling compelled to write more. anticipation.

westward hoe!

haha.

highlights:

* camping on antelope island, in the great salt lake, home to the largest herd of buffalo in utah. i was continually compelled to silently (and sometimes, to my partner's chagrin, loudly) sing 'home on the range.' often. although the salt lake smells rotten (i didn't know this - did you?) and is teeming with brine flies (constant buzzing), experiencing the buoyancy was quite a thrill - and a welcome relief from the 100+-degree temperatures.

* the mormon tabernacle choir. amazing. pure, angelic, encompassing, chilling.

* steamboat springs, colorado, and heeding locals' advice to camp there, at the tip-top of the mountain. we wound our poor little four-cylinder rental eight miles up the gravel road and whoa, was it worth it. up there, all alone, we felt like the double rainbow was just for us

... and the sky cleared and continued a show through sunset. for us.

* coming across (well, after driving down, through, over, between) tucked-in sights

* meeting up with friends, who happened to also be in colorado, on a five-week music-playing holiday. with them, we cooked, camped and took a two-hour side-trip to central city, a teeny town full (i mean this) of casinos. we made sure our time here, however, was brief - because we hadn't budgeted a gambling spree (but still allowed ourselves a little play) and because new belgium brewing was begging for a visit.

* so we went. and saw how our favorite beers are brewed.

and came away with fresh growlers of fat tire and 1554, determined to enter utah with 3.2-PLUS beer 

* arches national park in utah. amazing.

*zion national park. we stayed here for three days, the longest stay of all stops on our trip - partially because we fell in love, partially because our campsite was incredible (next to a brook for dish/hand-washing - yes, with environmentally friendly soap, steps from the virgin river for afternoon dips, and positioned beneath 'the watchman' mountain). mostly (?) we stayed longer because, after driving 2100 miles in less than a week, we were reluctant to get back into the car and start driving again. so we missed the northern rim of the grand canyon (a mere 85 miles from zion - although the park ranger assured us it was a three-hour drive each way), and we missed hoover dam, which would've been really cool, considering we followed the colorado river for so long on our journey. would've been neat to follow to its conclusion.

at zion, we also walked the virgin river's 'the narrows,' quite a beautiful and humbling experience.

i'm grateful i was able to travel with a like-minded companion who prefers smaller, scenic highway routes over interstates, spontaneity over a rigid schedule and tents over cushy beds (do they clean those bedspreads after every stay? and the carpet? is it ever cleaned? and have i told you my *young* niece once found a used condom under a bed in a 3-plus-star hotel room? it's true; i was there).

* also of note (although, for some reason, i didn't get pictures): saltair. sooo cool. wish i would've explored more.

i use parentheses a lot (right?!)