Scent of a Season

Last week I finally turned on the heat when the thermostat in my apartment dropped below 70 degrees. The furnace chugged and coughed and rumbled as it awakened from its hibernation, and soon it released a gassy odor that spread throughout my home, an odor that only emits the first time I turn on the heat for the season. That smell is the official start of Fall for me, like the opening bell of the season. The scent makes me think of what the next few months will bring.

Like when my feet get icy cold while at the office, I’ll kick off my pumps and pull on my old knee-high, pale pink Uggs. With worn sheepskin and holes in the seams, they’re no longer adequate to wear outside during a Chicago winter, but perfect as an extra pair of slippers in the office. Putting my chilled feet into the plush fleece sockliner still brings a smile to my face.

I’m excited to put away my faded t-shirts and denim shorts and tired flip-flops that I wore all summer, and instead pull out long-sleeve sweaters and wool skirts and knee-high leather boots. I love putting on my leopard print beret that I bought in Provincetown and leaving it on even after I take off my coat and gloves. I love tying a scrunched pashmina around my neck.

I’ll get inspired to make homemade chicken broth. And while the broth is simmering for hours on the stove my home will fill with warmth, the windows will steam up, and the sweet aroma will sift out my front door and into the hallway so the neighbors can smell it the moment they step off the elevator.

I’ll fill my refrigerator drawers with a variety of apples picked from orchards in the northwest suburbs. I’ll think of recipes to use up all the apples before they rot: apple pie, apple crisp, applesauce, apple turnovers, baked apples…

I’ve covered my bed with the soft cotton yellow and white striped comforter that sat folded on top of my printer all summer. I pulled out the down throws and blankets and the Snuggie my brother got me for Christmas last year, and keep them on the couch for easy access.

I’ll kick off my shoes after a long day and pull on my favorite red slipper socks. My aunt searched every mercato in northern Italy until she found a pair and sent them to me. I love them because I don’t have to take them off when I want to curl up on the couch, and I can still wear them to go down and get the mail. One time I almost left home with them on.

I’ll consider the multiple invitations to Halloween parties around the city and brainstorm ideas for inexpensive costumes. I’ll buy a pumpkin, but won’t get around to carving it, then consider using it to make homemade pumpkin pie.

I’ll watch as the leaves on the trees in Lincoln Park turn from green to brownish-yellow and fall to the ground, and remember how grateful I am that I live in a condo with no yard to maintain.

Most of all, Fall is a prelude to the Christmas season. One whiff of the crisp autumn air reminds me that soon I’ll be shopping for a Frazier Fur and pulling out strands of white lights and boxes of ornaments to prepare for my holiday party.

And then I’ll get excited for Winter.

Chautauqua: Final Day

My last full day in Chautauqua. Tomorrow we leave for East Lansing early in the morning, then Sunday morning I catch an 8:30 a.m. train to Chicago. After a long week of learning, relaxing, and reflecting, I’m ready to return home to the real world.

We woke up to another rainy morning. I decided it would serve me better to stay in bed than to walk in the rain to morning meditation. Kathy made us BLUEBERRY PANCAKES again! God bless her! After the kids left for club, Char and I relaxed with our coffee and our journals.

The morning lecture was given by Robert M. Franklin, president of Morehouse College. He told us a list of things he teaches his students: to be well read, well spoken, well traveled, well dressed and well balanced. He closed with an excerpt from a speech that Martin Luther King’s gave the day before he was killed, the “If I had sneezed” closing paragraphs. I counted 30 knitters.

During lunch I went to writing lecture by Clint McCowan called “The Hydrogen Atom of Fiction,” which it turns out is “setting,” which includes not just the geographical location but the general environment of the characters, like religion. I found this interesting because as I continue working on my novel, the characters’ religion, Catholicism, is becoming a bigger part of the story.

I decided to skip the interfaith lecture and instead hung out in the plaza. By the afternoon, the sky cleared and the sun was shining. I read more of the book Char loaned me on understanding men called “It’s a Guy Thing: An Owner’s Manual for Women.” I’m learning a lot about those bastards that I can’t live without.

We went blueberry picking in the afternoon. I picked about three and a half pounds so I’m going to have to find some creative ways to use them: blueberry pancakes (of course), smoothies, cobbler, pie. I’ll be eating blueberries the rest of the summer. Lots of antioxidants.

After blueberry picking, Char and I took the ferry to Bemus Point for dinner at the Italian Fisherman. We ate chicken fingers and Italian nachos (a sky-high pile of chips sprinkled with Asiago cheese, crumbled Italian sausage, tomatoes, banana peppers and green onions) while sitting on the floating dock, watching the sun go down, and drinking Margaritas.

We made it back to Chautauqua just in time for Jason Alexander’s show “Donny Clay Wants to Show You the Way!” He put on a great show. I thought it was amusing how his humor drove a lot of the old folks out of the amphitheater. The best line from the show was unscripted. Donny asked an audience member, “What do you do?......You drill what?......Oh, gas holes.”

We’re back at the apartment now getting ready to go to sleep. I’m sad to leave Chautauqua, but I know I’ll return some day. I didn’t work on my novel as much as I planned, but I wrote a daily blog, journaled every morning, and cleared my mind. There’s so much to experience here. I really wanted to take it all in. There aren’t many places on this planet that you can walk through a safe, gated community and hear the orchestra practicing in one amphitheater, the kids frolicking in the plaza, the opera singers doing scales from the practice huts, a renowned guest speaker giving a lecture in the open Hall of Philosophy, the Chautauqua Belle steamboat blowing its horn in the distance, all while grandma knits a scarf on a nearby bench. It’s a magical place, and I hope to be back soon.

For now, it's time to get back to reality.

Chautauqua: Day 5

For the second day in the row, I was the youngest person at the morning meditation by at least 20 years. It was nice to see so many older people embracing something eastern like meditation. Since I’m here in Chautauqua to experience, to be enlightened, to clear and open my mind, I pushed all judgments to the back. As I sat during meditation, and I felt my mind start to wander as it usually does, I brought myself back to the center with affirmations: I am whole. I am happy. I am intelligent. I am prolific. I am complete. Just to remind myself why I’m here. Bill the moderator (whose name, I found out, is actually Jim) told us to imagine that each breath we take is like a wave from the ocean ebbing and flowing. He said it helps him fall asleep at night, too.

After meditation, I sat on the front porch writing in my journal, sipping coffee, watching the people across the street set up for the peace prayer. I considered not joining them today (again I was the youngest one there) and instead observe them from the porch. But I’m not here to observe. So I closed my journal and joined the prayer circle. I even learned how to say “peace” in sign language.

As I walked back to the apartment, I wondered why it seems that so many people in Chautauqua are old. I realized that it’s because the kids are usually in club all day. People in their 20s are here to study music, dance, theater, etc., so they’re probably in class. Others are taking continuing education classes or maybe sitting on the beach. So the elders, who are probably retired, are just here to relax, meditate, pray. It’s all good.

I wonder if anything I did this week will have an impact on my life once I get back to Chicago. I’ll probably go back to my non-secular lifestyle, watching too much bad American television, searching for my next freelance project, struggling to get the words of my novel on paper. But maybe I’ll take a few minutes each morning to do a little bit of yoga, write in my journal more often, or just sit quietly in an attempt to meditate. I learn something from every experience and take it with me wherever I go. That’s the whole point of life. There’s no such thing as a negative experience.

Leila Nadya Sadat, and international human rights lawyer gave the morning lecture. She was a great speaker, talking mostly about the International Criminal Court and her criticism of the US’s involvement. She made some interesting points, and overall I was impressed. I still counted 24 knitters though.

After lunch there was a Mystic Heart Meditation Seminar that I was interested in attending. On my way there I considered skipping it. Maybe it’s too new age for me. Too spiritual. Maybe I should just go to the plaza and write. But I dragged my butt to the Hall of Missions. The teacher was a man named Subagh Singh Khalsa. He was skinny with an olive complexion and a long grey beard. He wore a turban, and although he was very friendly with a gentle tone, I couldn’t help but notice he looked a little like Osama Bin Laden. He took us through a couple of meditation practices that involved chanting, which made me just a tad uncomfortable, but I went through the exercises, and as my fingertips rested on my thighs, lips pressed together, feet planted on the floor, I remembered a time when I was little, probably around five or six. I would sit in my room and be deep in thought about my own existence. I guess it was a form of meditation. Just without the chanting and deep breathing. But I remember actually being so deep into it that I almost felt something like an out-of-body experience. That’s pretty deep for a small child. I never experienced that feeling when I got older. Still haven’t.

I ran into Subagh later that afternoon while I was grabbing a snack at Food For Thought. I told him I was a writer, and he smiled and said, “You’re going to be a successful writer. I can see it.”

Char and I attended the interfaith lecture given by Mohamed M. Keshavjee, a Muslim lawyer from England who was harassed at the US border in 2003. We weren’t getting much out of his lecture unfortunately, so we left after 20 minutes and walked around the plaza. At 4:30 the kids put on the annual Air Band Competition where each different grade lip-synced to a skit. Char’s daughter Clara did a solo performance of the Electric Slide.

I was going to attend a Unity workshop, but decided I had had enough spirituality for one day.

Tomorrow, last day in Chautauqua:

§ Morning meditation

§ Peace prayer

§ Morning Lecture by Robert Franklin, president of Morehouse College

§ Brown Bag Lunch: The Hydrogen of Fiction. We’ll see what this is about.

§ Interfaith Lecture by Harvey Cox, Hollis Professor of Divinity

§ Jason Alexander (yes, George Costanza) presents “Donny Clay Will Show You the Way!” Really looking forward to this one

Talk to you tomorrow.

Chautauqua: Day 4

It rained all day in Chautauqua. I carried around an umbrella from morning mediation, to peace prayer, to the morning lecture, to the afternoon interfaith lecture, to Bat Chat, to the opera recital, and to the ballet. Now a fog has settled over Chautauqua as everyone turns in for the night.

My day started with the Unity meditation which I dragged my butt to at 8 a.m. Meditation has always been a challenge for me, the very few times that I’ve tried it. But I believe it’s a great exercise to master, so I gave it a shot. I sat among 15 people in a circle, my feet planted on the ground, my back straight, eyes closed, breathing deeply. As the moderator, Bill, talked us through the clearing of clutter in our heads, my mind wandered: my blog, my book, even my abandoned Catholic faith seeped its way into my head. But as Bill instructed, I gently brought my mind back to the present, staring at the blobs and shapes in the back of my eyelids. After meditation I went to a quick prayer for peace. We stood in a circle mentioning people in places that need peace: Iran, Afghanistan, Darfur, Sudan, even here at home.

The morning lecture was by Ralph Williams, a religion professor from University of Michigan. His style was animated and he made some funny jokes, but I still couldn’t focus on what he was saying. Guess the mediation didn’t help. Instead I counted knitters in the audience. I got up to 26 before I stopped.

The afternoon interfaith lecture was much more exciting. Bishop Gene Robinson, the first openly gay Episcopalian priest. Best quote: “God wants reconciliation among all. All. What part of “all” don’t you understand?”

Char recommended the Bat Chat in the afternoon where an enthusiastic woman spoke for an hour about the bats of Chautauqua and how they eat all the mosquitoes. And that a very small percentage of them actually have rabies. She passed around photos. My favorite was the one of the bat enjoying a fig.

After dinner we went to an opera recital, then to An Evening of Pas de Deux by the North Carolina Dance Theater, which I enjoyed more than I expected.

Another full day in Chautauqua.

Quote of the day:

“Stop arguing! Danielle is not going to want to have any children because of you two!”

-- Char yelling at her kids who wouldn’t stop bickering about doing the dishes

On the agenda for tomorrow:

• Unity meditation

• Peace prayer

• Morning lecture: Prosecuting Crimes Against Humanity: Caught Between Justice and Despair by Leila Nadya Sadat from Washington University

• Mystic Heart Meditation Seminar

• Interfaith Lecture by Mohamed Keshavjee, professor of Islamic Law

• Air Band Competition by the kids

• Unity Class/Workshop

Busy day tomorrow. Talk to you then!

Chautauqua: Day 3

The phone woke us up at 8 a.m.

“Who’s calling us so early?” Char snapped.

I stumbled to the kitchen and picked up the receiver. It was Kathy, our landlord. She made us blueberry pancakes and I was to meet her at the bottom of the stairs. One thing that will get me out of bed early is a hot breakfast. Especially blueberry pancakes. Kathy handed me a plate full of steaming hot cakes, a bowl of fruit and a small pitcher of warm maple syrup.

After we ate and the kids went to club, I sat on the deck enjoying my coffee, writing in my journal and doing yoga. Char read my blogs from the last two days and made a point to clarify that she was not a suburbanite as I had claimed. “I lived in the city longer than you have!” she said. After some debate, she had me convinced. I guess no matter how many American suburbs she’s lived in the last 15 years, no matter how many SUVs she’s driven, or how many pies she’s baked, she will always be a city girl at heart. Just like me.

I opted to skip the morning lecture given by Michael Gazzaniga, which Char said was amazing, and instead sat in the plaza and wrote, churning out four pages. Afterward I spent some time reading a book that Char gave me on how to understand men. (I’ll blog about that later. If I learn anything.)

After a picnic in the plaza, Char and I attended the afternoon interfaith lecture by Rabbi David Gordis, but we left after a half hour after not really getting anything out of it. Char went to writing class, and I spent the afternoon walking around campus.

For dinner we went to a restaurant on the lake called the Casino in nearby town called Bemis Point. After ice cream from Perry’s and some grocery shopping we made it home by 10 p.m. Another exhausting but productive day. And my toe is doing better. Still a little purple though.

On the agenda for tomorrow:

· Unity meditation (didn’t make it to mediation this morning as predicted)

· Chautauqua Prays for Peace (not sure what it is but Char says it’s cool)

· Morning lecture

· Bat Chat: learning all about bats in Chautauqua

· Performance by the voice department

· Ballet

Talk to you tomorrow.

Chautauqua: Day 2

The alarm went off at 7:30 a.m. As we roused out of sleep, Char reminded me of the 9 a.m. yoga-latte class (yoga and Pilates combo; no latte) I wanted to take. I dragged myself out of bed, trying to motivate myself with what was on the schedule for the day: yoga-latte class, lecture by Elie Wiesel, writing class, and the ballet. I quickly showered, and although I prefer wearing my hair straight, Char talked me into letting it go natural, i.e., wild and curly. Vince was patiently waiting to walk me half way and point out Turner Hall where the class was held. I scrambled to gather my things. Where’s my yoga mat? Where are my shoes?

Soon Vince and I were on our way. The storms from the night before passed and the sky was clear with just a few clouds. Vince pointed out Turner Hall to me and turned to go to club, which is like a day camp for Chautauqua kids. As I walked to Turner Hall I was reminded of my early college days trying to navigate my way to classes throughout campus. The yoga-latte class ended up being booked solid. Every day. All week long. So I walked back to the apartment and did my own yoga on the deck as I listened to a finch chirp in a nearby tree.

After yoga I walked around campus snapping pictures that I doubt will do Chautauqua any justice. Even though I swore I wasn’t going to buy anything, I allowed myself a peak in an antique store where I bought a 1930s era toy oven during my last trip. Thankfully, nothing called out to me. No money spent.

At 10:45 I met Char at the Amphitheater for the daily lecture. Today’s lecture was given by Elie Wiesel and focused on this week’s theme: What makes us moral? As we sat in the outdoor theater filled with 5,000 people, the women on either side of me were knitting, which Char says is a typical thing in Chautauqua. A couple of great things Elie Wiesel said (I’m paraphrasing):

“If I want to be hungry it’s my choice. But I choose for you to never be hungry. That is being moral. It could be a hunger not just for food, but a hunger for liberty, happiness, love and humanity.”

“My one piece of advice is that whatever you do in life, think higher and feel deeper.”

This afternoon Char and I attended a writing class. Char convinced me that we should ride our bikes to class instead of walking. I hesitated. After all, she’s a suburbanite. When they need to go somewhere two blocks away, they drive. I’m a city girl. I won’t hesitate to walk a mile to get to my destination. And I hadn’t been on a bike in fifteen years. But I agreed anyway, and it ended up being a pleasant ride through the neighborhood, except for the time that I fell over on the bike going 0 mph, stubbing my toe bloody and scraping the palm of my hand. I told Char I would stick to walking. It was still faster anyway.

The afternoon writing class was on Writing Nonfiction: How to Profit at Writing and Marketing Nonfiction Magazine Articles and Books. While I focus mainly on fiction, I still thought I could learn a thing or two. I signed up for one class with the option of attending the other two this week if I chose to.

The class took place in an old one-room octagon shaped building where Char says they have Quaker meetings. Inside were rows of old wooden desks. Feeling inspired, I took a seat in the front row. But as soon as the teacher started speaking, I knew it was going to be a long class. He spoke at a slow pace and with a mild stutter. His voice was soothing, which was great if I were trying to fall asleep rather than learn how to write magazine articles. I so badly wanted to give him a shot of espresso. This guy actually wrote and published a book on collecting antlers, and once wrote an article for Modern Maturity on how to fall down properly. After several minutes went by, I glanced at the watch of a man sitting nearby. Forty-five minutes left? I spent most of the class writing today’s blog in my head. Fortunately Char killed ten minutes asking about getting free publicity in magazine articles. It broke up the monotony. I won’t be returning to the class tomorrow or Wednesday. Surprisingly, Char will.

Our landlord Kathy cooked us a delicious dinner of penne with shrimp scampi in an alfredo sauce. By 8 p.m. I was tired but we went to the ballet where my friend Tim, and Char’s ex-husband, was conducting the orchestra. All the dancers and musicians were students from the Chautauqua ballet and orchestra programs.

On the agenda for tomorrow:

· Meditation at 7:15 a.m. (only of I could drag my ass out of bed, but it’s doubtful)

· Try to get into a different yoga class

· At least open my manuscript and pay a visit to the troubled Moore family whom I neglected for a week

· Relax and be enlightened

I’m exhausted, and my toe really hurts. Talk to you tomorrow.

Chautauqua: Day 1

We arrived in Chautauqua, NY around 6 p.m. One of the first things I did once we settled in to our apartment was go for a walk around campus to remind myself of the uniqueness of this place. If someone were to ask what Chautauqua was, it would be challenging to provide a clear answer. A brochure describes Chautauqua as “A summer center that encompasses the arts, education, religion and recreation; a place, removed from the day-to-day world, where some of the leading thinkers of our time come to speak to the concerns and issues of today; a place where music, dance, opera, theater and the visual arts create the “Chautauqua Mix” that draws 170,000 people each summer. Chautauqua Institution is a festival for the mind, body and spirit.”

The Chautauqua season runs for nine weeks every summer. Each week a different theme is the focus. This week, Week 5, the theme is “What Makes Us Moral? An Abrahamic Perspective.” Each morning at 10:45 a different guest speaker gives a lecture that focuses on the weekly theme. Tomorrow morning, Elie Wiesel is the guest speaker.

During my evening walk, I absorbed the scene around me: turn-of-the-century homes lined up along narrow roads that don’t allow a lot of traffic, if any at all. Wrap around porches with Adirondack chairs and swings. It’s as if I walked onto a movie set.

I know I’m not doing justice to the explanation of Chautauqua. It’s pretty much indescribable. It may sound like a place that focuses too much on religion, like some people think when they first arrive. But it’s really a place that encourages you to discuss your opinions openly if you choose to discuss them at all. It’s a place where intellectuals gather to enlighten their minds and their spirits. Or it’s a place where you can come and just relax.

My first trip to Chautauqua was in 2005, and I couldn’t wait to come back. Back them I stayed on my friend’s farm twelve minutes outside campus in a town called Ashville. This time I’m excited to actually get to stay on campus during my stay.

One of the reasons I decided to come with my friend great Char was to get away to a quiet location and focus on my writing. One of my goals this week is to blog every night about my experiences at Chautauqua. Maybe then I’ll be able to paint a better picture.

On the agenda for tomorrow:

· Elie Wiesel’s lecture

· Writing class: How to Profit at Writing and Marketing Your Non-fiction Books and Magazine Articles

· Yoga-Latte: yoga and Pilates combination; no free latte like I’d hoped

· Ballet performance with my friend Tim conducting the orchestra

Talk to you tomorrow.

Just One More Thing About Michael Jackson

On Tuesday, like a billion other people around the world, I sat down to watch the Michael Jackson memorial. Starting today, to the relief of many, the coverage of his death should recede. At least until the toxicology reports come out in a couple more weeks.

The coverage did let up a little over the holiday weekend, at least on CNN.com. No longer was the leading story about MJ, with an enlarged photograph taking up half of the home page, but instead, focus shifted to Sarah Palin’s resignation, the North Carolina serial killer, Steve McNair’s death, and the latest from Afghanistan and Iraq. There was nothing new to report on the MJ front. His headlines were relegated to half way down the page. On the day of the memorial, MJ returned to center stage on CNN.com.

Everyone’s complaining about the amount of coverage his death is getting. But let’s be realistic. The press is reporting what the public wants to see. If there weren’t such a demand to see what’s going to happen next in the MJ saga, they would stop focusing on it. It may not be right, but remember that MJ’s death had an affect on the entire world, whether you were a fan of his or not. People all over the planet tuned in on TV or the Internet to watch the memorial. Whenever the most famous person on the planet, whether it’s MJ or Princess Diana or Elvis, there’s going to be an overdose of coverage. By now it should be expected.

When Anna Nicole Smith died, she got an enormous amount of coverage, and she wasn’t really famous for anything. So why did her demise get so much press? Because she was controversial and her death raised a lot of questions. MJ was highly controversial, and there are several unanswered questions about his death. Add to that that he was one of the biggest celebrities in the world, and it shouldn’t come as a surprise that his death is the focus everywhere you look. Just wait ‘til Madonna passes on.

It was a little different when Elvis and John Lennon died in the pre-cable, pre-Internet era. Most people only had three or four channels to watch. The networks couldn’t dedicate 24 hours to their deaths; they had to return to regular programming. Today with the Internet and 24-hour news channels, the press can afford to OD on the coverage. If you’re sick of hearing about it, watch HBO or the Food Network.

Earlier this week New York Rep. Peter King blasted the media for giving so much attention to “…a pervert. He was a child molester. He was a pedophile.” Rep. King can say whatever he wants behind closed doors. But for him to call MJ a child molester and a pedophile on national television when he was acquitted of all charges by our judicial system was irresponsible and unprofessional for a politician.

Yes, there was a ton of coverage. Yes, he did bizarre things during his life. And he was accused of the most heinous of crimes. Before his death, I would have guessed that most people believed he was guilty of child molestation. But judging from the reaction from the US and around the world after his death, I guess I’m not the only person who has doubts about what he was accused of.

Now the memorial is over. So we can all go back to watching news about the weak economy, cheating politicians, and tragic wars.

R.I.P. Michael.

When I First Realized I wanted to be a Writer

This past week was an exciting time for my writing career. It started with the inspiring Author Talk at StoryStudio where I got to listen to established authors discuss how they found their agents and when they were first published.

On Wednesday Alison and I went to Laura Caldwell’s book launch party at Lizzy McNeil’s for her new book Red Hot Lies (Available now! I can’t put it down!). I finally got to meet Laura in person after communicating with her electronically, and also met a few other writers and agents.

Then yesterday I went down to the Printers Row Lit Fest and sat in on a few panels where authors talked about their writing processes and inspirations.

In all I bought 10 new books, and the inspiration to push forward with my novel intensified.

Being around all these writers, tied with a very productive writing week on my manuscript, I started thinking about the time I first realized I wanted to become I writer. I was in fourth grade at a new school after my parents decided it was a good idea to pull me out of a public one at send me to a Catholic one (they were wrong, but I don’t hold it against them). One day we had a children’s book author come and speak to our class. For years I never remembered her name, but I always remembered the name of the book, On the Way to the Movies. A boy in class asked her how you get a book published, and she simply said, “You write it, and you send it to the publisher, and if they like it, they publish it.”

Really? My nine-year-old self thought. That’s it? Just write it and send it and they’ll publish it? I could be rich and famous! I went straight home that day and started writing my first book. I don’t remember what it was about, but it was two or three pages on loose-leaf paper, and I remember thinking that if it got published it would be inches thick.

Later, I was outside showing a friend my story. I got distracted and left the pages on the hood of my father’s car. Inevitably he left to run an errand, and my very first story blew away. Gone with the wind.

I know longer wish to be rich and famous (hard to accomplish as a writer), but my desire to write never ceased. I wrote throughout grade school and junior high. I took a break from writing in high school to dabble in acting and drawing. I got back into writing in college when I was flipping through a Sassy magazine and had the sudden desire to become a journalist. After college I opted to go into advertising and set aside my writing goals to instead build a career that paid the bills.

Now, after fifteen unfulfilling years in the advertising industry, it’s time to take the risk and focus on my dream of becoming a full-time writer. After several attempts in the past, I really feel it coming together this time. This is what I was meant to do in my life. And that realization will keep me pushing forward until I finish.

I Googled On the Way to the Movies to see who the author was. Her name is Charlotte Herman and she still makes appearances at grade schools. I sent her an email telling her how she inspired me to become a writer. I may not become rich and famous, but I will become published.

How’s that for a positive affirmation?

Miss California Vs. Perez Hilton

For the last two days the incident between Miss California and Perez Hilton during Sunday night’s Miss America Pageant has gotten a significant amount of media coverage.

Apparently, Miss California is saying she lost the crown because of her controversial answer to the gay marriage question that Perez asked.  But is it right to assume Perez Hilton’s vote had that much weight? How many other judges were on the panel, and did they care as much about her answer as Perez?

I am for gay marriage, and I believe that eventually every state in this country will allow it. I don’t know if it will happen one year from now, or five, or fifty. But it will happen.

That said, I still admire Miss California for answering the question truthfully when she knew it may not be a popular response (Even though everyone said she was booed, I only heard loud applause when I watched the clip). I don’t think she should have lied just to win the crown.

All over the Internet you’ll find people commenting on both sides of the issue. This year’s Miss America pageant has gotten a lot more media coverage than it has in recent years. Did anyone even know it was on Sunday night?

And shouldn’t the attention really be on the actual winner of the pageant? You got to give Miss California some credit. Even though she lost, she’s succeeded in getting the media spotlight to shine on her instead of the winner. She even got my attention.

My successful day of writing at the Story Studio a few weeks ago is captured in an article on Chicagojournal.com (click on link below). That's me in the bottom picture, second from right. I remember the photographer popping in to take the picture. But I, the dutiful, dedicated writer that I am, stayed focus on my manuscript, writing a whopping 2,666 words that day. I felt so encouraged and inspired that day, that I can't wait to go back to the next Story Studio Write-A-Thon in March.

www.chicagojournal.com%2FMain.asp%3FArticleID%3D6964%26SectionID%3D49%26SubSectionID%3D142&h=b4e52511788974ebb9787675c611e805

Monday is my 38th birthday. 38! Can't believe it. Time has gone by so quickly that sometimes I honestly forget how old I am, and I actually have to do the math in my head (It's 2009, I was born in 1971...so that makes me...38!). It's a good thing, forgetting how old you are. Because age is really just a number. It's never too late to accomplish my goals. And I've always been one of those people who can't wait to get older. I believe your thirties are better than your twenties. Your forties are better than your thirties. The older you get, the wiser you get, the happier you are, and the more you realize that you just don't give a damn about what others think of you. This is a valuable trait to have.

So to all you people out there that shy away from saying how old you are, especially the women, I say to you: GET OVER IT! Don't hide your age. Embrace it and announce it to the world. Because people do realize that the older you are, the better you are. It's just that simple.

Resolution #2: Eat healthier (Poor little skinny girl)

Notice how I said "healthier," not "healthy." Like I said before, I'm a realistic person. And I'm never going to be the calorie-counting, workout whore who revolves her whole life around diets. No. That's not me. 

I've always been a skinny person. In high school and college I always felt too thin, to the point where I was a little self-conscience about it. Just a little. But with my high metabolism, I was always able to eat whatever I wanted and maintained my weight at 98 pounds. Yes, my drivers license weight was never a fabrication throughout my teens and twenties.

And I'm not a big eater. I always had some control over portion sizes, which I happen to believe is one of the main reasons for obesity in America. When I first moved to the city in my mid-twenties, I made it a habit not to buy a lot of junk food.  Although ordering pizza on a regular basis did become a big part of my diet. 

Then, in late 1997, I decided to move to Italy. I was in between jobs, and had a healthy savings account. What better time to skip town and live in the country where my family hailed from? I would get to know my relatives better, and improve my Italian speaking skills. So I sub-let my Lincoln Park apartment, turned over temporary custody of my two cats to my brother, Chris, and moved to Florence in January to live in an apartment with people from all over the world that had the same adventurous idea I had. 

Living in Florence opened up a new lifestyle for me, one that included morning cappucinos, prociutto sandwiches for lunch, and breaded veal for dinner, not to mention an abundance of rich pasta, red wine, and buttery biscotti. Sure, I was walking more in Florence than in Chicago, what with a whole new ancient city to explore. But nevertheless, when I looked in the mirror after the first couple of months, I wondered why I suddenly looked wider. Hmm. Maybe this old antique mirror is a little warped, I thought. When I lay down in bed at night I couldn't figure out what that lumpy thing was that I was sitting on – oh wait, it's my ass. And why are my thighs rubbing together when I walk? All the designer clothes I bought during the multitude of sales in January were suddenly snug in April. What was going on? The metric scale in our apartment was no help. Even though my European roommates tried to explain the formula for translating it in to pounds, drinking multiple glasses of cheap red wine on a daily basis made that task way too challenging. 

So I waited until I returned to Chicago after four and a half months of being in Florence and doing what the Florentines did. And when I stepped on the scale, well, let's just say the number I saw was much higher than any bloated menstrual cycle I had ever experienced. Instead of the Freshman 15, I'd gained what I call the Florence 15. But I wasn't horrified. No, I was actually excited. Like Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina, I left Chicago a girl and came back a woman. (I'll save the story about when I went to Nordstrom to buy new bras for another blog. Maybe.)

That sojourn to Italy was more than a decade ago already, and I've more or less maintained the weight I added. Until this winter. I don't know how it was different than winters past, but I was hungrier than normal and indulged a lot more than I usually allowed myself to. And when I stepped on my parents scale Thanksgiving weekend (I don't own a scale, refuse to buy one), I knew it was time to make some changes to my eating habits. After the holidays of course. 

That brings me to the real topic of this blog: my #2 resolution. Eat healthier. One of the sub-categories of this resolution is: Eat less meat. I always knew that if I'd ever watch a video on how animal meat is processed that I'd probably become a vegetarian. A few weeks ago, I did watch those videos. And while I'm not ready to give up meat entirely, I am prepared to cut back drastically, especially since I was never a huge meat eater to begin with. I currently have a freezer full of meat, so I still have to get through that. In fact, before I came to Caribou to write this blog, I ate a plate full of penne with Bolognese sauce. But I have steered clear of ordering red meat and pork when I'm out at restaurants, opting instead for chicken or fish. And I started making smoothies for breakfast with lots of greens and fruits. 

Please don't get me wrong. I don't think I'm fat. I still fall in the skinny category, at least by Chicago standards. I realize that I'm still blessed with a high metabolism working for me. But I'm pushing 40, and I can't eat like I'm in my twenties anymore (I used to have Twinkies for breakfast in college; Actually they were Twinkies Lite - less fat, less grease, lighter texture, but still chock full of crap - yummy). 

So there you have it. Resolution #2 for 2009. Eat healthier and eat less meat. Now I'm off to the grocery store. I need to buy more fruits and veggies for the upcoming week of smoothies.

Resolution #1: Write more

I never made New Year resolutions. I never really believed in them. If you want to change something, or break a bad habit, or start a good one, why wait until the new year to do it? Just do it now. But this year, I've decided I needed to make some changes in my life. So I started a list during the last week of December of resolutions for 2009. One of them, of course, is to write more. So what does that mean exactly? Write more each day? Write more often in general? Specifically, it would be ideal to write 1000 words a day. But I'm a realistic person. I know about baby steps. I know that with a full time job and a busy social life I'm not always going to fit in 1000 words a day. I like the 5-minute rule better that some writers follow. Sit down. Open document on laptop. Write just for five minutes. That's all. And usually I end up writing more than five minutes. That's the trick. Doesn't matter if it's 1000 words, or 250, or 25 words. I've written. I have met my goal. By setting a small goal of just writing for 5-minutes, I end up accomplishing much more.

Here I am, sitting at Caribou Coffee in the middle of snow storm, trying to get my thoughts on paper. I've gotten 900 words down so far. But thanks to Adam, I now know that Caribou has free Internet. Starbucks doesn't. Borders doesn't. Intelligentsia doesn't.  And the whole reason I get out of the house is so I can get some writing done instead of waste time on the Internet or watching TV. But hey, I wrote 900 words today. That merits spending some time on the Internet. Especially when that time on the Internet includes writing in my blog, part of the resolution to write more. 

My battery is running low. So I guess my writing session at Caribou is over for today. Now I just need to trek home in the middle of this storm.