My Greatest Strength is my Greatest Weakness

In general, I am flexible, I problem-solve, I'm friendly, I'm quick witted, and I like to do things. Those qualities and characteristics, which are my greatest strengths, also are my greatest weaknesses. I overextend myself. I get depleted and my soul gets tired. I "neglect" those I love or at least don't meet their needs in the way they would like me to meet them. I am a giant bundle of bad, good, and imperfect all wrapped up in one. I will never be enough for some.

I am a mess. This is who I am.

Illuminations at the Morton Arboretum

Ornament shopping at a Holiday Market.

A late night stop at Peet's Coffee in my winning Holiday Sweater.

Homemade noodles about to go into Ramen.

Making homemade, not Ho-Made, tamales.

I hope my children will some day understand and will some day forgive me.

Growing Up and Cable TV

According to Wikipedia, cable TV has been around since 1948. Unlike when we got a microwave, I don't specifically remember when we started getting cable at home. Whenever it was, it was basic cable. No subscriptions. No frills.

Living in Cook County, it wasn't necessary to have cable for my parents to feed their significant Bears and Bulls addiction. We could watch Payton, Hampton, Singletary, Dent, The Fridge, Pippen, Jordan, and Armstrong with ease. We would compare and contrast the different coaching styles of Ditka and Jackson. In the 80's and 90's, our world and TV, revolved around these two teams.

When Princess Diana died, in 1997, I am sure we had cable, as we watched CNN for days.

Now, as an adult and home-owner myself, I still do not have cable. Initially, it was because I had no money. I had no food. People at work would say, "Oh my gosh, you look great. You have lost weight." Little did they know, I was starving to death. I was surviving on a case of tuna and a bag of grapefruit.

During that time (my lean years) I did four things.

1) I joined the local public library.

I began reading and, for the first time, enjoyed it. Memoirs, written by authors or journalists, are my favorites. They are based on one's version of the truth, not necessarily fact-checked, but well-written nonetheless.

2) I had a house-warming party for myself.

I had many friends who wanted to come to see my new place. I knew I would wind up with plants and candles, whereas I needed staples for basic survival. I assigned everyone an inexpensive item to bring such as a can opener, corkscrew, wooden spoon, etc., and asked them to bring a canned or dry good. It was life-saving. I received all sorts of needed supplies, and boxes of cereal, tubs of peanut butter, bags of snacks, and packets of ramen.

3) I met the girl upstairs. She had just moved in and was looking for a phone to use. This being years before cell phones, I made her a deal, help me haul my laundry upstairs, I'll let you use my phone. 

We became fast friends. Many nights we would combine kitchens. I would bring what was in my pantry, she hers. We would make meals out of a can of black olives, artichokes, black beans, and frozen tortellini. Twenty-five years later, we are still friends. She is my physician, friend, and sounding board. We have shared stories of joys, heart-break, grant writing, and office fodder.

4) During this lean time, I started traveling one weekend a month. Out of all the things I've ever done in my life, it remains one of the dearest to me.

First Things First - going out of town

Shortly after getting engaged, my spouse and I bought a house and moved in. Four months later my sister and her betrothed bought the house next door. I married a public radio fan, triathlete, Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. My sister married someone tech-savvy and creative who can discuss film, make a mean pulled pork, and worships the Pittsburgh Steelers. Between the two of us, we had five children in four years. They have cable. We don't.

When we had a two-year-old and three infants, I would pick up my daughter after work from my sister's. We would nurse our babies and watch Trading Spaces on TLC. I would then go home and get something together for dinner, give a bath, perhaps work on a crossword puzzle or read, and then go to bed.

Trading Spaces was in its' infancy. It was Season 1 with a host named Alex. Sometime during our hormonal afternoons or sleep-interrupted nights, my sister wrote an application to TLC. Around Labor Day 2001, we got word that a scout was coming out to interview us and check out our spaces. It was time to tell my husband. Long story short, it was not my finest married moment.

The scout came out and interviewed all four of us, my sister, her husband, my spouse and me, and measured our rooms. Someone was to get back to us within the next couple of weeks. Well, on September 11, two planes crashed into the World Trade Center, another into the Pentagon and still another crashed into a field in Pennsylvania. Everything came to a halt and the world stood still. We never heard back.

Several weeks later, my sister called TLC to let them know that a courtesy call would have been nice. There was momentary silence on the other end before the person said, "No one called you? Everyone shows up at your house on Sunday." Thus begins my cable TV - 15 minutes of fame - story.

A decade after Trading Spaces went off the air, HGTV, the network that took over mid-way through its running, decided to air new episodes. In preparation for the revised show, they aired reruns from the original. On April 23, 2018, I was sitting around playing Trouble and Euchre with a friend from Madison and my kids, when my phone started beeping and lighting up. I was getting text messages, Facebook notices, calls and emails. HGTV had rerun the episode with my family filmed 17 years ago. 

Some people, who had known me for years, were finding out for the first time. It was a flurry of communications, questions, and kind ribbing. Now, once again, it has subsided. I brought it up today as I am clearing out old cell phone messages and texts.

The Faint Smell of Slightly Burnt Popcorn

I grew up in the 70s and 80s. My mom listened to Barry Manilow on the radio, drank Tab, which came in a tall glass bottle, and ate popcorn every day for lunch. Growing up she would make the popcorn in a pan with hot oil on the bottom. Then, air poppers became the rage, which is how I remember my mom most vividly. A bowl of air popped popcorn and a bottle of Tab. Poppers eventually gave way to microwaved popcorn. Once early on, mom over cooked a bag in the microwave. It smoked and burned and set off the smoke detectors in the house. For years the microwave smelled like burned popcorn. Barry, Tab and popcorn, all remind me of her.

Mom has since moved onto Michael Buble, Diet Pepsi and Smart Pop, but she is essentially the same girl. I look like her and my daughter looks like me. Although neither of us developed her love of soda, we both love popcorn and have an open and expansive taste in music.

I am partial to cheese popcorn, movie theater popcorn, and the half, partially opened, slightly burned “old maids” at the bottom of a bowl.

- Life Unexpected - 

It has been a rough few weeks and months. I started a new job, and “I have never felt so new in my life,” as one of my new colleagues so eloquently commented. At work, kids are in crisis, they can't communicate and I am falling behind on paperwork. I get bombarded with emails and others' priorities.

The last weekend in October, for the first time, I turned off my work email alerts and had a joyous weekend in DC with friends. 

I actually have ceased reading most emails altogether. I got my unread emails down from 1,700 to under 400, and now a week later, it’s back to 598. I’ve been unsubscribing to as many as I can, but it still takes time.

Also in October, a friend died suddenly and unexpectedly, leaving a family grieving a loss. A minister is resigning, leaving a beloved community in pain. Feelings have been hurt. A daughter has been to specialists for gastrointestinal and cardiac issues. Another daughter is applying to college and making life decisions. My grandma was not cared for, as she should have been, and lies in bed weeping, unable to wipe her nose, adjust her position or feed herself with two broken arms. A dear friend is struggling with major depression. Another shared a new breast cancer diagnosis and is afraid.

I tell my spouse I need help. He responds telling me to ask him, not tell him.

Still, life goes on. Birthdays. Kids in plays. Concerts. Classes. Dinners. Dogs. 

For work, I am trying to get my CDL so I can drive students to their community trips. It is a multi-layered, complicated process. I’ve gotten my fingerprints cleared by a federal database, had a physical, taken a school bus safety class on Labor Day weekend, and have checked out a bus three times to take the test. All three times, a student has been in crisis.

Yesterday, Halloween, I took my sheet of paper with the dates of all my screenings and tests that have been completed. I waited at the DMV to check in. I waited to get my picture taken. I waited until my number was called. It was a practice in patience. No cell phones are to be used at the DMV.

When my number was called and I approached the desk, the back of the form was incomplete. My employer hadn’t dated and signed the back of the form. The woman checked with her supervisor, no go. I returned the van. 

I also, the same Halloween, returned a heart rate monitor, sat while tears rolled down the face of a friend, and sat while my mom expressed frustration and disappointment, and grandma wept and repeated, “Can you believe what happened to me?”

Before heading home, to log into my work email, take notes, record minutes and let my teams know what my planned schedule is for the next two weeks, I stopped by a local foot rub place.

For one hour I laid on a low massage table bed. The place was sparsely populated, thanks to Halloween. It was quiet and dark. He started at my forehead, moved to my scalp and then covered my eyes with a small towel while he continued down my body. He smelled faintly of slightly burned popcorn. It was then I allowed myself to cry.