Tis The Season

Catalogs now arrive by the dozens every day. I love catalogs and all that they represent. I love catalogs like I love magazines. Those who know me are aware of my love for words, know how I crave the circles and lines that organize themselves into words on the page that allow me to consume the thoughts of another – but I love pictures too.

I think it goes back to my childhood – all children love pictures that go along with or provide the inspiration for a story. I remember an early reader I had in kindergarten that substituted pictures for words that were beyond my reading level. I distinctly remember a story having a picture of a sandwich, instead of the letters s-a-n-d-w-i-c-h, and demanding my mother to reveal the letters to me.

Today I had to take my Wagenschen to SEARS to get a new battery. The original battery lasted 96,702 miles, and finally went kaput. My dear husband bought jumper cables last night so that we could jump the car this morning. (He was sweet enough to let me read the directions rather the two of us using our combined intelligence and stubbornness to get one of us killed). He followed me out to the SEARS at Six Corners on the northwest ('nortwest' if you're from there) side of Chicago to make sure I made it.

While I waited for my little car to get a transplant, I walked across Cicero to our favorite magazine store. It is heaven. Shiny covers on bound shiny pages peek out from their allotted slots. Pick a topic, pick a hobby, pick a language – this place has everything. I bought three magazines to add to my holiday catalog collection from our tiny mailbox, and today's New York Times (an anniversary present for David from which I also benefit) from the front door step.

I had discovered my little car needed a battery yesterday morning when I attempted to take our many pounds of dirty laundry to the laundromat. The guys at SEARS had to deal with the proximity of my driver seat to the steering wheel (and my Kmart seat cushion for height), as well as a duffle bag of stinky laundry for a passenger, and a nagging laundry hamper in the back seat. I still needed detergent.

There is a Walgreen's down the street from the magazine store (there seems to be one on every corner now). I went in to grab detergent. While standing in line at the register with my other package, an elderly woman in front of me turned around and surveyed me from top to bottom. She was five foot in her heels and perfect trench coat and one of those hair covers that fold up to fit neatly in your handbag, and white gloves(?!). She was picture perfect with pink lipstick and permanent curls. She had to be 75.

I regretted my quick Illini shower (brush teeth, load on deodorant, wet the hair or cover with a hat), and worried that I looked like hell. She turned back the other way and then said, "Time to do the laundry, is it?"

"Yes," I replied, "as soon as I pick up my car."

"What's wrong with your car?" she said as she finally turned around to face me.

I told her the short story and said that as soon as I got my purchases across the street and picked up the car, laundry-doing would commence. She picked up her things from the register counter and stepped aside,

"Here," she said, "you go in front of me. It sounds like you could use a good deed to turn your luck around."

I asked her if she was sure, and then thanked her and stepped ahead.

She said from behind me, "You see, not all old people are so bad."

I turned around and said, "I would never think such a thing."

"I do sometimes," she replied, "they all walk so damned slow and none of them can drive!"

I was happy to get to the laundromat (go figure) and once I got all of our clothes into three double-loaders I went through my magazines. Oh how I hate all of the inserts and different paper weights! Perhaps more damning evidence of my OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) is my need to remove all page-altering inserts from magazines before I can read them. All floating and attached subscription cards, all full-page perfume inserts (instant headache), all of the heavier-weight designer catalog inserts that force you to flip to their navel-revealing pictures of a new winter collection (of purses). Today I was exposed to the latest in frustrating magazine advertising inserts. It reminded me of the first time I came across a cosmetic sample in a Seventeen magazine. You could pull back small labels to reveal an small smear of the latest purple metallic lipstick like some kind of Mabelline advent calendar. What fun! My InStyle magazine produced a surprise for me. This ad was particularly stiff. As I pulled on the corner of the page to rip it from the magazine's spine, a large advent calendar window popped open and a full size panty liner sprang forth.

Luckily, I have reflexes like a cat.

Words of Wisdom
Found on a sticker-laden file cabinet at the magazine store: A sticker with the image of an AK-47 surrounded by the words, "It's not guns that kill people, it's the drunken lunatics I sell them to that do." Brilliant.

Homecoming

David and I returned last night from a lengthy road trip across two countries and four states. We both enjoy road trips, but we also enjoy coming home.

It's so nice to sleep in your own bed, sort through days of junk mail, lament at the empty fridge, feel guilt over dying house plants, hide from the mountains of dirty laundry, and relax under the drip of your own no-water-pressure shower.

To be honest, I am really glad to be home. I always feel a renewed invigoration after being away from home for a while. After visiting with friends at U of I, seeing the fall colors from Toronto to St. Louis, and spending time in hotel rooms and family members' homes, I am inspired on several fronts.

Being away from home for a week has given me a fresh perspective – and, surprisingly, an appreciation for the way Chicagoans drive.

O Canada!

David and I have been in Toronto (or really, outside of Toronto) for a few days. He is attending some conference – I’m hanging out and enjoying the cool weather.

Years ago, Dave and I were attending a wedding in the Detroit area and decided it would be fun to cross into Canada just to say we'd done it. We got into Canada, drove around a couple of blocks, and then got back in line to cross the bridge into the US. The US Customs person wanted to know how long we had been in Canada. We couldn't help chuckling. Obviously, we did that long before 09.11.01. Today, you wait on the bridge forever to get into the US.

Since that excursion, I have spent some time in Vancouver for a conference of my own, we have driven across part of Canada (Detroit/Windsor to Niagra Falls) on one of our roadtrips, I visited Canada for my bachelorette celebration, and we used Canada as a thruway to Michigan recently after attending a wedding in Rochester, NY – when we waited in line for a couple of hours. And here we are again.

We got here the night of our first anniversary – making it two years in a row that we have stayed in a very nice hotel suite. While Dave attends import/export talks and works to avoid insulting the hosts when not toasting the queen (?!), I have been heading out into the area to explore.

We're east of Toronto proper in an area called Markham. It's like most areas on the edge of urban sprawl – big roads, big new houses, the occasional farm field, large corporate campuses, strip malls, and one or two small, old communities. So now you know where I was headed.

Historic Unionville is not far from the hotel. It was founded in 1794. It has a Main Street with ancient, beautiful homes and quaint shops and trees that are the height of their autumn glory. I spent a good part of yesterday there and made some purchases at a neat little shop that had paper stars in the window that light up. They are exactly the same as the stars Dave and I saw all over Dresden on our honeymoon. I looked into buying some there – but they were expensive and had German electrical plugs. When I stepped into the shop in Unionville, I was afraid they were for decoration. I started a conversation with the two owners about them.

You might be able to guess how that went. My crooked pinkies are not the only proof that I am my mother's daughter. I talked with the owners for some time. Topics ranged from the paper stars, their use for decoration in parts of eastern Germany and among Christians in India, the length of the drive from Chicago, the Cubs, the Blues, the Hull family of hockey fame, etc. I had a great time – but I am still amazed when I walk away from an encounter like that that I actually talked so long to and learned so much about strangers. The friendly Canadians succeeded in selling me one of the very cool paper stars (including the light fixture), as well as two glass stars that hang from chains and hold tea lights.

So this trip to Canada has been fun. I’m still fascinated by how much the same and how different Canada is from parts of the US. I've gotten more of a feeling of a love/hate relationship that some Canadians have with the US this time around. I'll have to blog about that some other time. I need to get packing so that we can head out on time for the next leg of our journey: Urbana, Illinois!

I Love You, David

I am married to the most wonderful man in the world. Our first wedding anniversary is on Sunday – it is also the 12th anniversary of our first kiss.

I was straightening up the apartment this morning in preparation for the cable guy – long, ugly story, and because the apartment needs it, and because we will be on the road soon and it is so nice to come back to a clean apartment.

I had to pitch the beautiful arrangement that Dave sent me for my birthday. I had trimmed it down to its last blooms and it was shedding all over the dining room table. Just as I was cramming the slimy stems into a garbage bag, the doorbell buzzed. The cable guy? He was supposed to call first!

I grabbed my keys and jogged downstairs (the door buzzer functions only now and again). There was a young man at the door from our most favorite florist. Flowers for me? He asked if I was Kate. I said yes and signed for them. He said, "Didn't I deliver some flowers here a couple of weeks ago?" I said yes.

I took the tall package upstairs into the living room and tore back the brown paper to reveal an arrangement of a dozen Leonidas roses with hypericum berries – flowers from my bridal bouquet. Is he romantic or what?

Not only did the woman taking his order have to track down the vice president of the florist company in order to get the information about my bouquet (he is the designer and worked with me on planning the flowers for the wedding and is a super guy), but David also had the flowers delivered early so that I could enjoy them.

I am constantly amazed by this man. I can beat him at rock/paper/scissors to the point of embarrassment because I know what he is going to do, but he surprises me on a regular basis. I am still shocked that he was able to pull off the most romantic and perfect marriage proposal I have ever heard of (okay, I might be a little biased). He surprises me all the time – and not just with gifts.

The fun surprises like birthday pizzas and tiny cakes, flowers unannounced, playing cards and tacky tourist magnets, and a necklace with a beautiful diamond on our wedding day that made me blubber like an idiot are really just bonuses.

The true gift I receive from David is himself – his love, his confidence, his thoughtfulness, his support, his generosity, his intellect, his humor. David makes me better, he amplifies my good qualities and accepts the bad ones, he frees me and makes me truly happy.

He is my perfect partner. He is my match. I am thankful every day that David is in my life.

Rainy Tuesday

Fall has decided to return to Chicago. We have had mid and high 70s for a while now, but the rains came last night – and are still coming. The high will be 53 today with rain most of the day and winds gusting to 25 mph for the remainder. I love this stuff. It is dark and cool. Tree trunks are black with rain and are being stripped of many of their brightly colored leaves.

The fall weather makes me want to clean. And eat. I always enjoy a good spring cleaning manic episode, but the fall is different. I want to purge and nest. I have been watching programs like Clean Sweep on TLC, and Clean House on the Style Network lately. They are tremendous.

I have a lot of stuff – but the people on these programs are nearly beyond help. I feel better when I see how bad they are. I envy only the help they get. A crew shows up and empties your clutter-filled room or rooms. On Clean Sweep, they lay tarps in your front yard and put everything you own on them. Then you and your spouse/partner (with the help of a pushy person from the show) engage in the "one touch" rule. You pick something up from the pile and decide to keep it, sell it, or toss it. Do you love it? While you're agonizing over years of crap, a team of cleaners and designers are revitalizing your space. On Clean House, they use your garage sale proceeds and match the total up to a certain amount to do the same – they even have a professional organizer. The people can then gradually bring the small fraction of their possessions that they have decided to keep into clean and organized spaces. I love it.

So now I want to do purge and revitalize. Actually, I've wanted to do it for years, but now I am inspired by these shows. My task is different in that I don't have nearly as much stuff as the people on TV, but most of my stuff is paper. I know that I am ready for such a step (and perhaps am getting older as pointed out to me by a friend) because I have started to dream about having a tube that extends from our back porch into the dumpster below for all of my paper. As I dump crushing loads of paper, I am able to straighten and organize my space, clean and dust every surface with my arsenal of Swiffer products, and fill ample shelving with my cherished books (which have already been entered into my personal library database). The Swiffer products are crucial and are a really big part of enjoying the whole process. Thus, the getting old part. I used to lust after toys – now I desire cleaning products and appliances. When did that happen?

My neurotic personality allows me to visualize this process, and then condemn it to long "to do wish lists." My German blood fuels my desire that everything be in Ordnung, but my lazy side rarely makes it happen.

I used to be able exert the German side in my office when I worked. I relaxed in my strategically-placed lighting that freed me from use of the overhead fluorescent stadium lighting. I had a coffee maker, organized bookshelves (along with a system for colleagues and students to check out books), a color-coded filing system, post-its of all shapes and sizes, desktop wire racks for my current files, places for all supplies, an intricate network of extension cords for all of my video and audio equipment – it was bliss. My apartment was always another story.

Now I have no tiny office in a tornado-proof building to escape to. I have to deal now with my personal possessions and the collections of my former work life in one space. I have decided that this is the week to do it. I have recently celebrated a birthday, and Dave and I are days away from celebrating one year of marriage – I think these are good rationalizations for plugging in the shredder and wiping the slate clean. Oh! and the garbage strike is over too.

I'll keep you updated.

ALSO…
The Cubs play Game Six tonight against the Marlins in Chicago. If the Cubs win, they go on to the next level (I don't like to type or speak the actual name of the next level so as not to incur the wrath of my jinx-fearing husband). It should prove to be perfect weather for Chicago baseball.

Dave and I had "Traditional Austrian Breakfast" yesterday at my favorite Austrian café – Julius Meinl: toast, butter, some slices of incredible ham, some slices of tasty Emmentaler cheese, and a soft-boiled egg in a egg cup accompanied by a tiny spoon. Heaven. Each time I go back to Meinl's, I am reminded of just how Austrian they truly are. Eating the golden yolk of my egg gave me flashbacks of sitting in Arthur and Brigitte's tiny kitchen in Vienna waiting for my eggs. Brigitte used to eat kiwi from her egg cups – which drove Arthur crazy. Obviously, egg cups are for eggs only.

Each Sunday I cross the altar at St. Alphonsus after the 7:45am mass to get into the sacristy and then into the rectory for choir rehearsal prior to our 10:30am mass. This Sunday, I got there early and had to wait for the 7:45 mass to end. I stood in the back of church and noted how tiny the altar servers (one boy, one girl) were. With the new school year, new servers have been inducted into service. But these two were tiny! Servers at St. Al's carry candles on wood candle holders that appear to be about 3-feet tall during the procession, they carry and hold them up during the gospel, they carry them down and back up the aisle at the offertory, and then carry them out for the recessional. I got back to the sacristy just as the servers had returned from that last leg of candle duty. As they let the candles clunk to the floor with a thud and then blew them out, the little boy said to the little girl, "Gee whiz. I don't know about this. These things are heavy!"

Mein Geburtstag

On Wednesday I tuned a year older. Again. I remember agonizing for weeks when I was young waiting for my birthday to finally arrive. Now I seem to have a birthday twice a year – they can't possibly be occurring as frequently as they seem to now.

And still – I love birthdays. I have had a cold this week and was feeling miserable on my birthday morning. My outstanding husband left me to slumber. The doorbell rang later in the afternoon – a beautiful arrangement of flowers in a gorgeous vase from my David. I also received a surprise skirt (we never buy each other clothes) from one of my favorite catalogues. I had folded down the corners of pages that contained items I liked in one of my catalogues. I do this a lot. I rarely actually purchase anything. David apparently came across this catalogue and made the purchase.

When the UPS man arrived with the package, I was afraid that I had started to order my wish list clothes during some sort of blackout and therefore couldn't remember purchasing this skirt. David picked out a great skirt from many many dog-eared pages. He has revealed his ability to not only pick something nice for me, but also to determine which item from the many on the page was the one that I was attracted to. What a good husband!

That night I had two separate meetings at church, so going out to dinner was a no go. When I got home at around 9:30, David was there with a Little Ceasar's pizza (and crazy bread!) for me. He was on the phone with a friend of ours. While I chatted with her, Dave disappeared into the kitchen and came back out with a tiny birthday cake from Dinkel's (where we were engaged) and one number 3 candle on it! He was sweet enough to not sing to me.

So I sat on the couch and gorged myself with pizza, crazy bread, and birthday cake while we watched Dave's Cubs destroy the Marlins.

Getting older is okay by me.

Wild Weekend

We had a wild, busy weekend. I admit that I am still recovering from Oktoberfest – I have a debriefing meeting on Wednesday night that should provide closure. I also have a choir rehearsal scheduled for the same time just down the hall.

Dave and I started the weekend with dinner at one of our favorite German places with a friend of Dave's from high school and his wife – who were married in Rochester, New York in August (see earlier blog). We had a blast. And we stayed up way too late. It was great to get a chance to hang out with them – I had met the wife previously only at our wedding and theirs. German taverns with super food are a great place to hang out and socialize – in case you didn't know.

After staying up too late on Friday night, we got up Saturday morning to take care of household stuff. I also ran to the grocery store to get some ingredients for a birthday cake I was making for our visit to Jason and Christine's that afternoon (Christine's birthday was last month). I got up, showered, and took off for the store. Dave did not. I got back and started working on the cake, icing, real whipped cream, and raspberry sauce (I amazed myself this time).

While cooking and loading the sink with dirty baking tools and bowls, I noticed the water pressure dwindling. Dave heard someone yell out into the courtyard about the water. By the time Dave went into the bathroom, the water was gone. Luckily, it had returned by the time he needed to flush and then jump in the shower.

Now we were running late. I was waiting for the toothpicks to come out of the cake cleaner than Dave was. I called Jason and Chris and said we would (as can be usual for us) be late. As I was coaxing raspberry sauce through the strainer I heard Dave,

"Ohhhhhhh nooooooooo, ohhhhh nooooo, oh no oh no oh no!"

I ran into the bathroom to find by darling husband soaped up from head to toe. He was covered in suds. His hair was full of shampoo. He had rubbed soap all over his face. He was blind and all foamy.

And the water had been turned off again.

Why he soaps every inch of himself and then rinses off, I don't know. I am fond of washing one part (or pair of parts) at a time myself. But that is beside the point. Dave was living the modern nightmare of the water supply drying up at the moment of complete soapy suds coverage.

I told him to hold on. I ran into the kitchen and gathered up armloads of small water bottles that were in the pantry from Dave's last Sam's run. I opened one as I got back into the bathroom to help him rinse his face. He started screaming again. Our pantry apparently chills water as well as the fridge does.

I spent the next ten minutes or so checking on the birthday cake in between microwaving batches of water for Dave's slow rinsing. His anger subsided as the suds were slowly washed off.

We had a super time visiting with Jason, Chris, and Devon. Jason grilled the last of the fresh Oktoberfest brats while we watched the Cubs game. We played an outstanding game of dominoes (I won, Dave came in last). Even though the Cubs lost, we had a great visit, super food, and we had water again when we got home.

We got up early on Sunday so I could go to choir rehearsal and then sing at 10:30 mass. We also bummed around Barnes & Noble for a while after a bagel and some coffee at Vanessa's. We went to Whole Foods later on to pick up some fresh pot stickers and two huge salads so we wouldn't have to cook before the baseball game came on.

As we walked into the store, a woman walking out of the store and talking on her cell phone neglected to notice the tall, bright yellow curb in front of her, and fell on her butt. There is no other was to describe it. It was a wipe out like I haven't seen in a long time. Cell phones are dangerous when driving, and perhaps more so when walking. I walked up to her and asked her if she was okay. She was trying to explain to the person on the phone what had happened. I asked her if she need some help getting up (and out of parking lot traffic). She said she was fine and just embarrassed. When Dave and I finally got to the door, our pastor was looking out the door. He had just noticed that a woman had fallen down. Dave thought that my attempt at a good deed must get some kind of bonus points for being witnessed by a priest.

So we got home and got comfy on the couch with pot stickers and salads. As I am sure you all know by now, Kerry Wood and the Cubs made history last night as they won Game 5 against the Atlanta Braves to win their first post-season series since 1908. Now they will play the Florida Marlins for the National League Championship. Atlanta and Florida ranked one and two for the most wins in the regular season in the NL. The Cubs will not have nearly as many total wins as the regular season records of Atlanta and Florida even if the win the whole deal. I think that's interesting. Any team on any day. Don't you just love baseball?

My wonderful husband is quietly optimistic and doing a great job at not getting too upset on those occasions when things go wrong for the Cubs, or when Dusty Baker has Alfonseca warm up in the pen. (Rather, he says, "I'm not going to get too wrapped up in this." or "I'm not going to let this get to me.") I am a Cardinals fan and will forever remain one – but it is nice to see Dave being able to enjoy baseball in October. A Cubs fan in Atlanta had a sign that read "Cubtoberfest." I like that.

This weekend was not concluded with the usual early Monday morning concert of garbage truck music. We are in day six (day seven?) of a garbage strike. The strike includes several private garbage companies – and includes us. Our building has one dumpster for the entire building – so it is emptied three times a week. Therefore, a six day strike is a big deal. The Mayor has promised that city trucks will pick up any overflow from private dumpsters as they make their usual trips down the alleys for city garbage pick up. I love The Mayor.

Time Travel

The last couple of weeks have been a whirlwind for me. I have this overwhelming sensation of disorientation -- like you get when you walk into a movie theater on a sunny afternoon and are transported through a screenwriter's sense of time via the story to emerge into a world that you have half-forgotten and appears unrecognizable now that the sun has set. You know what I mean? That happens to me sometimes when I read a book for a stretch of a couple of hours. My sense of time becomes distorted.

My time has been distorted lately by Dave being home from work last week, by Oktoberfest, and by a change in the weather. I finally did the laundry yesterday -- three double loaders of clothes. Digging down to the bottom of the hamper was like viewing a geologist's cross section of soil revealing evidence of atmospheric changes: long-sleeve shirts, sweatshirts, and jeans at the top gradually yielding to clothes for much warmer temperatures towards the bottom. Rain and wind brought cool temperatures to us last Friday -- today's high will be around 55.

I can't believe it's already Wednesday -- I haven't come out of my time coma yet. To make things all the weirder, my darling husband's beloved Cubs are playing baseball in October? They beat the Braves in Atlanta. Have I entered a new dimension? A parallel universe?