I spend a lot of time getting caught up on the people who cloud my days. How many times have I vented about this person who irritated me, or that person who has no respect for others? How many times have I fumed over that harshly worded email or the guy who decided not to compromise? Why is it only the hard parts of people that I hug close?

Such a sad subconscious summation, isn't it?—And I'm actually a positive person!

I was unaware of this pattern until one day last week when I was leaving work and noticed an ordinary but wonderful thing. To leave the building, employees have to go through a set of secure doors to enter the skywalk that leads to the parking garage, through another set of secure doors that lead to an enclosure, and finally one last set of doors to actually get to the place where we park the cars (there must have been a good deal on doors when they built the place). I was approaching the second set of doors when I noticed the sound of footsteps behind me. I looked back to judge the nearness of this other person.

It's a little game we all play. Is she far enough back that I can make my merry way without holding the door? If I walk really fast, can I get to the door far enough ahead of him so I don't have to wait while he shuffles along? The binds of polite society can be so bothersome.

The gentleman was far enough back that I could have sped along without holding the door, but only just. On a split-second decision, I decided to be a nice guy and hold the door. He looked up, surprised that I waited for him when I had enough clearance to leave without being outcast. He tilted his head and smiled. "Thanks," he said as he reached the door.

I smiled and nodded before continuing on…I felt good. From the corner of my eye, I saw him begin to follow my path but stopped with a jerk and caught the door behind him before it closed. Looking back, I noticed someone else in the skywalk. He was far enough back from the door, yet the man waited for him. The man in the skywalk smiled, surprised that someone so far ahead of him held the door.

I don't know why the simple observation reverberated so much…but I haven't been able to stop thinking about whatever it is that causes a person to make a split-second decision, or the driving force to take a tiny piece of kindness and share it with someone else.

I guess people aren't really so bad after all.

And now: the rest of the story.
(Thank you for letting me borrow your line, Paul.)

Quick recap of the last bit of nonsense:
We get grumpy. We do fun things to not be grumpy. A concert is a fun thing that we did. I don't have fun when I don't sleep. We scheduled vacation for the day after the concert (to sleep for fun). But really, our wasted day off promised loads of un-fun. Nick: "Let's go to Chicago!" Not to get ahead of the story, but that was pretty fun.

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It's amazing that I can actually be concise when I try, isn't it?

The first trip I ever took with Nick was to Chicago. There are three very prominent memories from that trip, and sadly they're probably not the ones Nick was hoping we would take away.

1. It was cold…as in record-breaking cold…as in the coldest cold snap of the entire winter. We walked from Starbucks to Starbucks on the way back to our hotel so our faces wouldn't harden and shatter in the bitter wind. I don't think we've ever attempted going anywhere during February since, come to think of it.


2. We were so ill. The bathroom was never unoccupied, we'll say it that way. I think it was a mixture of the extreme temperature changes we put our bodies through going in and out of the cold as we did and the massive amounts of rich Starbucks coffee drinks we used to bring heat back into our bodies. Totally the romantic weekend he planned.


3. Nick was dejected that he couldn't get tickets to see BB King who was performing at the House of Blues. He beat himself up for weeks leading up to the trip because he thought he should have researched the trip sooner. Actually, I remember that I thought he was so frustrated that he wouldn't be able to enjoy the trip at all.

Nick told me that Chicago was on me this time. You see, Nick does nearly all the vacation activity planning. He wishes I would take over more, but the thing is that we approach vacation differently. I see it as a time to do nothing. He sees it as a time to do everything that we can't do at home. Vacations exhaust me, and isn't that just the most counterproductive thing you've ever heard? Well anyway, I the weekend in the palm of my had, and I planned exactly two activities and two things only. I immediately slotted Saturday to the Planetarium because we've been wanting to go. And with a little help from Google…

…I discovered that BB King was in town again, and tickets were still available. (I figure that catching his performance was only six years in the making.) BB King is velvet to my ears. His voice sounds like it could have come from an old recording—still as clear and soulful as ever—but it was his personality that I fell in love with. His stage presence felt like a companionable conversation with an old friend, the kind of conversation that keeps the smile plastered on your face long after talking has ceased.



So, I started writing this post two days ago, but my social agenda got in the way—hey, it happens. Since this current bout of insomnia still hasn't let up (in day three), I decided to finish this up instead of staring at the dark ceiling any longer. In reviewing pictures to share here, it seems that most of the photos I took over the weekend are in portrait orientation instead of landscape; it's usually the other way around. I am always enthralled with the ball buildings in Chicago. I'm used to looking up and seeing sky instead of the latticework of masonry and steel…tall photos for tall buildings, I guess!



It seems so simple, but viewing the world as if I am framing a photo makes everything so much more special—just like blogging makes little moments of my life more memorable because I am sensitive to the stories as they unravel. The stress of life simply melts away as Nick and I walk together down the city streets. We watch the parents and children, the lovers and friends, and it's clear that life is pretty wonderful.

Nick and I both have a tendency to bring work worries home. We don't take the stress out on each other per se, but I cannot deny the taciturn coexistence that settles over the evening every now and then. Since work is so heavy during the week, we try to have fun once the weight lifts for the weekend. We schedule a few weekend getaways every year to enjoy life with each other—we went to Chicago last weekend.

We typically visit Chicago every year but missed the trip last year for some reason. (I think the problem was that we stayed in Schaumburg and got all snagged up in IKEA…I don't think we had much of a budget left to hit The Magnificent Mile!) I love going to Chicago for a couple days, but I'm always ready to come home. I can't live with that level of frenzy around the clock!

This year's trip was inspired by Elton John tickets. I think you probably know by now that I am a huge Elton John fan. Levon gives me chills every time I hear "He was born a pauper to a pawn on a Christmas Day…" It holds a certain Cat's in the Cradle-esqueness for me…the reminder to pay attention to the important things before it's too late. Anyway, Nick brought it to my attention as soon as the tour stop in Madison was announced…despite the fact that he's rather indifferent to Sir Elton's music. That's love, folks.

He even took some video with his phone:



Since the concert was a Thursday night and I'm old (read: I need much more sleep to function), I scheduled vacation for the next day. I wanted the day off solely to sleep in, but the rest of the vacation day was going to be a bit of a waste…so why not go to Chicago for the weekend instead? Why not indeed.

Do you think I can link out to much more in this post? I think that's a sign of the ADD taking over, so I'll have to continue this story another day. For now, I can tell you that I absolutely loved seeing Elton John again…and I will go to his concerts as often as I can. I am so awed by his talent. If there was just one thing I would go back and change in my life, it would be that I give more of my young life to learning how to make music. Since I cannot go back, I deeply, deeply appreciate those who can.



Is it ever too late to learn?

When I was a child, I was the artistic sort. I wrote my first short story—with illustrations, mind you—before I made it to second grade. At the time, because everyone should be making big life choices before second grade (naturally), I was torn as to whether I was more of a writer or more of an illustrator. In the end, writing stayed with me a bit longer…most likely because my writing became more sophisticated with age, but my sketching never did!

I still take to drawing occasionally. Well actually, I take to drawing more than just occasionally if you count all of the doodles I scribble on scrap paper while in phone conferences. Roll your eyes all you want…everyone is always surprised at all the information I retain without taking notes in those meetings! (It works!) The little doodle over to the right was Sophie-inspired, but with an extra-fluffy, excited-looking tail because that's how I like 'em.

I'm always a little surprised what I end up doodling when I dedicate my logic elsewhere.

Anyway, I always had fanciful stories in my head as a child. I wanted so badly to tell my mom all about the fantasies living in my mind, but I often felt frustrated because I didn't have the words to paint the stories well enough. I wanted everyone to see the faerie prince enchant all those flowers at dawn so that they would open and sing for the butterflies—but since I didn't have the words, I tried to recreate the image. I filled entire sketchbooks with my imagination.

I wonder, at what age do we stop seeing the unseen? If I still see, I've stopped acknowledging. The ability to run alongside your imagination is a gift that we have for such a short time, and I wish I still had those sketchbooks. I think they would be refreshing in contrast to my realistic, easily-described, all-business world. Hopefully I'll "wake up" from a phone conference one day and find that the faerie prince still lives in me after all.

Tomorrow morning, Nick and I are traveling to the Minneapolis-area where we will spend the weekend. I don't know why we can't seem to plan a trip to Minnesota in the summer, but it is what it is. When we firmed up plans, I knew there was one person who I had to see: my sweet and talented friend, Anna.

When I first met Anna, I remember being a scared college freshmen who had to move into the empty dorms early because I had training to attend (I was a consultant in the campus computer labs). She was that tall girl who lived across the hall (of course everyone seems tall to me). She had to move in early too, and hers was one of the first new faces that I remember seeing.

Once everyone moved in, the occupants of our two rooms (Anna, Amy, Sarah, and me) became great friends. We used to keep our doors open so we could call across to each other, and I remember how much we laughed. We were the only "blue" rooms in our wing who were pulling for Gore to win—if anyone starts talking about hanging chads, I'm going to get all twitchy, so just stop right there. Surely the solidarity of our political beliefs alone would have bonded us, but we actually had a general affection for each other.

At some point during that year, Anna gave me the address to her blog. A public diary. Silly Anna…diaries aren't public; diaries are sold with locks and keys. While the concept was foreign to me, Anna is an entertaining writer and quite humorous in her storytelling—I started and never stopped reading…even after my life went in a different direction than hers.

She is the one who gave me the idea to keep one of these blog…things. When I was trying to figure out a way to keep my family in my life from a thousand miles away, this was the first thing that came to mind. After all, I felt like I was still living across the hall from Anna because I knew what was going on in her life. This blog bridged many miles and helped me feel like I wasn't quite so far away from everyone I knew and cared for.

And here we are today, still writing. I have seen Anna exactly once since 2002, but it feels like she lives just across the road. Sharing your life: it can be intimidating. It's sometimes exposing and always personal…but it doesn't make you vulnerable.

Sharing your life opens you to love. See you soon, Anna!