I published my  previous post  without thinking that I still wanted to write about 2014. But I'm a sucker for the statistical fireworks show Wordpress.com puts on for me. So, we're a few days into 2015. I rang in the new year in bed. Not because of any tragic reason—though I am a those who subscribe to leaving amateur night to amateurs. To be honest, I was kind of sad to see 2014 go. It was a good year; one fraught with exciting firsts for me. Becoming a homeowner was the b

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2013 annual report for this blog. Here's an excerpt: A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 5,800 times in 2013. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 5 trips to carry that many people. Click here to see the complete report.

I'm moving. Aside from the Christmas cheer in the air there is also one of excitement. For change. And an equal measure of dread for the same. The normal dread of change. As well as the other kind: the kind that finds me packing up and purging things from my life with Ken in the apartment where we lived together the longest. Saying goodbye to the place where we said goodbye. Not an easy task. I remind myself of lots of things. Constantly. This isn't--in fact--the place whe

I was minding my own business, singing my lungs out along with Pandora on the way home from dropping off my friend Mindy at O'Hare when I saw the oncoming Nissan SUV swerve into my lane, clipping the back of the Jeep in front of me. "Certainly, she'll correct her trajectory since she has already hit another car," I thought rationally as she continued further into my lane, slamming into the front quarter panel of my car, scraping all the way down the driver's side. Holy shit.

When I was in Jewel the other day at the self-check out, I noticed bouquets of roses in different hues of reds and pinks nearby. Within arms reach. My first immediate thought was to buy one. My hand ever-so-slightly was reaching toward the bin. Then somehow--finally--my brain caught up to what my hand was doing and "righted" the situation, correcting my hand's trajectory back to my bag of goods. It was surprising to me more than anything else. And it felt sort of...comforting

I've had a box of Ken's personal papers under my desk for months--since moving them there over the summer to remind myself to deal with them. Nothing drastic. But to go through it to at least understand what it contained. I'd only managed a short look the last time--sometime in 2011 when I wasn't ready for it. So back on the shelf it went. I had a burst of organization this week--and a desire to get rid of anything that is emotionally inert and serves no other purpose. I spi

Mentioning Uptown in my previous post made me think of this. Since getting Kallie in a new day care situation closer to home I've been able to return to my normal route of taking Lake Shore Drive to get to work. (It's fun to say to co-workers and superiors, "I took LSD this morning.") As I was driving toward the lake the other morning I took Wilson Ave. When I passed Malden Street I smiled, adjusting the visor against the rising sun, and thought about the long, miserable ye

When I took Kallie for a walk last evening, the streets of the neighborhood seemed electrified--abuzz with pre-Thanksgiving activity before the city lies down to be still while we celebrate the holiday. People talking and laughing as they pulled luggage on wheels, probably heading out of town for the long weekend. The weather is unseasonably warm, no one bundled up, but rather wearing light coats or sweaters. Oddly three helicopters hovered to the Southeast. As we walked and

It's been a busy week. Ken has been on my mind a lot. Last weekend my brother-in-law Craig (Ken's brother) and nephew were in town for a hockey tournament. My nephew Nate is one of the sweetest kids I've ever had the pleasure of knowing (and loving). And he is a badass goalie on the ice. I eagerly trekked to and from the dreaded suburbs for his games to watch him play, and cheer him on with his dad. I couldn't help but think of Ken and how proud he'd be of Nate and how much

Yesterday did't turn out at all as I expected it to. Funny how some days are just like that. The things I woke up concerned about didn't end up being anything I needed to be worried about. Nothing life changing, mind you. Just surprises. I took Kallie for a long walk early this morning. It would be the last one we'd be able to take for a while as she was scheduled for her "lady" surgery later in the day, but would spend the entire day at the vet. It's the last right of passa

Kallie and I took a road trip this weekend. As mentioned in a previous blog , I love the colors, smells and sights of autumn. A drive out of the city offered some beautiful vistas of oranges, reds and coppers--along with cursing at truck driver's and the Department of Transportation while sneaking glances at what Special K was up to in the back seat. I always look forward to returning to my childhood home and seeing my parents. It's like heading toward a gilded fortress that

Since getting Kallie in a new day care situation closer to home I've been able to return to my normal route of taking Lake Shore Drive to get to work. (It's fun to say "I took LSD this morning.") As I was driving toward the lake the other morning I took Wilson Ave. When I passed Malden Street I smiled, adjusting the visor against the rising sun, and thought about the long, miserable year I spent in a studio apartment there back in the 90s. It was my fifth year living in Chic

It was a beautiful day yesterday. It was gray and cloudy and drizzled the better part of the day. But it was mid-sixties. I was up early and took Kallie for a walk before the at-home work day began. I love when it's damp or wet outside and her Chow-fro is revealed. While on our walk in the early morning, with dawn just breaking the stillness in the neighborhood was undeniably solemn for me. Looking around as a few early birds hurried in the dim morning light to their cars

I love autumn. It's my favorite season--in spite of what it is the harbinger of here in the Midwest. It's the crisp earthy smell in the air, the vibrant colors of the changing leaves, and the sound of them crunching beneath shoes (or paws). It's the time when you begin to layer, and pull out the sweaters that have lain unused since you put them away when spring warmed up. Since returning to work, I've struggled with blog topics. Having a schedule and a sense of purpose as my

I knew it was looming ahead, but never took the time to confirm until I returned to work recently and began regularly looking at a calendar again to realize Ken's birthday was fast approaching. Very fast. Today is Ken's birthday. I have to say I really like typing that in the present tense (is--not was, were, did, used to be) because it still is the date on which he was born. A date that feels more appropriate to mark--rather than the day he died. Or at least feels more wort

I'm settling back into my work schedule pretty well. When I returned to the office, last week I was greeted with a lot of smiles, warmth, and a butt load of jealous co-workers. In as much as I enjoyed every single minute of my leave of absence, the minute I pulled into the parking structure on that first morning, it sort of felt like I'd never left. Comforting and dismaying at once. That first morning was a bit of a scramble, as it was the first time of dropping Kallie of at

The last couple of weeks I've done everything but write. As the time winds quickly down on my leave from work, I've been frenzied with organizing and prepping for me to re-enter the work-a-day world, as well as prepping for what it will mean for Kallie. What has my leave meant for me? Remember how summer's as a child between grades were long, rolling, and agenda-less? And how it seemed to clean the slate from the prior year? And by the end of summer you looked forward to ret

Changing things around the apartment is a tricky business for me. Leaving things as they were when Ken was alive offers some kind of security--or maybe a kind of certainty that he was here--especially if it was something he'd placed himself. So, finding myself sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor at 11 pm on Tuesday night, going through all the lower kitchen cabinets was a surprise. But it was one of the several household projects I swore to get done before I return to

I took over cooking full time after Ken's surgery in early 2010. It was quite a shift for us because this role had primarily been Ken's. He was a supremely creative man and his cooking was no exception. His improv skills played a role in everything he did--particularly cooking. He often commented that he loved when we cooked together--which ultimately served as great training for me. I learned to get comfortable experimenting--no matter what the result. It was about the journ

(An early title card from "Our Lives" when I first joined the cast.) There are many odd things about being "single" (that still feels weird to say or type) and living alone. Earlier today, I walked over to Subway to get a sammie for lunch and as I walked back I caught a glimpse of myself in a window I was passing, and I did double take. My lips were moving. I was talking. Aloud. And no one was with me. I don't even remember what I was saying. It's like my brain and my mouth