I used to sprint the two blocks to her house with the speed of an Olympic athlete—even if it was just to sit on the giant house-length front porch to wait for her to finish eating dinner. Then, once we were together, we were off for an adventure. And it was a different one every day. One without computers, tablets or smartphones. The only technology involved was the kind our imaginations could invent--far superior to anything Silicon Valley can offer today. I wrote about Caro

“So, tell me how you think the death of Curt Cobain will impact music,” a reporter asked me. I stared blankly. “Let me get the manager.” I mean, I knew he died, and it was tragic, but I didn't have a prepared statement for the media. I was only part-time. My early days in Chicago, where I moved on my own a couple of years after college, were filled with the kind of swirling chaos that made sense in your twenties. What also made sense was that in addition to my low-paying, ful

I was sitting with Alfre Woodard and two of my closest friends, basking in the sun and each other’s company while we dined al fresco on the most gorgeous summer day imaginable. Well, kind of. The friend part is correct, but it was a rainy autumn day in Chicago. We could see the soggy cityscape from Baptiste and Bottle on the 20th floor of the Conrad Hotel. There was no literal sun that day. But the metaphorical sunshine was blinding. Oh, and Alfre was at a different table a

My house never feels more like a home than when it's brimming with people I love. Recently, my A-List (Retta, Kathy, Alan and Tina) had the opportunity to get together--for the first time in five years! And it was magical (as usual). I've written about this beloved motley crew before.They are--each one of them individually and all of them together--a piece of my heart. Just the possibility of the five of us getting together set my pulse racing for weeks. But once our LA gir

As I’ve written before , I love to go camping—partly for its own sake but partly (probably mostly) because it was something Ken introduced me to. I’m not a deep woods camper, but a give me a beautiful state park and some friends, and I’ll pack up all my camping gear and head out. In spite of the fact I’ve lived next to Wisconsin for the better part of my life, I’ve only been there twice. (Except for my imaginary visits with Laverne & Shirley back in the day.) This marks th

In the fourth grade our teacher, Mrs. Fisher--with her flaming orange hair and clown red lipstick applied liberally outside the lines of her lips would say things like "whatever rattles your cage" and warned a dim classmate to stop pulling out his own hair otherwise he'd be "bald as a billiard ball." (Like any of us knew what billiards were.) She was like a small town version of Lucille Ball--but scarier. My best friend Carol and I were having an imaginary pie throwing fight

Yesterday I turned 45. It's my third birthday since Ken died, and it's also a date that will forever fall two weeks after the profound date of his death. The dates have been so emotionally intertwined, it had been difficult to get excited about my birthday. I figured it may never happen. But this year I felt differently about it. For the first time in a long time I got really excited about my birthday weekend, and the plans I'd made. I wanted to celebrate. And it felt really,

It's difficult to believe that sixteen years ago today, with a stomach full of butterflies I reported to 1616 N. Wells with my bestie Kathy for our first class at the venerable Second City's improv comedy program. Aside from attempting to learn the "rules of improv," the longest lasting gift it gave me was a new dimension of my friendship with Kathy, as well as shiny new, yet-slightly-wrong-in-the-rightest-way friendship with Alan, Retta and Tina. The A-List. I've written ab

My friend Mindy came to town from Portland for a visit this past week. Though we talk and text regularly, I hadn't seen her since she came to town to support me and attend Ken's soiree in June of 2011. We met in 2003 when I got a job at a chamber of commerce where she was already working. It was a friendship that was so easy to slip into--like a comfortable pair of slippers. She's fits into the category of women who are intelligent, kind and caring. And she holds a place in

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

Working on one's will is a kind of drudgery that I know is important, but nonetheless depressing. I've been putting it off for a while--since Ken died when everything changed, literally and figuratively. But as I plan a trip for the holidays and as a responsible pet parent, I know how important it is to have my ducks in a row. I know how important it was that Ken and I both handled our estate planning before his surgery in 2010; what a sick feeling it gave me in my gut while

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

With only a couple of months until high school graduation to go, I was content to quietly slip out the doors of my sleepy, small town high school and into my future at college. But one chilly spring morning in 1986, everyone knew my name as it was screeched out over the school's PA system. "RON STEMPKOWSKI REPORT TO THE OFFICE!!! RON STEMPKOWSKI REPORT TO THE OFFICE!!!" I can still hear it like it was yesterday. Wid-eyed and surprised, I couldn't imagine why a notorious "good

(A rare paparazzi shot, catching vintage badasses Denise and Ron (circa 1990) arriving "on the scene.") I read a blurb recently about a study conducted on a group of "truly happy" people to find what--if anything--they had in common. The study found that those surveyed only shared one trait: the strength of their social relationships. I'm not exactly sure how "truly happy" is measured and what metrics would actually reveal that, but I found it fascinating nonetheless. And i

(Four of THE most amazing friends you could ask for--like it or not. L-R, Kathy, Me, Tina, Alan, Retta - August, 2011) March 15, 1997 is a day that lives in infamy--at least for five people. It was the day me and my irritable bowls walked up the stairs in terror to the hallowed halls of Chicago's famed Second City at 1616 N. Wells Street for my first day of improv class. Kathy and I had been friends five-or-so years and had talked about going to Second City for the previous

Yours truly (right) with author and friend, Claire Bidwell Smith (left--and moderately preggars) Most months, the first is a sometimes glaring, sometimes dreaded number appearing in the first square of the calendar. Some months it approaches more brazenly than others. The first of this month (March) has been on my radar for a while for a couple of reasons. March 23 would have been Ken's and my 11th anniversary together, and also serves as a reminder that last year on that da

" The Rules of Inheritance " was released on February 2. I woke up that morning to an email from Amazon.com , letting me know the book had been delivered to my Kindle. Up and out of bed with the excitement of a toddler on Christmas morning, I grabbed my iPad and curled up in a chair in the living room and devoured the first section while sipping the day's first cup of coffee. But it didn't stop there. It couldn't. I was riveted; compelled to keep reading. I couldn't put it do

This week marks the one-year anniversary of the my first blog . During the intervening year--as I promised myself--I've written at least one blog per week. It's an accomplishment that fills my writer's heart with more than a little pride. When I began blogging in December, 2010 I told myself it was mainly to gain some exposure on the blogosphere and to begin building a public voice as a writer. But early on I knew I was fooling myself. Ken's illness and subsequent death has b

It wasn't until late last night while snuggled on the couch that it occurred to me that PadLo's birthday was sometime in October. I checked out ohpadlo.com and realized not only was I correct, but I was in the waning hours of his very birthday! Considering I was pushing the boundaries of my bedtime I promised we'd celebrate today--which we did: tacos and cupcakes all around! PadLo came into our lives as gift to Ken from our family in California. (And created by a very talent

As I've written before since Ken died, "firsts" are difficult--both figuratively and literally. It was June 1st when Ken left us. Today marks the three month anniversary of losing a man who brought a texture, depth, dimension and a sense of play to my life that will forever be unmatched. My head knows those things didn't leave with him, but my heart has very different and stubborn opinions about that. I couldn't help but think of him today--and thinking about the day when I l