My first attempt at sports left a bad taste in my mouth. The briny taste of tears, in fact. I was five or six and was "encouraged" to sign up for little league baseball like all the other little boys were eagerly doing--probably of their own volition. My parents--along with my Old World Polish grandpa--took me to the town ball park to sign up one Saturday afternoon. It was probably around the bicentennial (1976 for those of you too young to remember) because my dad had bought

Ken loved candles. Once he found the battery operated flickering candles at Costco, our apartment was soon filled with them. They had timers in them, so they "lit" each evening at roughly the same time. When we'd be sitting in the front room watching TV and one would begin the slow chain reaction of lighting up, the first one of us to notice would say "magic time." And we'd wait and watch the rest of them begin to glow. We couldn't help but be filled with a little bit of wond

Spring has finally sprung in Chicagoland--after a long and crappy winter. The uptick in the weather coincided with a week-long staycation. And gnawing on my work-free agenda has been getting the garden planted--something Ken looked forward to and planned for every year. It was a true rite of spring in our house. Though it wasn't my thing, he'd ask for my opinion and help in planning for and caring for it. It's my third consecutive year of planting and maintaining the garden

Spring is slowly awakening in Chicago. Finally. Although it's always such a tease. 70 one day. 30 the next. Rain. Wind. By the time it stabilizes, it's practically summer and we're just grateful for it--for anything over 50 degrees with some sunshine once in a while. I think we're all eagerly awaiting to blow the dust off the window locks and open them wide for some fresh air. For me, Spring means something else, too. And it didn't "click" with me until the other day. Springt

I still check Ken's email. I'm not sure why. I just like knowing it's still there and active. And it's still something I monitor on his behalf should anything of substance ever arrive. It's one of the more mundane ways I honor him. I've long ago archived all the emails that he sent and received personally--or ones I sent on his behalf. Now I just check the inbox from time to time and delete the spam or long-ago-subscribed-to newsletters. One day last week I clicked on the lo

I woke up yesterday morning to what was the twelfth anniversary of when I met Ken--when my life changed direction in the subtlest yet most dramatic of ways. I knew it was coming but as it got closer, it slipped my mind. For someone who is date-obsessed, I'm not sure how that happens. Or maybe I am. As I lay there, ensnarled in my flannel sheets and the quilt Ken's grandmother made for him for his high school graduation, I let all the memories this date invokes wash over me. I

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

I'm a creature of habit. I take great comfort in the rituals and traditions of everyday life. There are certain routes I like to take--usually out-of-the-way and less traveled. I like to do certain things in a certain order. I usually walk Kallie on the same exact walk and mutter very bad things when someone and their dog cause us to change course. (My Chow hasn't learned what "aloof" is yet despite of my best attempts to show her.) It's almost Rainman-esque. But I gotta be m

Today's date is significant for me. It's the third anniversary of Ken's hemipelvectomy. (You can read more about it in last year's blog if you'd like.) Because of this anniversary--like so many that have come and gone, Ken has been heavily on my mind this week. More so than usual. And I think it would be fitting to hear his voice--in a manner of speaking. (If you want to hear his actual voice, head over to the Poop Song .) What I would like to try doing today--and on any

I took Kallie for a longer-than-usual walk last night thanks to the unseasonably Spring-like weather. A few blocks north of our usual route landed us in Ravenswood. I lived there the last few years in Chicago before moving to Los Angeles with Ken. We walked past my old apartment. It's where I lived when I fell in love. My whole experience living in Ravenswood was somewhat magical. I loved living there as I love this part of the city. My old apartment stands next to Ravenswoo

It's difficult to believe it's been three years since I’ve been to Southern California--specifically for Christmas. Even more difficult to believe: that it was a trip made without Ken and that it’s my second Christmas without him. In so many ways it felt so normal and so "usual" for me. And for that I'm incredibly grateful. But when I reflect on that very topic of things being "okay" for me, I credit Ken's bravery and generous spirit, as well as a lot of hard work on my end,

I went to bed pretty early last night. As a result my eyes opened at 4:30 a.m. this morning. It was fortuitous because I could hear Kallie, who was lying on the bedroom floor, whining a little--waiting for me to wake up. When she whines, it's a pretty sure sign she needs to "poodle" (as opposed to "piddle"). And given the fact I ignored a similar plea earlier in the week, resulting in a big steaming pile of lovin' left for me in the middle of the kitchen floor, I decided to h

Two years ago today in the wake of my first (and so for only) NaNoWriMo I sat down at my beloved Mac and began blogging--hoping to share stories and observations--anything other than what Ken and I were facing when his cancer had returned for the second time within a year. Writing had always been my "go to" therapy option, but I could never have imagined that a blog was going to allow me to share pretty much every aspect of my journey with him...and without him. And I've tr

I saw eggnog at the grocery store the other day. It made me think fondly (as always) of Ken. He was the first person I ever knew who actually bought it and drank it every year. He mostly used it to sweeten his coffee during Christmastime. Throughout the holiday season, if I saw it at the store, I'd gleefully buy a bottle and bring it home to his grateful smile and eager hands. I bought a bottle last year, but never opened it. I'm not a huge fan, but it was a tradition I'm not

Fact: It's impossible to be in a bad mood while decorating a sparkly, pink Christmas tree. It feels like this tree has been a part of our Christmases forever. But it only became a part of the holiday tradition in 2009. And it was sort of borne out of the beginning of a very challenging part of our lives. Two days before Thanksgiving that year we'd received definite news that Ken's cancer had returned. He'd been having pains in leg since late summer. He even told me months

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

While driving home from the Apple Store today in Lincoln Park, I passed a Bank of America branch on Clybourn Avenue. Sitting in traffic near it, waiting for the light to turn, I was reminded that it wasn't always a bank branch, and was in fact part of my early years in retail hell in Chicago. In the mid-90s, the building I was looking at was a now defunct "upscale" children's toy store called Noodle Kidoodle whose motto was "kids learn best when they're having fun." (Based o

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'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