The Road to 50 is Well Traveled

I had a great birthday. I didn't think I could top my 40th birthday celebration in Jamaica. I mean, who wouldn't love 85 degrees, white sand beaches, clear blue sky, warm azure waters, fantastic sunsets, and all the Red Stripe you could want delivered right to your lounge chair on the beach in the first week of January. It was all for the pleasure of my mind.

As I approached my 50th birthday, I toyed with the idea of again jetting off to a Caribbean island and basking in the warm sunshine (with my SPF 30 of course) for a few days. It is clearly a sign of aging when what you really want to do on your birthday is be around family and friends.  

Turks & Caicos will have to wait for another day. I spent my actual birthday in Indiana, where we did a little gambling, had some cocktails, and enjoyed some wonderful meals. Note to all the smokers out there, you can still smoke in a bar or restaurant in Indiana.

My official birthday soiree was at the Black Horse Inn at the Sherrill Mount House. It is a gorgeous old inn from 1856 that has been painstakingly renovated into a lovely bed and breakfast with five guest rooms. The night started out pretty well. We were all proper having wine and appetizers.

We had a lovely dinner.

I got presents.

We played Catch Phrase.

My Carter was there. (Yes, he *is* wearing a Burberry sweater. He's stylish that way at age 4.)

We stayed respectable until the parents left.

Then...things might have started to go downhill; or, maybe uphill depending on your perspective. We made a trip to the local night club, "The Barn." Lots of cocktails, a few shots, and much dancing. There might even have been tears of joy! Suffice it to say, we were the life of the party in Sherrill that night.

Safely back at the Black Horse Inn, the die hard partiers kept it going a while longer.

Ummmm, yeah....I think that picture pretty much says it all. Time check....

Yep, that's 4:10 a.m. That was way, way, way past my normal bed time. There you have it, the perfect 50th birthday celebration. It would have been made only more perfect if all my family members could have been there. Of course, I cannot say that the day after the blowout was perfect. I was tres fatigue (two of the few French words I remember from Madame Hornsby's class my freshman year of college).  

40  -- 50 --  I'm already thinking of how I can top them at 60.

Shout out to my family and friends who made the night a great one. Love you all!

Happy Birthday to Me!

Go shawty, it's your birthday
We gonna party like it's your birthday
(Fifty cent)

And I'm sure you will agree
It couldn't fit more perfectly
Than to have a world party on the day you came to be

Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday
(Stevie Wonder)

Yes, people, I am now officially 50 years old. Technically it happened at 7:46 this morning, even though I started celebrating at 12:07 a.m.

I don't feel any different. Of course, it's 9:35 a.m., and I am still in bed. So, that seems to be helping A LOT! Maybe I should start every day like this....oh, plus the three pudding shots I just did by myself. Why not pudding shots for breakfast on your birthday.

Happy New Year!

It's 10:29 p.m. on New Year's Eve, and I've already been in bed for 30 minutes. Party on! That's me.

Part of the problem is that New Year's Eve 2010 was the coup de gras of all New Year's Eves (I'm not sure if I have properly pluralized that, but whatever...). Last year at this time, I was partying it up at the Grand Harbor in Dubuque at my niece's wedding. What a night! Never mind that it took me nearly two days to fully recover.

Me and nephew Ryan -- No idea what we were singing!

When the shots started flowing, it was all down hill.

I have a feeling NYE 2010 will never be topped. Although tonight was not as grand, a low-key spaghetti dinner with the breakfast crew was just as nice. And, I'm pretty sure it won't take me two days to recover.

Bailey and I are sitting in bed. I flipped over to ABC to see what was happening in Times Square. I'm sorry, I'm just going to say it....Dick Clark, for the love of God, it is time to retire. I couldn't watch it...

After I sign off here, I think I watch a couple of episodes of Californication. Nothing scary there.

Good bye 2011 and hello 2012! Be good to us, OK?

Christmas Traditions

Through the years, every family develops traditions that are carried on from one generation to the next. Well, sometimes they are carried on. For one reason or another, traditions sometimes fade away. On this Christmas Eve morning, I wanted to take a few minutes to reminisce on traditions past and present.

It all started when mom and I made our yearly attempt to get a cute picture of the dogs in front of the Christmas tree. It's a circus. We go through the same thing every year. The dogs hate it, we get covered in dog hair, and eventually throw in the towel. One year, we had all the dogs neatly lined up in front of the tree -- perfect....except they were all facing the tree instead of looking at the camera. It was a nice butt shot. Then, we tried individual photos instead of a group shot. Those attempts were hit or miss, too. Like this one of Annie, taken a few years back. She was sooo tired.

Then, this year, here is Lucy...with Pearl trying to corral her. Not happenin'.

Jack is disinterested and uncooperative and looks like your typical disheveled old man.

My girl is picture perfect, of course.

Here are some of my favorite Christmas Eve memories, in random order.

• Until I was in high school, Christmas Eve was always reserved for going to Grandma Scherrman's house. The day seemed to d-r-a-g on forever. I couldn't wait to get to Grandma's house, with her cute little 3 foot tree she had decorated on a table-top in her living room. Presents were stacked up around the legs of the table. We would have a huge dinner, after which the adults cruelly made the kids wait until *after * the dishes were done before we could open presents. As you can imagine, most of us were pretty hyped up. One Christmas, the boys were all running around in Grandma's unfinished basement, and my cousin Tom smashed his head into one of the support columns in the basement. I think that necessitated a trip to the emergency room for some stitches. Grandma Scherrman was always the center of attention. She held court with her stories. And, if she had just enough wine, she would start reciting. I can't actually recall what she recited -- poems, songs, dirty jokes? I just remember all the adults laughing, so it must have been funny knowing that Grandma was a little tipsy. My Grandma's spinster friend Meta was always there, too. She was the nemesis of us kids -- picture crabby old lady. Yep, that's her.
• Also, growing up, I would awake on Christmas morning to the aroma of freshly baking cinnamon rolls. My mom would be up at the crack of dawn with her trusty circa 1950 Betty Crocker cookbook on the counter making fresh bread and cinnamon rolls. Nothing smells better. She got out of the pattern for a few years. I guess kids, college, and work got in the way and she said "screw that...we can buy rolls at the grocery store." But, after some cajoling, she has resurrected the tradition...using the same food-splattered and worn-paged Betty Crocker cookbook from the 1950s. As I type this, the dough is rising in the kitchen. OK, so maybe I didn't get the pleasure of awaking to the smell of baking bread, but I will give her a pass. I wouldn't want to be up at 4 am making dough either. The fresh-out-of-the-oven rolls will be my lunch today. Mom says they should be ready by 1 pm.
• I think the only Christmas that I wasn't in Farley was in 1997. I had just moved to Indiana and did not have vacation time built up. I had to work until about noon on Christmas Eve. The plan was for everyone to meet in Janesville, WI for Christmas at my brother's house. I was picking up my sister in Waukegan, IL, and we were driving together. I said I would get to her place about 2 pm, and we would head out. When I left Gary, IN at noon, it had started to snow. By the time I was on the Dan Ryan, it was a full-blown blizzard. I didn't get to my sister's until nearly 4 pm because of the traffic. And, get this -- SHE WASN'T READY! WTF? I am over two hours late, how can you not be ready. So, by the time we actually got back on the road (after a short tiff because she suggested we not go -- and I said I was *not* spending Christmas Eve in her undecorated apartment with no food and her cat...) it was after 5 pm. Now, I hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast, I was starving. We stopped at a gas station/McDonald's along the way. They had just closed, but I could still see hamburgers lined up under the heat lamps. I pleaded through the closed gate for the guy to let me buy some. I said I would pay double. He refused. I blurted out "Well, Merry Christmas to you too!" There was no one on the road to Janesville, because it was seriously still a blizzard. We saw cars in the ditch everywhere. We tried singing Christmas carols to pass the time and quickly realized we didn't know all the lyrics for shit. We'd get halfway through the song and then kind of mumble the rest. Needless to say, Janesville never looked so good and a lot of beers were consumed on arrival.
• My Grandma McBride always insisted on bringing something to Christmas dinner. Every year it was the same thing. An 8x8 glass pan with red jello. That's it. Oh, maybe if she was really fancy, she would add pineapple chunks or bananas. Let's just say cooking was not Grandma McBride's forte. Sometimes, now, to be funny, Mom will make a square pan of jello as a joke. We get it, some of the grand kids don't.
• Mom always made a strawberry dessert for Christmas. It had a graham cracker crumb crust, frozen strawberries, and a whipped concoction of eggs, sugar, and butter. It's the only time of year she makes it. We all look forward to it. Except this one year, after she went on a Tupperware buying frenzy and put all the "dry goods" in Tupperware containers instead of the original packaging, there was an epic fail when she inadvertently used Shake and Bake crumbs instead of graham cracker crumbs. My uncle Father Jim took the first bite (because, of course, you had to serve the priest first), and all of us busted out laughing when he practically spit it out and threw his fork down.
• Our new tradition, now that all the "next generation" kids are of legal age, is to just have a little par-tee at the house. We had a rousing competition of Wii Let's Dance in 2010. This year, we are seeing who can wear the ugliest Christmas sweater. Prizes will be awarded.  

Most importantly...it's being together as a family, celebrating the season, and taking a few days to just have fun together.

Winter Solstice

Whenever it is the winter solstice, I am reminded of the Astronomy class I took in college. After struggling through a semester of biology and barely eeking out a "C", I looked for alternatives to fulfill the rest of my science requirement. Thank God my advisor suggested Astronomy. First of all, the professor Ulrich Hermann, was this eccentric German who spoke with a thick accent. When we had to go into the planetarium as part of our lab work, he always had Bolero blaring. Then, there were the nights we had to go out for field labs. Where our class of about 300 students met at a remote park outside at 10 o'clock at night. We would all lie down on the grass while he used a high-powered flashlight to point out the planets and constellations. It was during this class that I finally understood the whole winter solstice and vernal equinox thing. Secondly, the class was actually interesting. Way more interesting than stupid biology. And, to this day, I can still identify Jupiter (the brightest object in the northern hemisphere), Cassiopeia (the mother of Andromeda who is sitting in a rocking chair), along with Ursa Major and Minor (big and little dippers).

What is always exciting about the winter solstice is that it is the shortest day of the year...shortest in terms of daylight. For the record, today there is 9 hours and 9 minutes of daylight. Praise Jesus...there is at least some small satisfaction knowing that from here on out we'll gain a few seconds of daylight each day. Not to mention that we've basically gotten through November and December unscathed in the weather department. Just two more months of true winter to go.

Four days to Christmas, and I'm still not quite ready. I managed to get my Christmas cards finally all sent out on Tuesday. I have two more presents to buy, and all my presents need to be wrapped. I've gotten a really late start this year. The month of November was a total blur. Beginning the first full week of November, my travel schedule looked like this:

• Arlington, Virginia
• East Chicago, Indiana
• Lawrence, Kansas
• Burlington, Vermont
• Boston, Massachusetts
• Arlington, Virginia

Bailey had an extended stay at the farm, but that's another story. When I finally had a full week in the office, I was buried working on a huge project. I've got a short reprieve until mid-January, then it will probably all start over again.

What I haven't been lacking during this time is food. In fact, all this traveling and stress has exacerbated my emotional eating. At the rate I'm going, I'll probably be like 300 pounds by February 1.


So, I've resigned to owning my lack of restraint and lack of exercise to just enjoy the holidays and my birthday. January 9, 2012 is my new red letter day.

When I committed to being a blogger for 2011, my "hook" was to blog about what it was like leading up to 50. Sheesh...here I am feeling fat and lazy. I guess that's what I've really been leading up to all year. All my so-called training for the 5K went right out the window.

A friend asked if I was going to continue blogging or was it the end when I hit 50. Tonight on the news, there was a story about baby-boomers needing joint replacements earlier and earlier. The doctor interviewed said the majority of his patients are between 45 and 55. What the ??? I was pleased to hear that power walking is favored over jogging to save your knees. Whew -- no more guilt for giving up the running regime.

That said, my 2012 blogging hook will be my campaign to save the joints! But, ummmm, don't look for any serious efforts to begin until January 9th. I've got to get through Christmas, New Years, my actual birthday, and my birthday soiree!

Wanderlust versus Homebody

First of all, I woke up this morning and it was the last day of November. Where does time go? I really need things to slow down! It seems like yesterday that I wrote my last post about it being November 1.

I just returned from a 10-day trip to Burlington (Vermont - not Iowa) and Boston. In some ways, it seemed I was gone a really long time. But, actually, I was only away from work for six days. And, that isn't even 100% true, because I checked my e-mail and kept up with critical work items every day.

When I travel--which, to me, doesn't happen nearly enough--I find myself being absorbed into my new surroundings. I sit, observe, and wonder what it would be like to live and work wherever it is I am visiting. What would I be like? Would I talk differently? Would I eat different foods? Would I enjoy other activities? Who would be my friends? What would be my favorite restaurant? How would I get to work -- drive or public transportation? What house would I live in? In my private anthropological excursion, money is no object, and I envision myself living in some fantastic places.

I visited Boston for the first time on this trip. I loved it! If I lived in Boston, I would live in the Beacon Hill neighborhood. Like here:

Acorn Street - Beacon Hill

Or here:

I would walk everywhere and would frequent the fabulous restaurants in the North End and the numerous Irish Pubs.

Wanderlust: A strong desire for or impulse to wander or travel and explore the world.

The other thing that happens when I travel is that it heightens my desire to travel more. Oh, if only there was unlimited travel funds and unlimited vacation time from work available!


Getting ready to hike the Freedom Trail

Homebody: A person who enjoys the warmth and simple pleasures of being at home.



Now, as I sit in my own bed, surrounded by my own things (missing only my baby Bailey, who is still at the farm), I think that there is a side of me who loves to be at home.

On the heels of Thanksgiving, of the many blessings for which I am forever grateful, I am thankful for my health and my steady employment with a company that provides me with paid vacation.

Wanderlust or Homebody -- I'll take both, thank you.

I woke up and it was November...

Man, have you noticed that the older you get the faster time passes? Why is that? I remember being a kid and thinking that time moved ever so s-l-o-w-l-y. Christmas...took forever to arrive. The end of the school year....agony. Now, it almost seems like a month zooms by while you are sleeping. Well, maybe that's just at my house because I'm keenly aware that I'm now 63 days from the big 5-0. And, no, I'm not referring to Hawaii 5-0.

Fittingly, when I went to the ski swap on Sunday, it was rainy and freezing. Oh, sure, it was probably still about 50 degrees but the constant rain and the cold wind made it just miserable to be poking around under a big tent looking for skis and boots. Now, today, on the first day of November, it was sunny and 74 degrees when I walked Bailey after work. What a beautiful day. I was reminded that it was time for my monthly update on the passage of the seasons. As a reminder, this was October:

Willow Park - October 1

And this was today:

Willow Creek Park - November 1

The beautiful golden leaves are gone, and the grass is going dormant. This picture was taken at about 5:00 p.m. What is another sign of winter encroaching is that by this time next week, it will nearly be dark at 5:00 p.m. after we "fall back" this coming weekend. We're on that slow decline to the shortest day of the year.

A friend posted something on Facebook today about All Saint's Day. I was immediately transported back to sixth grade at Farley-Bankston Catholic Grade School. We didn't wear costumes to school on Halloween. Oh no....we got to dress up as our patron saint on November 1 for All Saint's Day. I hated sixth grade. My school had this brilliant idea to split up the sixth grade class and send half of us "upstairs" to be mingled in with the seventh and eighth graders. The other half stayed "downstairs" and were mingled in with the fourth and fifth graders. I'm not sure how you were chosen for one or the other group, but I suppose they thought those of use sent upstairs were more mature or smarter or something. Well, after a few months, really all that happened is that my confidence and self-esteem were shot to hell. I'm not sure I learned much of anything that year. There was a particularly ornery group of eighth grade boys who delighted in disrupting class each day. Our poor English teacher, in her first year of teaching, was so traumatized that I'm not sure she ever taught again.

But I digress -- All Saint's Day. I was all excited to dress up as Saint Carol because I was the only Carol in sixth, seventh, or eighth grade. But, then, Sister Mary Anne told me that Carol was the feminine of Charles, so I'd have to dress up as a man. NO WAY! So, then I planned to dress up as St. Ann, my middle name, but one of the seventh grade girls who was kind of intimidating was dressing up as her. Even back then, I went out of my way to avoid conflict. I went with Marie (derivation of Mary), which is my confirmation name and my Grandma's name. Yup, very original, I dressed up as the Virgin Mary. I cut a hole in an old white sheet and put that over my head then wrapped an old blanket that I dyed blue around my shoulders. I did all this without my mother's assistance. Who knows where I got the sheet, the blanket, and not to mention the blue dye! My resourcefulness was outed when I was selected to be in a photo for the local newspaper. Then, my mom was like "why didn't you ask me for help? That didn't look very good?" Well, I'm sure Jesus didn't care what Mary looked like, now, did he?

There was a great episode of This American Life on NPR last Saturday. The whole hour was devoted to the awful experiences of middle school. It was funny and sad and real all at the same time. I highly recommend it. You can find it here:

http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/449/middle-school

The rest of this month is going to be crazy. I have to go to Arlington, Virginia next week for work; Lawrence, Kansas the week after that; then off to Vermont for 10 days. I hope my baby doesn't forget about me while she's on her extended stay at the farm.


Sweet Bailey at Willow Creek Park