1976 -- It was a very good year

People don't change. My hypothesis was proven last night at my 40th class reunion.

In some contexts, the "not changing" thing can be bad. But when you see a smile -- a very distinctive smile -- that you haven't seen in 40 years it's a wonderful thing. The personality behind that smile comes through and it's like no time at all has passed.

I know class reunions can be intimidating. You wonder if you'll know anybody. Or if anyone will remember you. It's scary. Maybe you've put on a few pounds (who hasn't?) or maybe your hairline is thinner or nonexistent. The wrinkles. The disappointments in life. They all take their toll.

But here are a hundred or so people who share not only a graduation year, but a history that very few others could really understand. Who else was 5 when John F. Kennedy was assassinated? Who else was 10 when Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr. were gunned down? Who else was a senior in high school when the Vietnam war ended?

My parents and their classmates went through The Great Depression together. My children and their classmates remember 9-11 through the context of the classroom.

I remember when Bobby Kennedy was assassinated. My music teacher, Mr. Ward, who was 21 at the time, explained the situation to us. He was so visibly distraught that I understood how grave this event was for my country. It's my first memory of a day of sadness and hopelessness that touched the entire nation.

He also taught us the song, "Abraham, Martin and John," the tribute to the memory of four assassinated Americans who fought for social change: Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King, Jr., John F. Kennedy and Robert F. Kennedy.

As a child of the 1960s, I'm glad it was teachers like Mr. Ward who taught us not only with his words, but with his emotions. 

And I'm glad it was my classmates from Center Cass School who lived through those times with me. We weren't all best of friends. We weren't always kind with our words or our actions. But we had a bond, and as I found out last night, it still holds.

My heart was really full last night. Yes, I had to read nametags and yes, I had to search my memory in some cases. But really, those gangly fifth graders and those sometimes rebellious and often funny high schoolers really are the same people they were.

All very beautiful in their own right, and all brave for facing the fear that is a high school reunion! Until next time, stay "Forever Young," everyone.  

A bestie from Downers Grove South! So glad I got to hang out with Kim Carlson Blackburn!

Sheena and I were friends even before elementary school!

William Ward and me at the reunion. He taught music and much more.

 
 

God gave me a mole

When I was a little girl of about 3, I noticed I had a small brown spot on the inside of my right palm at the base of my pointer finger. I asked my parents what that spot was...

... and they said, "That's how you can tell it's Amy."

They may have also told me it was called a "mole," or more likely a "beauty mark." But to me, it was my ID card.

After I started school, I always used my pencils down to the nubbins, so that the eraser would rub against my "Amy mole." 

That was quite some time ago, but my memory tells me I believed that somehow I had "erased" my mole over time. "How will anyone know it's Amy anymore?" I lamented one day when I noticed it was totally gone.

But of course by then I was old enough to know that was just a clever thing a parent told an inquisitive little girl. And that the absence of the mole didn't erase me.

Earlier this year, God gave me a mole. It was on the left side of my face near my eye. It grew annoyingly quickly, so I called for an appointment with a dermatologist to have it checked out.

I pointed to the offending mark on my face and the doctor said, "That's probably nothing, but we'll check it out."

Then she said, "But what's that dark mole on your arm?"

I explained it was a mole I had had all my life and that it had never changed color or size or shape.

"That's coming off today," she said. And, along with the bump on my face, off it came.

Several days later I received a call from the doctor. The face mole was not harmful. The arm mole was melanoma.

You can imagine the leap my stomach took into my chest. But, she said, it is "in situ," Stage 0. Best-case scenario.

So off to the surgeon I went to have a good chunk of skin removed from my arm. 

Several days later the call came that the margins were clear. No cancer.

Now I am left with a divot in my arm where my lifelong mole had been, and a new scar that I will try my best to minimize with creams and time and patience.

The mole is gone, but I am still Amy.

Thank you, God, for the spot on my face that caused me to go to the doctor.

I could be fighting a much different fight if it weren't for early detection.

And by the way, God, thanks for all the spots in my life -- all of those challenges that don't change who I am, but that remind me of who I am, moles and all.

Skipping stones in Door County in late June (before diagnosis)... Yes, I was wearing sunscreen!

I got this outfit at a cute shop in Door County.

Lunch in Little Sister Bay, Door County.

  

Searching for cool rocks in the cold water of Lake Michigan.

 

 

Does happy really equal pretty?

I have mentioned before on this blog that Audrey Hepburn was quoted as saying, "I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls." 

If this were a facebook post, some of my more dour friends might immediately take issue with it.

"Of course she was happy. She was beautiful."
"Of course she was happy. She was rich."
"She must have been a Democrat."
"She must have been a Republican."

"What about people who are born into horrific circumstances? Surely they can never be happy or pretty."

Oh! But they can!

I am reading a book titled "Born Survivors" by Wendy Holden. It's the story of three young women who gave birth in a concentration camp. I cannot imagine being born into more desolate, hopeless circumstances.

But the three babies lived -- and so did their mothers. And I met two of the "babies" (now 71 years old) when they appeared with the author and the sons of two of their liberators in my town.

These two people, a man and a woman, were two of the most beautiful people I had ever seen. 

At 3 weeks old, Hana was covered in boils when her saviors found her and took her from her mother in order to treat her. They then returned her to her mom, and she grew up and became a lovely, contributing member of society.

"Why are you not bitter?" an audience member asked her. This is what I was thinking: "How can you sit there and speak so calmly and eloquently about the nightmare that your mother lived through (at the hands of monsters) to bring you into the world?"

I don't remember her exact answer, but it had to do with not letting bitterness take hold. Her mother wasn't bitter. And she learned from her not to be bitter.

Hana and her mom, 1949

Hana still has scars where her boils were lanced, medicated and stitched, but they have not made her ugly. She has the knowledge that the Nazis killed her father, but it has not made her an angry and unhappy person.

Some may say that's impossible. Some may say it's her right to be bitter. So I give you this quote from Hana's mother, Priska, who lived to age 90:
"I had a beautiful life with my child after I...gave birth to her in a concentration camp...My daughter is very precious...I thank dear God that he gave me this love that I have for my daughter. I survived. We are here. I brought home a baby. That is the most important thing."

I have not finished the entire book, which chronicles the lives of the three women both before and after the camps. It is a hard book to read. I took it to the beach in Florida and read it as the tide calmly rolled in and out in front of me.

In my hands I held the story of one of the ugliest times in history, but in my view was one of the most beautiful sights on earth.

Somehow, this seemed fitting. This world, this life, is a mystery. It's not ours to know it completely, but to survive and to love. Those are the most important things.

More of the quote...

 What else I did at the beach:

!

 

Ages and stages, and someday, songs

I have a friend, wheelchair-bound with M.S., who always used to say, "We go through ages and stages."

She doesn't say it anymore. In her mind, she probably does, but her mouth  can no longer form the words. 

Twenty years ago, the ages and stages were babies and toddlers and aging parents.

Now, the parents are gone, the children are grown, and I find myself worrying about other ages and stages. The friend in Houston who just lost her job. The friend who is in Georgia with her dad holding her mom's hand as she slips  away. The friend down the street who is in a wonderful place in her life after years of digging herself out of depression.

The daughter who is ecstatic in a new apartment in her favorite part of the city. The one who is growing a new baby while watching her other two grow like weeds.
 
I have been in car crashes and wept for childhood friends who died young. I watched a tornado from my backyard and rode out a hurricane. I lost a baby in the womb and a mother way too soon. 

But I won a spelling bee and went to prom. I was in a college play and earned a degree. I've yearned to escape home and been so homesick that I could barely swallow.

I've been to Russia and Belize, Paris and London, Montreal and Mexico. And I hope the ages and stages allow me to travel more... back to Ireland and someday to Italy.

Someday, someone will hold my hand (I hope) as I fade away to my final home, where the ages and stages will cease, along with the tears and the yearning for things I don't have.

And I'll see my friend there, sans wheelchair, with a beautiful voice, singing.






 

Phones are pretty -- in your purse

They say there are two seasons in Chicago: winter and construction.

Well, it's finally construction season! Yay! 

The hot is back. The humid is back. The orange cones are back.

So are the weddings, the festivals, the dinners on the patio.

Work-related events seem to flourish at this time of year, too. I will be attending my Kiwanis Club's centennial anniversary celebration next week, and last week I attended the annual United Way Breakfast along with about 400 others.

I am extremely outgoing and love talking to people. That's what you're supposed to do when you find yourself sitting at a table with people you don't know, right? Introduce yourself. Give the elevator speech about your job. Find out where your table mates are from and what they're doing this weekend. You know, talk.

But at this breakfast, there really was very little of that going on at my table. I took an empty seat next to a man who was at least 40. The table filled in with mostly 50-somethings and older; all nicely-dressed professionals.

From the time I sat next to the man on my left until the time we all got up to leave, he was engrossed in his phone. He didn't greet me or ask my name. He didn't look up at all. Same with the guy to his left. At least some of the women on my right seemed interested in conversing. Until the speakers took the stage.

Then more phones popped up around the table. We were very close to the stage where I'm sure the speakers could see that very few at our table were engaged with what was going on in the room.

The same scene was repeated at the table next to mine, and many of the others.

I remember back in the day before texting became common, when people would actually answer their cell phones during such a gathering. And they would actually talk on said phones as if they were the only ones in the room. That has subsided. But to me, it's just a bit less annoying to see people scrolling around on their phones, typing, texting and reacting to things they read.

It's not pretty! It's not polite! Stop it!

Now on to more fashion-y things.

I have been breaking out the spring-summer staples lately, and it feels awesome to go sockless again!

My photographer friend discovered some really cool places for photos recently, and although the weather was cool, so was the experience. And neither of us had our phones out the whole time! Go figure!

Hanging out in my grey Anthro pants and pink Forever 21 shirt. (Same style, but in blue)

Acting cool in my pink sunglasses and moto jacket.

Always have a jacket with you in case it turns chilly or you go into a cold restaurant. Here are some motos you might like: 
Express, Free People at Macy's, Anthropologie

I plan to be going lots of phoneless places this summer -- upward and onward!

Friends Over (and Under) 50 and the great biannual clothing swap

A few years ago, I thought it would be a superb idea to have a clothing swap with my friends.

We all have stuff in our closets we haven't worn in years, so why not purge and share?

I decided to do the swap the night before our subdivision garage sale. That way, all the leftovers could go straight into my garage the next morning. 

That was about five swaps ago. The latest one was last night.  

We start at 6 on a Friday night, and most people come a bit early or on time. If you come late, you may only be able to watch as someone scoops up that really cute skirt and ushers it into her take-home pile.

The spring 2016 swap

We each claim a corner of my living/dining room so we can pile up the things we want to keep. The things we bring, we lay out on the couch, chairs and floor. 

And then there is the food. Cheese. Hummus. Salsa and guacamole and chips. Gluten-free cake. Peanuts. Goat cheese with apricot jam. Cheesecake. Blackberries, raspberries and melon. Veggies and ranch dip. Cabbage rolls and pita bread. And all manner of drinks. Everyone brings what they like and enough to share.

It's a spectacle to behold. Clothing strewn everywhere; ladies in varying degrees of dress and undress; one woman asking another for a zip or a tuck or an opinion. 58 pairs of black dress pants and 43 black skirts. Yes, we are a group of working women, and I realized during the first swap that we are ALL always in search of that perfect black skirt or pair of black trousers. 

The autumn 2014 swap

We drift in and out of the kitchen, grabbing a chip and dip and a bite of conversation. Sometimes we pull up a chair and have a deep one-on-one conversation with another woman. Sometimes we all try to talk over one another. 

By the end of the evening, most of us are in the kitchen picking at fruit and sweets, talking and laughing. By 8 p.m. several have left for other parties. By 10 p.m., a couple more leave to see a favorite band at a favorite establishment. By 11 p.m., four or five of us are still sitting in the kitchen.
Every once in awhile, we will wonder where so-and-so went, and will find her "shopping" one last time in the living room.

We are all so different -- some of us are WAY under 50, but all of us are younger than 60. We are librarians, fundraisers, marketers, designers, attorneys and artists. The older women "school" the younger ones in the ways of life and love.

We end the evening with an embrace and I watch the women run out into the rain with their boxes and bags of treasures. In my new dress and hat.

:)

Sleeping with the windows open... and other sweet vacation memories

Sunset over Sedona

Arizona -- the perfect April vacation state!

It happened to be a hot week for us Chicagoans, yet a relatively cool week for Arizonans. That means it was perfect for swimming and shopping and eating al fresco.

And sleeping with the window open.

I think the one thing I miss the most during the winter months is not being able to sleep with a breeze coming in the window.

Warm breezes are the most heavenly things. Right up there with baby kisses and waffles. And farmers' markets...

...and sunsets, which are gorgeous in Arizona. We were lucky enough to visit Sedona for a day and watch the sun set in front of us and the moon rise behind us.

Going from the chill of Chi-town to the sizzle of the southwest is the perfect time to pack those long-neglected summer clothes and sandals.

When I'm on vacation, though, sometimes it doesn't much matter what I wear. Makeup? Almost nonexistent. High heels? No thanks. Just a nice sundress and my favorite gladiators.

I always like to ponder that Audrey Hepburn quote, "I believe happy girls are the prettiest girls," when I feel a little less than pretty. And then I slap on a smile!

It's rough staying cheery once you're back to work and clearing out 500 emails, but the memories of a week in the sun are worth it.

Arizona style at the Farmers' Market

The biggest lemons ever at the Gilbert Farmers' Market

Leanin' on a palm tree in my Mud Pie dress.

The prettiest trucks are the pinkest trucks. Pepto-Bismol, anyone?

LuLaRoe: Pretty and comfy

Just a quick post this morning before I get this day going and finished so I can feel calm and collected when I go out of town early early tomorrow morning.

Off to Phoenix tomorrow!

But I wanted to write about an awesome LuLaRoe pop-up boutique I went to last night at my neighbor's house.

It was fun to be able to walk across my yard and go shopping for fun, quirky, soft, comfortable clothing! Her home was transformed into a pop-up shop with clothing from sizes XXS to 3XX in women's and 2T to 14 in girls. Cute stuff! Very cool prints and patterns on skirts, dresses, tops, leggings and kimonos!

Anna Timmerman was the LuLaRoe rep that made it all come together! Of course she was gorgeous in her fit and flare dress (a style which I am almost always too long-waisted for). I tried on just about everything in a size medium, but settled on a cute top and two skirts.

I wore one of the skirts today with a top that was a gift from my younger daughter. Luckily, it is supposed to be in the low 70s today, so it's a great day for fun, bright colors! I think this will be going into my suitcase later today, too. Perfectly light and fun for Arizona!

Love!

 

I had never heard of LuLaRoe before about a week ago, so maybe you haven't either. If you're not into bright and quirky, it's not for you. But if you're into fun and comfy, take a look.

Happy weekend!

 

The 15-minute swimsuit caper

There is an outlet store very close to my home.

Surely, they will have swimsuits there, I thought. Probably oodles of them. And there will be ONE that fits and that I like, and that is somewhat comfortable.

But, no.

Store after store after store. No swimsuits. At all.

When you don't have a suit -- make do with a dress!

With my vacation to Phoenix coming up soon, I absolutely had to find at least one. 

On my way to lunch today, I noted that I was about 15 minutes ahead of schedule. Enough time to stop in at a store and look for a swimsuit!

Not enough time, you say?

You don't know me! I thought I could do it, and so I did.

When I turned into the mall where the restaurant was located, I saw that it practically shares a parking lot with a Kohl's store. Bingo!

I parked, went in, asked where the suits were, grabbed two, found the fitting room, and pulled them on just enough to see if they would fit over my bum. Success!

Lucky for me, they were 30 percent off. And... wonder of wonders, if I signed up for a charge card, I would get another 25 percent off. So of course, I took the extra three minutes to do that. I had about 30 seconds to spare when I sprinted out of the store, threw my purchases in the car and strolled over to the restaurant to meet my lunch dates.

That's the thing, I think, about living in your body for 50 or more years. You get to know it! So it wasn't too hard to quickly find a couple that worked.

Here's a picture of the swimdress I bought! Click the image to check it out at Kohl's.

And here's the top of the other one:

The bottom is like a short pair of shorts.
Soon I will have some pictures to share of the fam in Arizona... until then, happy almost-the-weekend!

Beautiful Young Men

"Beautiful men" was the title of a blog post I wrote a few weeks back.

Now, let me address some beautiful young men.

First, some background. I collaborate with three teen librarians as part of my job at my local library.

This past Saturday, we had a "Say Yes to the Prom Dress" event in order to offer teen girls the chance to snag a formal gown in exchange for a canned good.

I talk a lot about the screwy weather in northern Illinois, but Saturday's weather was the weirdest I have seen in a long while. The temperature was hovering around freezing, winds were gusting to 50 mph, and bright sunshine was displaced every half-hour or so by sideways snow showers.

It also was the last weekend of spring break for local kids.

And yet... eight teens showed up at 8 a.m. to help run the event.

Among them were two young men who seemed like they felt a bit out of place. They may have been pondering why they had signed up to help at this event at all.

Still, they moved clothing racks full of dresses and helped stage the area so everything would be ready when the girls started arriving at 9 a.m.

They even volunteered to man the table where the girls would check in. This meant they needed to explain several things, including how the sizes were arranged.

Thanks, guys!

When they joked that they had no clue about girls' dress sizes, I told them it would be a good thing to become familiar with clothing sizes so that one day, when they are shopping for a gift for their girlfriend or wife, they would have an idea about what size to buy. (No woman likes to be gifted with a dress that is four sizes too big or small.)

So they went about their task with all the sincerity they could muster. They stayed until the end of the event at 4 p.m., and then helped move all those clothing racks into storage, ripped paper off the windows in the room that was used as a fitting room, and replaced all the chairs and tables that had been moved to create the pop-up boutique.

Their only reward was a few slices of pizza for lunch.

Young men like these give me so much hope! They can be goofy and rambunctious, but they also can be gallant and remarkably helpful.

They are becoming beautiful men who will in turn make others feel pretty, and in some cases, even beautiful.

------------------

Some of the girls who said "yes!" are pictured below.

 

 

 

The 30-minute vacation

If you are like me, you have a job you love, but you live for your vacation time.

In the past few years I have learned that "vacation" doesn't always mean a 10-day trip to Ireland or five days at the all-inclusive in Cancun. 

It can mean three days in Dallas or a half-hour at the spa.

Last night was the "half-hour at the spa" vacation.

A local spa is having a special on microdermabrasion (just $30!). I jumped at the chance and called for an appointment. Of course, many others jumped at the same chance, so my appointment time was set for 8 p.m. on a Thursday night. (A bit later than I had hoped.)

I bypassed going home after work and instead met a friend for a little bit of shopping and some dinner before my appointment. 

Ready for my 30-minute vacation!

One Anthropologie dress (okay, two) and a filet mignon slider later, I was lying on the couch in the spa room, my friend right beside me.

Dana, the aesthetician, was cool with my bff in the room. We talked like three old friends while Dana slid the microdermabrasion tool around my face. For those who are wondering, it feels like the sandpaper-y tongue of a cat licking your face very vigorously. And there is a vacuum on the tool, so you feel a sucking sensation as well. It can sting a bit, but like anything else, if you relax, it's 100 times better. (I have only had two treatments, but I can say it makes my skin look brighter and feel smoother.)

Because it was later in the evening and I was heading home and to bed, I knew I didn't have to apply any makeup before I left. 

So although the whole treatment lasted only a half-hour, it was just what I needed to complete my mini-vacation.

Now, as I face a late working night tonight and a full day tomorrow (we are giving prom dresses away at our library!), I am de-stressed and ready for action.

Happy weekend!
 
 

Pretty (and happy) on the road

“Life is like a road trip – enjoy each day and don’t carry too much baggage.” –-Anon. (And "Amen.")

Not being home on a holiday can be a bit sad, unless you are at home no matter where you are. (I am striving toward that goal!)

I wasn’t home on Easter this year. Instead of having ham and deviled eggs for dinner, I had a bbq brisket sandwich and a side of slaw at a place called "Booger Red's Saloon."

And then I hopped on a longhorn steer and posed for a picture.

Happy Easter!

Instead of being in Aurora, Illinois, I was in Fort Worth, Texas.

Not a typical Easter Sunday for me.

Before that good Texas barbecue, I attended a rock & roll Easter Sunday service surrounded by the cutest tiny humans ever.

And I learned something.

The pastor told those gathered that the thing that stands in the way of our happiness usually is us. We are the biggest obstacles to our own happiness. We stand in the way of our own joy.

There are many, many things in life that can get in the way of our happiness, health and well-being. The way we react to them is what can bring us peace and even joy. 

Last Thursday afternoon, I was excited to get home from work, change into my blue jeans and hop a flight to Dallas with my bestie.

I was almost home when the driver behind me didn't stop when I did. That car hit my car, which pushed my car into the car in front of me.

It was raining and it was chilly. And the road was crazy busy. But I got out of my car, anyway, and walked to the car behind mine. I could see the driver's airbag had deployed. I opened the door but couldn't see the driver. I asked if he or she was OK. No answer. Then I looked back and saw that a police car was pulling up, so I went back to my car.

The officer performed his duties and because my car was drivable, I was free to go. I then met my friend at her place, we got to the airport, made our flight, and safely arrived at our destination by midnight.

Yes, it's sad to know that my car now has thousands of dollars worth of damage. But aside from some sore muscles, I am OK. And the other drivers are OK, too.

I was able to put the accident aside for a few days so I could fully enjoy my trip. The weather was beautiful, I saw two performances of "Cinderella" by Texas Ballet Theatre, did some antique-mall shopping and ate some really good food.

Now it's time to deal with all the challenges a car accident brings.

I will try my best to remember that I am the maker of my own happiness. And that traveling with as little baggage as possible is the easiest way to get from Point A to Point B. Or from Chicago to Dallas. Or from a rainy intersection to home.

Bass Performance Hall

 

   

   

  

The program

Antique Mall find