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Dear Friends and Family,

Thanks so much for all your Holiday cards and letters! It is so nice to catch up on what everyone did in 2011. I love reading updates from friends, family, neighbors, friends of family, family of friends, neighbors of family friends, colleagues, former coworkers, that gal from the temp agency who I worked with for two weeks several decades ago, the dentist, the vet, that couple we met once at a wedding, a random stranger, and so many more. It’s especially nice to see the photos of people’s new additions. I didn’t know our pharmacist had gotten a new pet gecko! How did I miss that?

I was so inspired by your letters that I decided to do my own recap of 2011. How fun! Of course, I’ve never done one before, so I’m going to use the random stranger’s letter as a template.

Random Stranger wrote: “We kicked off 2011 by ringing in the New Year in Paris! And to top it off, we had ten other couples, plus my entire family, even the cousins, flown over just to celebrate with us! Fun! Not only did we have great company, but we had amazing food. Of course! It’s Paris! A five course meal, topped off with a champagne toast. Decadent and delicious. That led to my first resolution of 2011 – to go on a diet! And then, on New Years Day, I woke up to a view of the Eiffel Tower from the window of our suite. It was fabulous!”

Almost just like mine! Our 2011 got off to a great start when we planned to spend the night ringing in the New Year with friends, only to find that all our friends had other plans. Some of them, it turned out, were invited to a party at a neighbors. Fun! But we hadn’t made the list. Rats! I’m not sure why we didn’t make the cut. I think we’re pretty decent as far as neighbors go. We keep the lawn mowed. I almost never steal newspapers from other people’s driveways. I don’t speed on our street. Well, except for that time I was trying to get to the post office before it closed. And when I was late for school pickup. OK, and that time we ran out of coffee. Hmm, I guess that should have been my first resolution of 2011 – no more speeding.

Anyway, we made up for it by watching Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve. On our couch. With a snoring, flatulent dog sprawled next to us. What’s more, we had almost no food in the house. Some expired milk. Questionable eggs. Salami from late 2009. To add insult to injury, our neighbor happens to be a fabulous cook. I imagined all kinds of goodies being served right up the road. Mini crab cakes! Pulled pork sliders! Scallops wrapped in bacon! I though about sneaking in through the back door and stealing some. Resolution number two: no more fantasizing about breaking and entering in the quest for hors d’oevres. And I guess resolution three for 2011: learn to make my own mini crab cakes.

But it was still a great night because I said “Forget this,” went to bed early, and got a decent night’s sleep. It was fabulous!

Random Stranger’s letter: “January found me in a yoga retreat in India searching for enlightenment. It was amazing! Inspiring! Life changing! I learned so much. And you know what? All of it was within me already, waiting to be revealed.”

My January was just like that too! Only I spent most of my time in Walgreen’s searching for cold medicine. That Robitussin was life changing! It was even inspiring – when taken with red wine. I learned so much, like the difference between an expectorant and a suppressant, and which brand of tissues with skin-softening lotion are best. Plus, I discovered that Walgreen’s plays really great music. I think that knowledge was within me already. I just needed to hear Karma Chameleon one more time in order for it to be revealed.

Random Stranger’s letter: “February was spent meditating. March was spent being mindful and joyous.”

February was spent shoveling snow. March was spent wallowing in depression, broken up by intervals of bitterness.

Random Stranger: “Spring found us off the coast of Fiji on an island so exclusive I’m actually not allowed to mention it’s name! Every afternoon my new friend (Alec Baldwin) and I had cocktails made with fresh-squeezed starfruit juice as we watched the kids taking private scuba diving lessons in the crystal blue waters.”

We went on vacation in the spring too! We went to Texas, which is a lot like Fiji. Of course, I can’t tell you where we went because it’s so exclusive (rhymes with San Ansmonio). Every afternoon my friend Beth and I had freshly-uncorked wine as we watched our kids nearly drown each other in the chlorinated mostly-blue water.

Random Stranger: “We welcomed summer by visiting friends in the Hamptons. We spent our days hitting some of the fabulous boutiques in town, and then at night we had gourmet meals cooked by a professional chef, served on our friends’ yacht, The Genevieve. Our friends’ neighbors, like Sarah-Jessica Parker and Matthew Broderick, joined us. Some nights we had up to 30 people there, but The Genevieve had room for all of us!”

We welcomed summer by having friends visit us in Montana. We spent our days shopping at Walmart and at night we had hot dogs and potato chips on the deck (or The Deck, as we call it). Unfortunately, The Deck is only about ten feet wide, so we couldn’t all sit at the same time. We fed the kids in shifts and then told them to play in the woods. Until, that is, they reminded us about the bears. For a while, we worried that we’d lost a kid or two, but they all turned up eventually. Like cats show up when you open that can of food, so do kids show up when you open the bag of marshmallows for s’mores.

Random Stranger: “September found us dropping our eldest off at Harvard! Can you believe it? It seems like just yesterday his Montessori teacher told me at our parent-teacher conference that he was a gifted child, with a creative drive and a photographic memory. She also pointed out his compassion and his leadership skills. And it turns out, she was right.”

September found us covering our ears to block out the sound of the kids’ incessant complaining about homework. During our five-minute parent-teacher conferences, we learned so much. Like the teacher’s name, and what class he/she taught. Then the bell rang and it was time to move on.

Random Stranger: “October was a blur of meetings and deadlines. But I never forgot what was most important: making time for family and friends.”

October was a blur of orthodontist appointments and laundry. But I never forgot what was most important: figuring out what was for dinner.

Random Stranger: “In November I ran for City Council! It was a huge challenge, but I’m so grateful to my grass-roots organizers for their help and I look forward to my time as a public servant!”

In November, I tried to use the word ‘defenestration’ in a sentence. It’s harder than you’d think.

Random Stranger: “And that brings us to December! A week in Chamonix skiing with the family, followed by New Year’s Eve in Barcelona! 2011 has been an almost perfect year and I just can’t wait to see what 2012 has in store!”

And that brings us to December! We hit the slopes, too, and in my case, I hit them pretty hard – while falling. Repeatedly. For New Year’s, we once again sat by ourselves watching Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve. But this time around I was more prepared. I had chips AND salsa ready to go. I still haven’t learned how to make my own mini crab cakes, though. Maybe in 2012.

Happy New Year!

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Driving up the winding mountain road, my stomach started turning in knots. Every switchback twisted them tighter and tighter. I kept reminding myself that I liked snowboarding. In fact, it was my idea to go. Really, I like it…when I’m done. As in, when I’ve sat down at the bar at the bottom of the mountain, with a big plate of onion rings and a tall beer, and I say “That was really fun!” That’s the moment that I like it. As we drove up, getting higher and higher, the depth of the snow around us increasing, that moment felt far, far away.

I’ve only been snowboarding about three times in my life. I’ll admit, each time gets slightly less unpleasant. But only slightly. I’m dozens of trips away from truly “having fun.” At this stage, I’m much closer to “having to go to the hospital” or “having a nervous breakdown” than I am to “having fun.” So why do I do it?

Well, I blame my parents. I know, I know, it’s so trite to blame one’s parents, isn’t it? But I didn’t learn to ski as a child, and that (apparently) is when one needs to learn how to ski so that one doesn’t scream with fear when approaching the bunny hill. No, whatever window of opportunity there is to learn to ski, I missed it. I tried skiing for the first time as a grown-up, and it was an unmitigated disaster. What’s more, skiing involves things like wearing uncomfortable boots, being exposed to cold weather, suffering through hat-head, and spending copious amounts of money. I dislike all of those. I figured I was better off without the sport.

But then my kids started skiing. And my husband is an excellent skier. I realized I was missing out on something. Here was a 1) family-friendly activity that 2) got all of us into the great outdoors and 3) included some healthy exercise. On paper, it should be right up my alley. Except for the fact that I didn’t ski and was, apparently, too old to learn.

But then I discovered snowboarding. Snowboarding is a relatively new sport, and therefore lots of “older” skiers have tried taking it up. That means it’s ok to be bad. I sat in the lodge watching middle aged guy after middle aged guy fall on his butt. Hmmm, I thought, maybe I could try that instead. After all, I couldn’t be any worse than those middle-aged guys making fools of themselves, could I?

OK, maybe I could be worse, but it seemed like my best shot at being able to participate in my family’s winter vacations.

The problem is, when I tried it, I hated it. Well, I didn’t hate it for the .002 seconds I was standing up and moving, but I hated it when I fell. On my face. On my butt. On my knees. On my back. Ouch, ouch, ouch.

But, at the end of the day, down there at the restaurant, I declared “That was really fun!” And somehow, I meant it. Maybe it’s just one of those things that isn’t fun at the time, but makes you happy afterwards. Like running a marathon. Or cleaning the bathroom. And so, once again, I find myself at the top of the mountain, dreaming of those onion rings and beer that await me at the finish. If only I can manage to get there instead of the local hospital.

 

 

 

 

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Did I really say I was going to try to qualify for the Boston Marathon?

A Shih-Tzu

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Race-wise, I’m blogging a little out of sequence, because I did the Monster Dash at the end of October and probably should post a race report about that (quick synopsis: nice race, beautiful day, a PR, although I was beaten by a guy dressed as a banana), but the real story these days is what I did the first weekend in November. Please direct your attention to the top of the page, where is says “Hi, my name is Sue and I’m a signupaholic…” Yes, it’s an ongoing problem. But never has it been more evident than when (I’m almost ashamed to admit it) I signed up for the 2011 Hot Chocolate Race.

You might recall last year I said I’d never do the race again. What’s more, in 2009, I vowed I’d never do the race again. And yet, there I was, for the third consecutive year, ignoring my own declarations, lining up at the start. Are you sensing a pattern? What the heck is wrong with me? Am I a total idiot?

I did the 15k Hot Chocolate race in 2009 and was irritated beyond belief. The event had far more participants than the organizers could handle, and the race route was downright dangerous in places. To top it off, after a harrowing, crowded run on the much-too-narrow lakefront path, there was no chocolate left by the time most of us 15k-ers finished. Not a morsel to be found. Of course, I didn’t do the race just to get hot chocolate (after all, it’s easy enough to make it myself), but to do a race with “Hot Chocolate” in the name and then have no hot chocolate, well, really, what’s the point? The race was disorganized, understaffed and generally a mess. I swore, never again.

Then along came 2010. A friend of mine wanted to do the 5k, but I didn’t want to after my terrible experience the year before. And then came the emails from the race organizers saying the race was in a new location! With a new course! And more chocolate! I’m either an idiot or an optimist, because I fell for it and signed up. Alas, the race was again too crowded and disorganized. Race officials were few and far between. So few, in fact, that a bunch of us were sent in the wrong direction to find gear check, spent 20 minutes searching for it, and then arrived to find a line so long that we ended up missing the start.

As for that “new course,” it was a nightmare. At one point, we were running on Lake Shore Drive, with cars narrowly passing us. It’s remarkable no one died. Yes, it was a new route, but they’d somehow managed to make it even more dangerous than the old one. What’s more, the hot chocolate was watered down and lousy. Never again, I said. And this time I meant it.

Then 2011 rolled around. When the emails touting the race started to appear, I declared on Twitter and Facebook that I would not do it. No, I said, NO! A new course, the emails assured me. Sure, sure, I’d heard it all before and I wasn’t going to get fooled again.

But then they offered me a 20% off and a free hat, as well as a seeded start. I caved. I was like the betrayed wife who falls for the flowers and candy.  Apparently I’m a sucker for a discount.

And so, on bright November Saturday morning, there I was. But this time, it was like a whole new race. The place was crawling with volunteers in bright orange sweatshirts. A sea of orange, as far as the eye could see. And they were making announcements and providing information. Useful information. And accurate directions. Could it be? Were things really different?

Yes, yes they were. When I went to find gear check, an orange-clad helper pointed towards a large tent shimmering in the distance, easily spotted from miles away. “You can’t miss it,” the volunteer said. And she was right. What’s more, it was staffed to the hilt. I walked up and dropped my bag, no problem. It was a whole new race! It had changed its wayward ways!

There were spacious, seeded start corrals, staffed with real people – people who knew what they were doing. The race start was delayed, and the course had to be rerouted, but the announcements were frequent and informative. When we started, just 15 minutes late, the course was roomy enough for everyone. The route was on the city streets, and other than the fact that the first mile marker was substantially past the first mile (presumably it moved during the re-routing) it was perfect.

Some people said the 5k course was too long, as much as 3.4 miles total, and as it turned out, race officials confirmed it measured out at 3.25 – a tad long. Still it was a PR for me, in spite of the extra .15. The post-race party was well-organized and well-staffed, and get this, the hot chocolate was delicious. All in all, it was a great morning.

So, there you have it, a race that was worth doing (although the registration fee was still a little steep). On this particular count, I’m glad my signupaholic disease kicked in. The race really has improved. So, am I an optimist or an idiot? Well, that question is still up for debate.

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When I heard that Theo Epstein, the savior who finally wrested a World Series championship out of those Lovable Losers, the Red Sox, was coming to Chicago, I was thrilled. Another local! Here in the Midwest with me! Maybe we’d even become friends. He grew up in Brookline; I used to work in Brookline at Pine Manor College. He went to Yale; I grew up right next door in Fairfield County. We probably spent years listening to the same radio stations. I wondered if we knew the same people.

But I knew from experience that moving to Chicago would be a big adjustment for him. So, I decided to write him a letter to help him with the transition. Then I decided to send it off to the Tribune. And then they decided to publish it. However, I got a message on Friday to call the editor ASAP. Oh no, I worried, was there something wrong with my paperwork? Did they decide to kill the piece? Nervous, I placed the call. “I have one question,” the editor said. “What’s ‘pissa’?”

Which, of course, is a good question. What is pissa/pissah? To begin with, there’s some debate about the correct spelling, since, of course, it isn’t in the dictionary. I go with the more traditional “pissa” but some choose to add an “h,” presumably to clarify the pronunciation. (I take umbrage at that – if you know the word pissa, you know to drag out that “ah” sound at the end. And you know that the more pissa something is, the longer you hold the second syllable) But what exactly is pissa? Is wicked pissa the same as supah? Personally, I think things start out pissa, progress to supah, and then finally arrive at the pinnacle: wicked pissa, reserved for the truly amazing, like a sale at the Basement, or a World Series win.

In any case, I think it’s wicked pissa, as well as supah, that Theo might get to see my letter to him. Of course, with space limitations in the Trib, I didn’t get to include everything he needs to know. For example, I forgot to mention how, when first arriving here, he might actually miss the WBZ traffic report. As a newcomer, listening the traffic report here was disorienting. Where is the Jane Adams? And who the heck was Jane? I’d hear that traffic on the Edens was backed up to 2E and wonder “Route 2 East? Exit 2E? Where are those?” (And if you’re not from Chicago, you may not recognize that they were really saying “Touhy.” Who knew?)

As a transplant, I longed to hear Gary LaPierre’s mellifluous voice telling me about the roads around Boston.  Sometimes, when I was particularly homesick, I would just recite the Traffic on the Threes in my head: “Pike inbound heavy at Newton Corner and again at the Pru tunnel. The Expressway slows by the gas tank….” Sometimes I’d even add that 128 was backed up by 4 and 225. Ah, I remember those days.

Now, given the fact that Theo grew up in Brookline, I have a feeling he does not have the classic Boston accent, or if he does, it’s somewhat suppressed. And since he went to Yale, I know he can step up his linguistic game when he has to. So I didn’t get too much into what aspects of Boston lingo he should ditch, other than, of course, telling him to avoid wicked pissa.

But, just in case, as my aunt (NEVER pronounced “ant”) pointed out, I should probably tell him that in Chicago, stores that sell alcohol are not referred to as “the packy.” So, no saying “I’m hitting the packy to get some be-ah.” People might think he’s a racist jerk, denigrating the nice Pakistani gentleman who works at the liquor store. Besides, here you can buy be-ah at the grocery store. But there’s no Stah Mahket. You have to hit The Jewel (yes, always use “The”).

Well, I’m sure there are a million things I’ve forgotten, but I have to head out to The Jewel now. Feel free to add more tips for Theo in the comments, and you can check out my letter to Theo here.

Have a wicked pissa day!