Bringing back the pack

Alright.

The first week of school is...done. It was a swirl of anxiety and excitement. The great number of professors that spoke to us over the course of the first five days made a point of turning up the panic -- emphasizing the amount of work we will have to complete in the impossibly small amount of time we will have. Occasionally these experienced, hard working (bad ass) journalists and teachers would look me directly in the eye (me and everyone else in the audience), scale down the arch in their brow and say, "don't worry, you'll be fine."

And then they are gone, taking my security blanket with them. Not that it was all that secure. I'll be fine? Fine is really just barely getting by. Just slightly over average. I'll be 51 percent? What about great, fabulous, successful and, above all, thankful that I chose this profession?

I'm sure that's something we'll cover next week.

I am, as I mentioned, one of the older(est) students in my class of 61. I don't, in my heart, think that matters. I like to think that my experience in the work place will help me. I can speak to people - strangers, even. I can pick up a phone and chat with most anyone, though I may be sweating through my shirt.

Not that this added umph to my swagger, but I was getting by. Today this conversation occurred:

"When did you graduate?"
"Oh, ages ago," I say with sarcasm
"like..."
"'02"
"Oh-TWO?!" at which point she actually laughed. Laughed! Was it all that long ago? I guess it was. While this girl (woman, as I learned through the AP Style book) was getting her driver's permit I was moving to New York for my first job. eek.

It's surreal to be here, that's for sure. But I must be better off with week one done rather than day one (I was delirious). I think if I can get all of my work done this week in preparation for Monday I will truly feel like a champ.

What's amazing though, is the amount of stuff we have to carry back and forth. I wish I had brought an old-lady-cart from NY. Better yet, I'm thinking about getting myself a backpack. That's right. It might also help my I'm-so-not-as-old-as-you-think-look that I'm now going for.

It's Friday and the debs (debates) are on. Look at me getting my journalistic fix (while flipping to 'What Not to Wear' on the commercials...are there any commercials?).

More soon...enough

~L

Laying my hat

Twas the night before grad school...

It's finally here!

I thought before I become consume by a year of writing, reporting and all that jazz that I would introduce you (one person - hi Mom!) to my apartment.

Here we are entering through the front door



To my left is the living room, there's a door that leads to a Juliette balcony that I have high hopes of one day being home to a garden of urban-epic size (read: herbs):


To my right is the dining room and past that is the kitchen, which is suffering from a leaky fridge so I won't bring you any closer:



Here's my crazy clean bedroom:



And the office in my bedroom, looking ever so officey:



ta da!

Now come visit

Getting to know you

I put on my big girl pants last night and went out to meet some fellow journalism-school students.

All. By. Myself.

It was a big step and I am very pleased to say that I survived and, yes, enjoyed myself.

The gathering took place at a bar/restaurant around the corner from my apartment, so I really had no excuse, though I tried to think of one while sitting on my couch sipping a glass of white wine.

The bar/restaurant was actually the very same that I took Pam and Lois to the first night I arrived in Chicago. It was much more pleasant (read: no DJ Jazzy Terrible Taste). There were four people already there and a good 10 or so more showed up. And boy did I chat it up. There were all facets of people represented: the eager youthfuls, fresh from their April/May graduations; the travelers who had spent the past two-to-three years in the peace corp or working or romping abroad; the born-to-do-this who were three steps ahead of us all. Mostly they were youthful, but I guess that would make sense as it was a meet-and-drink scenario.

And where was I in this mix? Allusively older. Apparently I look "really young (explanation point)." I got that line more than three times after mentioning my college graduation year. Though I have a good 4-8 (gasp. Yes. One girl was 20!) years on these kids I couldn't help but revel in the shock. It's kind of hilarious though I'll certainly take the complement. I swear my laugh lines are sticking around longer than my smile. Hm.

But all in all I feel good. People are nice and equally nervous about this next endeavor. Phew. With still sweaty palms, I'm ready for Monday.

Indeed.

Sanity arrives by post

I won't sugar-coat it. I was burned. Scorned. By that which was only to bring me pleasure and somewhat mindless entertainment: The Internet. I spent the entirety of this beautiful morning on the phone with the Internet modem people working out a problem that was, inevitably, caused by them.

They drove me insane and deflated my "Yay I'm independent Spirit."

Tides have since turned. Why? I opened my mail box and found my US Weekly! Thank you to the Gods of the US Postal Serviced. I also found an issue of 'Hunting Tutorials,' but that's another story.

I feel like a new woman. A woman who can peacefully recount the activities of the last few days.

In short, I went exploring.

Yesterday was an Ode to Lincoln Park. It's expansive and filled with all sorts of surprises.

Like the meeting room of the Elks National Veteran Memorial (it was free, who was I to pass it up).


There's lily ponds and picturesque lakes a plenty.


Also, a Zoo (the oldest in the world, or country, I can't remember which) where I took in some animal sightseeing - a rino!


I ended my epic walk-about with some yummy tomatoes from the farmer's market at the south end of the park.
De. Lish.

Today - after horrid morning that I will refrain from addressing - I took the el downtown to check out Magnificent Mile, the Art Institute of Chicago (perused the gift shop, really)


Millenium Park
Here I am in front of the Cloud Gate Sculpture, looking pretty pumped.


and the Crate & Barrel (admittedly not a Chicago land marker, but it was enroute).

I even found my way home via bus! All in one piece.

Tomorrow is Friday and marks the close of my Retirement Week. Though I'm never one to shy away from free time, I am greatly looking forward to having a purpose here in Chicago (besides that of wayward travel guide).

Don't fret, because the exploring will continue...

Checkin' things out

I think it's all starting to come together.

I have a coffee table and just today picked up a craigslist desk chair. I had to look in my neighborhood, as I would be carrying it home, and was lucky enough to find something less hideous than normal in my general neighborhood. Singing my sorry traveling song to the girl who owned it, I was able to scrape $5 off the price, but a long road remained ahead.

Ok. It wasn't that bad. The chair has wheels, which was great as I was carrying a garbage bag full of unwanted clothes that fit nicely in the cushioned seat (I tried to sell some stuff that I was sick-and-tired of and it turns out that the used clothes store couldn't be bothered either). Along my eight-block journey home I happened to pass a homeless man pushing, in the same manner, a grocery cart filled with similar looking garbage bags. I half smiled, to which he responded, "now I've seen everything."

I don't even know what that means, but I'll just assume it was incredibly positive and not foreboding.

This morning I made my first trip up to school to get my books and see how my commute will be. The commute is, well, long. But going to school was lovely. It's so funny to be back on campus. The undergrads were just starting to move in and though I gravitated to them - what with all the helpful mentors with orange shirts ("I'm Here For You!") that would buzz around them with the slightest furrow of the brow - I puffed up my chest and found my own, albeit meandering, way.

My goodness the campus is gorgeous. It is on a beach!


The buildings are terribly collegiate and welcoming - here's where I will be spending my time when I am in Evanston (the building behind the trees...I realize you really can't see it)



I got grossly turned around, but would find myself in front of something like this:



I'm getting first-day-of-school jitters, but I think they're the good kind.

Now, what on earth am I going to wear?

Trash can boogeyman

I just finished up my first big grocery shop and am about to embark upon my first 'cooked' meal in my new/own apartment. But before I tie on the apron I thought to clear my kitchen of the monstrous garbage bags I had been stuffing and accumulating throughout the move-in process.

There is a designated garbage area, flippantly shown to me by the Realtor a month ago, which is located through a back door, ominously fitted with not one or two but three locks, behind my fridge.

Thrilled with the idea of having two doors to my apartment (the NY equivalent of a mansion) I bounded down the backstairs to find, with one ill-lit stairwell after another, a boogeyman's dream. Dark corners abound, stairs creek, spider webs leap out and cling to your shoe.

Out to a dark alley and through a rusted iron gate is - ta da - the garbage bin. With my foot stretched backwards to keep the heavy door (escape route) from closing, I chucked my lofty bags in the general direction of the bin and got the hell out of dodge. Eek.

Now is certainly the time to go green. There is no way I'm making that trip down on a weekly or even monthly basis. The choice is mine: live amongst my trash or lose an appendage to the alleyway monster.

The babysitting gig

Yesterday we wrapped up our Ladies Road Trip, officiating my residence with a true Chicago Hot Dog (the works).



Due to the wretched weather our touring motivation was limited to a stop by the Chicago Cultural Center to see the Tiffany dome (impressively pricey), an art exhibit by life-time prison inmates (kill me depressing) and a collection of Marilyn Monroe creations (eh). The rain sent us running for the car and the Ladies, sans myself, back on the road.

So I remain.

I have to admit that this is my first time living alone. Considering the new surroundings - walls, neighborhood, city - it is strange. My furniture, what little I have, is set up, the counters, floors are spic-and-span, the closets filled and so, by all appearances, someone does in fact live here.

It's kinda like I'm babysitting. The kids are asleep and I am merely passing time until the parents come home: I pick at the leftovers in the fridge, open and reopen the cabinets hoping for better food to appear. I play on their computer, click on the TV, and tidy any spot that I sit in so they won't be able to detect my one-time presence after I'm gone.

It continues to rain outside so my inclination is to laze but that doesn't feel right. There's more organizing to be done. School books to purchase. Electricity and gas bills to get on and a few last minute items to accumulate. Not to mention the major exploring I need to do. So, what's next?

I'll just have to see how I feel once the parents return.

A good night's sleep makes all the difference

If my first night was restless and fitful in a partially deflated cocoon of a blow-up mattress, then, by comparison, my second night was a comatose-deepness in vast and soft mattress that I was shocked to wake up from.

If I could move my arms I would have done a little happy jig.

Yesterday was impressive; on the go from start to finish. But this is no surprise when you are working with my Mom. This woman will not pause to walk across a highway. We traversed this unknown city to get a kitchen table and four chairs from a craigslist seller. We mulled, talked them down, purchased and after dumping the gawky set at my third-floor apartment we quickly set back out for more craigslist treasures. We found a girl with a couch and it was lovely and fit like a glove in the trusty car. But dear god the accolades to the couch moving came to a screeching halt. How the hell were we going to get it up the stairs. The answer came in my new unassuming neighbor, John, who was in the unfortunate position of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sitting with his new puppy bulldog in his yard, I accosted him to help us bring this mountain of a couch up three whole flights. But he acquiesced and it was, after 20 minutes, a success. So for that I cannot move my arms or really turn around without preparation.

But. I have an apartment with furniture! Once I get figure out the IKEA* organic-chemistry-equivalent directions I will have real-looking rooms with functional pieces.

It will be glorious.

I nearly forgot the photo montage from The Ladies Road Trip.

Here we are starting off; bright-eyed and relaxed:


Pammy in front of the restaurant we would dine at in Cleveland (importance? The name of the restaurant will be the name of the new pup!):


Lois leaving Joe's Deli, where we had the best Reuben. She's strolling with satisfaction.


*I will spare you from the details from that trip, which was done post couch, as anyone who has made the pilgrimage to the blue and white knows the harrowing nature of such a venture. I've blocked it out anyhow.

The things I have

several boxes
a few wheeley bags
a handful of shoulder bags
three glorious space saver bags
a television
a radio
a bucket
a few cleaning supplies
an old rug
a lamp without a shade
a printer
a blow up mattress
clean sheets
towels
a new bath scrunchie and soap
two bottles of water
a green frog-shaped watering bucket

and One Brand New Spectacular Apartment in Chicago.

Yes, my lovely friends. I have arrived and this place is fabulous.

Thanks to my Mom and Lois who graciously drove me out here and unpacked my belongings and will travel with me all over this city to pick up craigslist furniture (not to mention the 'quick' trip to IKEA).

Tonight it is me, the apartment, my car-ful of belongings, and every light I can possibly find to turn on.

First night. First apartment to myself.

Thank goodness for this Star magazine.

Photos and more tomorrow.

~L

So long to all that

It was inevitable. This goodbye thing.

I ventured up to Boston to visit R and check out his new pad in Central Sq. Central Square is a bustling with good restaurants, bars and coffee shops. His apartment is in walking distance to school so the boy is set, for sure.

His apartment is adorable. The prior tenants were, we can only hope, colored blind as evidenced by their choice in wall paint.

Here you can see the pepto pink behind us (eek).


But no matter. For our (tear) last dinner together we dined at The Hungry Mother in Kendall Square (a short walk from Central). R couldn't help but the make the connection of the restaurant name to the Hungry Mother State Park that is near is childhood home in Big Stone Gap. Turns out, the chef is from there so it all makes sense.

The food was delicious, truly. A mix of southern comfort (read: grits, meat) with a french flare (light sauces and, well, more meat). We had a spicy cheese to tide us over, followed by a mixed green salad and a pork belly appetizer that was so melt in your mouth good, it surprised us both. We shared the steak which was cooked perfectly. I highly recommend.

Monday came all too quickly for us, but there were exciting things abounding. It was R's first day of school, which we (I) celebrated with an official first-day-of-school photo:


We refrained from having a too tearful so long for now, so I sent R off to conquer the world and I to get my own scholastic adventure underway.


Today I am playing giant tetris with my belongings and the car we are taking to Chicago and then tomorrow it is (drum roll please) road trip: redeux, starring yours truly, Pamela and Lois (gracious owner of the car). We will be driving straight through to the glamorous city of Cleveland, where we will dine at a very yummy restaurant by one of those Iron Chef guys and then Thursday morning we will squeeze in a visit to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Kick ass.

Next up: Chicago!

Who's Your Daddy?

Reluctantly, Jay. yes that's right, big news around these parts. My Mom is getting a dog. My Dad, too, obviously, but he didn't necessarily have a choice in the matter. But how can you resist that face?

Oh my goodness. It was hard not to just stuff one in my bra and take off. Just barely 4 weeks old, they are just getting their sea legs - slipping and sliding, doing splits whenever the moment hits them. It is way too cute. We didn't take one home right this moment (again, terribly hard) as they have to 'grow' a little more and get shots and all that. So we have a few weeks to think of a name.

The pup will be a girl, that's for sure. In a few weeks my Mom and perhaps the reluctant Jay will travel back up to Mass to pick one of these edible things.



Some name ideas already rolling around: Lucy, Lola, something nautical (Sailor?). My mom would prefer a name that is feminine as she is convinced that our old lady dog, Corky suffered from an identity crisis. I'd say it was a little more than that, but that's another story.



The new-mom glow:

Oranges and more oranges

Ah, how the adventure continues.

I had a lovely and short re-visit in New York: I strolled down the Brooklyn promenade, walked over the Brooklyn Bridge, cut my polygamist-length hair and said goodbye, again, to friends.

And so I have returned home, to my parents home in Orange CT where I will lay low, organize, clean and generally putz around.

R is in Boston beginning his new adventure. He has moved all of his belongings into his new apartment and I greatly look forward to seeing his new bachelorhood design sense.

My parents are actually away - enjoying this nice long weekend. House Party! Or maybe a night of food network and white wine? Yes. I think that in weekends past, when I would bounce up here for a few days away from the city, R or my brother worked the electrical grill. When I ventured to the patio last night I looked at this beast of a machine like a car engine - where do I start? With enough pushing and prodding I was sure that a fire would appear, but found myself slow roasting a pepper and mushrooms and (luckily) an already cooked chicken sausage over one lone blue flame toward the back.

An hour later: perfection

My brother was debuting his home-made bar last night so I ventured out to his abode in my Dad's car, graciously left for the would-be stranded child. After driving in a car for the better part of a month you'd think I'd be completely at east behind the wheel. Not so much. This car is, let's say, on the fancier side. So I had to contend with the what ifs while fiddling around with the radio system. If I were to judge my Dad on his preset radio buttons I would assume that 1) he didn't care for the radio 2) liked the challenge of deciphering classical music from beneath the fuzz of a far off station or 3) is learning Spanish. Between these two stations and my student-driver-cautious 55 miles an hour speed limit, it was a long drive out there. The bar, however, was worth the trip.

And just for kicks I will return to NY One. More. Time. I think after that the city will actually spit me out and tell me to get on with it already.

As the week will continue much in this style I will keep the random monologues to a minimum until we head out to Chicago.

Happy Laboring!