Oh, and Turkey & Stuffing

In honor of this week's holiday, here is my Long Story Short list of things/people that I'm thankful for this year. Don't judge me for being shallow some of the time; a girl's gotta get by.

Giving Thanks

• My family. Which, this year, includes a new addition. A very tall, extraordinarily kind, gentle yet hilarious addition. I am grateful for my parents, my sister, her new husband, my grandma, my aunts, my uncles, my (many) cousins and my cousins' children. It's a big, wild, disparate yet connected family and I'm gonna claim it forever. I have no real choice in that matter, do I?


• College Football. Despite the pitiful season that the Georgia Bulldogs have endured, and the sad loss of Uga VII, I will remain forever grateful for what college football has brought to my life, and subsequently, my Saturdays.


• Work. Unlike many, I love what I do and am thankful that there are people who a) employ me this holiday season (unlike the dreaded season of 2002 and 2008) and b) that continue to inspire me, challenge my thinking, teach me new things and provide me with a medicine cabinet full of great (free) skin and haircare products. I also have to give thanks for my smart, interesting, fun, kind and accessible clients—without whom this Account Supervisor would have little to do.


• Confidence. It's a big notion, and one that has been tested this year both on a personal and professional level. Being dumped, and the 'new man' at work has forced me to re-evaluate, and therefore, be proud of, who I am. I am smart enough, I am pretty enough, and gosh darnit, people like me. Oh, and I have new hair, in case you missed it. I'm still working on the "who has more fun: blondes or brunettes" theory. Stay tuned.


• Wine. Let's be honest. Half of the aforementioned confidence is initially derived from the grape. And, frankly, the ability to enjoy family, college football and work has been drenched in the stuff. Weekends are good. Gotta give thanks where thanks are due.


• Weddings. With cousins, friends and my sister celebrating their marriages this year, it has been a great excuse to attend fun bachelorette parties, travel on the weekends, buy new cocktail dresses, put on high heels, write mushy toasts, buy luxurious presents, laugh really hard, dance with random people, take fun photo-booth candids, meet lovely parents-of-the-groom/bride, ask out a guy, converse with new people, network for future job opportunities, take amazing photos and post them to the internet, and laugh about it all the following Monday. Who's up for a 2010 union?


• Facebook. Without it, I'm not sure my friends would be able to fill their days. Or, their gossip quota. But, it's all in good fun, and we all can acknowledge the use/strategy/stalking that is made possible by the site. I'm guilty, and am not ashamed. I do, however, believe firmly that no one cares to see your status get updated 38 times a day, because, let's face it. No one cares what you ate for lunch.


• Prayer. As with any year, this one has been replete with blessings and shortfalls, and I've turned to prayer at many a time to counter the good, the bad, or the uncertain. I'm hoping that some of my prayers will get answered, and that some will not. Either way, it's clear that I'm not in charge, and I'm just fine with that.


• This Blog. If you've never had the urge to write a letter/diary entry/email just venting out or expressing yourself, than you won't understand my need to be thankful for this site; however, I'm guessing, if you're still reading, then you at least can identify with the basic reward that can be found in creative writing. Or, at times, not so creative writing. Either way, it feels good, and I'm thankful for you readers that stick with me, talk to me, encourage me, plod me along, and remind me I'm not alone.


• A Tame Fall. I'm pretty sure this will jinx it, but Chicago has seen a remarkably snow-free season thus far, and I'm not complaining. Though I do have some cute snow boots...


• True Friends. At the risk of sounding trite, the friends I have made, kept, selected, met and hung on to throughout the years are the family I've chosen. And for that I, and my social calendar, are truly thankful. Who else would I talk to on Facebook? Or watch college football with? Or pray for? Or laugh about work with? Or write about here? Or ease my pains, drink through the hard times, celebrate the good ones, cherish the sunny days and dread the snow with? Point taken.


• Another Year. Since nothing is a given, I'll send out to the universe a public thanks for yet another year as a part of this crazy ride. My health is good, my outlook is better and the future is looking up. No complaints here.

So, as you can see, I have much for which, and whom, to be thankful.

And that includes you.

I wish you and your families a wonderful Thanksgiving, and safe travels where you may go. At least O'Hare won't be delayed this year! (Risking another jinx there, aren't I?)

Kind regards and many thanks,

Colleen

No Guarantee

Benjamin Franklin is known for having once said, "In this world, nothing is certain but death and taxes."

Some of you can only recall a gorgeous, Devilish Brad Pitt uttering that phrase at the conclusion of the painfully slow movie "Meet Joe Black." But trust me, the grey-haired Constitutionalist said it first. (Don't hate me for the gratuitous photo above...he's better looking than Mr. Franklin any day.)

I have been thinking about that notion lately—that nothing is certain, that nothing is guaranteed.

For example, we assume, as growing women, that getting pregnant when we're ready is a guarantee. That it will happen, when we're prepared, and on our terms. Lately, I have experienced a friend who painfully, and patiently, has faced that uncertainty with grace and optimism as she and her husband have entered into the not-so-certain world of infertility treatments and blood tests and hormone shots and implantation. All with the hope against hope that they, like so many, can be assured of a result that goes against all uncertainty in life.

There's no guarantee.

Similarly, a family circumstance has occurred where we all put trust and faith in the judicial system under which we're protected, and hoped, against hope, that there would be a certain outcome. That the evidence, or the partiality of the judge, would reign and the result would be what is logical, rational and, well, guaranteed.

There's no guarantee.

Likewise, I've been faced recently with my own realization that in my own personal search for lifelong love, and therein a future marriage, would come to fruition in due course. The cold, hard and painful truth is that we're not sure. No one can promise that the outcome will result in lifelong happiness—even if one does find what they deem to be lifelong love, a partner forever. People can change, or not, and the life you'd envisioned may not turn out the way you planned. Or, conversely, the life you'd planned may never come to be. And you have to find a way to be satisfied by the life that is—the one that you are currently living. You may actually never find that type of love; it may just not be in the cards for you.

There's no guarantee.

And, quite frankly, maybe that's the hardest part.

If someone told the hopeful couple, trying to conceive a child, that it wasn't going to happen for them naturally, ever, they'd feel more resolute, more comfortable with that fact. I believe that the lack of knowing the outcome, in this case especially, is the most difficult fact to swallow. Those same two people, who wanted so badly to be parents, to conceive and give birth to a child of their own genetic strands and through the natural and most functional of ways, may in fact come to the more restful conclusion if they were just told up front that it wasn't going to happen. I believe, through my conversations with such people, that it is the uncertainty that is the most unsettling.

If it was clear, up front, that the law was the law, and that there was no way to undo that, no matter what efforts you made to the contrary to prove that the proper course of action would be something different, you may be better able to accept that course. To understand that it was meant to be, for good reason, would be easier to identify with, and therefore, would set your mind to rest.

If you knew, upon your wedding day, that the marriage had an expiration date, and that you were going to have a great life for thirty years, but that eventually things would dissolve and unravel, it may be easier to accept when that finally comes to be. And, if it was clear, at a certain age, that you were destined to live alone, and that you best find a way to be satisfied with that, it may not be as difficult to manage each day just not knowing. In a more positive approach, if someone pulled you aside, at a crucial point in your life's search for a partner, that it would happen someday—guaranteed—and that you were charged with just enjoying the station you were in at the time, for now, I'm certain that that level of certainty would grant you a peace inside.

Clearly, I'm wrestling with my own level of uncertainty. And unwillingness to give in to that—I just wish there was a guarantee. Obviously, I want to find that special someone with whom I'm going to spend my life, and I am unhappy with the unknowing that accompanies the process. Evidently, I'm searching for something, and feel that I'd be more resolute with the present, if someone could just guarantee the future.

I'm pretty sure, however, that Ben Franklin was right. The only guarantee in my future is taxes (made certain by my residence in the city of Chicago) and my ultimate death.

Hopefully, I can count on one sooner than the other.

In the meantime, I can promise that I won't give up hoping, praying, wanting and looking.

That much I can guarantee.

House of Pain

I really believe it when I hear people say that women's threshold for pain is higher than men's. I'm not just talking about the pain of giving birth, even though that certainly is a good argument to have on your side.

No, I'm talking about the typical, every-so-often pain.

I get migraines. Not all that often—maybe once every six weeks or so—and I've gotten so used to the searing pain, the nausea and the sensitivity to light that half the time I can just pop a few Excedrin and go to work. I still hurt, and feel pretty miserable, but I manage.

Then there's the other times, though, that I just have to give in and take an Imitrex. It literally puts me out, though, so it has to be a careful decision to take one. I have to then go back to sleep for a few hours, or just commit to lie down in a dark room for a bit. My doctor mentioned that they were "hard on the heart," so I go easy on 'em. Oh, and they're about $9 a pill, so I don't go randomly popping them.

And, frankly, there's the cramps. I won't go into detail since I know I have a lot of loyal and faithful (though quiet!) male readers, but seriously? Is that necessary? To squeeze and ache and sear like that? ON A REGULAR BASIS? I'm not kidding. Some days I just want to call it and go back to bed. Before I've even left the bed. I keep a heating pad stored under my bed, just like Mandi did in college, so it is always at the ready.

That was probably still more detail than most men want. But at least I didn't mention that it feels like your insides are being tightened by a vice grip, or that you're seeing blue stars swirling around your head, so I'm all good.

This time, though, it is a pain in my neck. Quite literally.

I got a pretty severe head cold about two weeks ago, and true to form, I denied going to the doctor and just stuck to the Gatorade, Orange Juice, Zycam, Vitamins, Soup and Sleep prescription. My mom always told me that a cold lasts a week if you treat it, and seven days if you don't.

She's my mom, and she's usually right. So, I believe her.

But this time, the cold mysteriously came along with a freebie pain. In my neck. I woke up one morning and thought I'd just slept funny. You know the kind, the 'ole crick in the neck.

Apparently it is more than that. I either pinched a nerve or strained a muscle (coughing?!) or wrenched something out of whack (was I ever IN whack?) and now it still hurts, more than 10 days later.

I know. Go. To. The. Doctor.

But after the spring's whole wrist debacle, I'm hesitant. And I'm still paying off that stupid MRI. That proved nothing. And solved nothing.

So, for now I self medicate. Not to the extent of Michael Jackson, mind you, but the safe Colleen way. I have been taking Excedrin during the day (once) and one Tylenol PM at night before bed. If I've had wine, I don't do the PM route because I am too scared of becoming a headline.

But I have to admit. It still is a pain in the neck.

I feel like one of those blinking red lightning bolts from pharmaceutical ads is poking me right in the head.

However, true to my opening argument, I just keep on trucking, like nothing is wrong. And then I turn my head suddenly, or lay down on my side on the couch facing the TV, and realize how MUCH it aches. Maybe that whole theory about women's threshold for pain is not so good because it just means we deny and ignore and avoid dealing with it?

So, here's your chance. Everyone likes to give advice, especially of the medical nature. What do you think is going on? It hurts down the right side, on the muscle/tendon (??) that runs from under my hair down to my shoulder. And sometimes it is dull, and sometimes it is sharp.

I know. Don't say it.

I should just...

...I don't know, look it up on WebMD?

It's a Gift

I am a shopper. Guilty as charged.

I like a good sale. I enjoy browsing solo, fingering all of the fabrics, trying on clothes, imagining all the places I'd wear them. I love jewelry and shoes and purses and coats. I enjoy the feeling of bringing home bags full of bargains, pulling them all out and laying them on the bed. I immediately hang up new items, taking pleasure in how they'll look when paired with old pieces.

However, this time of year, the shopping turns outward.

Not that I don't give gifts throughout the months, but this season I really do enjoy thinking not of myself, but of what those in my life want, and wouldn't buy for themselves. There's nothing quite like the feeling of knowing you've selected just the right gift, and watching that person open it with glee. I get a certain sparkle in my eye as I witness someone enjoying the present that was selected just for them.

I think it is funny how when someone is opening your gift, you get all nervous. People tend to get a little apologetic, even before you've gotten it out of the tissue paper. Have you noticed that? You know, "well, I just thought you may like it, but if you don't, there's a receipt inside and you can take it back, no hard feelings, I promise." They hardly breathe, and it is one giant run-on sentence.

The truth is, just having someone go to all that trouble is enough. It is flattering to think that they took the time to choose, buy, and gift wrap something with you in mind.

At our unwrapping ceremony, which we've somehow managed to make last about four hours, complete with mimosas and a breakfast casserole break, my Dad undoubtedly sticks a bow to his head, with a totally straight face. Last year, George's first Christmas with our family, when he put a bow on his head, I knew he was the one for my sister.

One of my favorite parts of the holiday shopping season is all of the secrets. The projects, mentally plotted and meticulously crafted, all designed to fit that certain person's character. The gifts, thought-out, budgeted for, and purchased with just one person in mind. The boxes, stuffed full and gift wrapped carefully (though it's not my greatest skill) with names attached for Christmas morning.

I keep a list each year, in this flimsy little notebook, of each person on my Christmas list, and what I have bought for them. It's a tally, of sorts, to make sure everything is kept fairly even (and to make sure that my Dad doesn't get pajama pants every year). I tend to spoil my family, as I just go overboard in finding lovely things that I just know they'll adore.

This year, which will come as no surprise, we've all committed to "take it easy" and "pare down" and "go light" on the gift giving. My family has hosted a wedding, and several trips, quite a few parties and showers and 30th birthday parties and other festivities, so we're all tightening our wallets.

Or so we say.

It can't be helped, really. It's not about the money for me. I just love giving gifts.

My family has never been one to draw names, or just give one present per person. Our tree, quite frankly, on Christmas morning, looks like something that belongs in a mall. With a fake Santa seated on a plush club chair nearby. See?

That doesn't really even do it justice. What you can't see, off to the left, is the 50 other gifts hiding under the base of the tree. The poor nutcrackers and reindeer that decorate the base of the steps in the foyer are just about drowning in there.

I can't wait.

Let the projects, secrets, sales and list-making begin.

I'm in the spirit.

Murphy's Law

It has finally happened.

I've lived here in Chicago for over nine years.

I've been a registered voter for 14 years.

I've had a driver's license in the state of Illinois since September of 2000.

And, now, my time has come.

I have jury duty today.

At the Criminal Court. On the Southside of Chicago. Right next door to the Cook County Jail.

I'm a little nervous.

Should I mention that my aunt worked in the police department in New Jersey for her entire career? Talk about how I feel about punishment and retribution and justice? Keep quiet, and hope they don't notice me? Play by the rules because I'm not likely to be chosen that way?

No idea.

I just know that, without a doubt, this would happen one month after I've sold my car. My only means of transportation that didn't require two buses, a train and a 3-block walk through a totally unsafe neighborhood. When the sun is now setting at 4:30 pm.

Of course. Murphy's got a sense of humor, that one.

Don't worry. I'm borrowing my friend's car. Thank goodness.

I just hope I return it with all four hubcaps.

It All Depends

People always talk about love as "unconditional."

Turns out, there's nothing unconditional about it.

Even the love shared between family members has conditions put on it. With long-term friendships, there are rules to the game. Boundaries you must respect, actions you have to take, protocol you must follow, lines in the sand you must draw.

People will hurt you. They will pull away. Friends need time to heal and figure out their own issues. Family will say things that they don't mean. Loved ones will act as if they are less than that, loved ones.

The conditions of the love are there, whether or not we're willing to acknowledge them.

You have to call every so often, so the friend knows that they're in your thoughts. You have to say the right thing, so the person knows how you feel. You have to be honest with yourself, to own you role in the disaster that has become normal. You have to respect the facts that face you, even if they tell you that everything you know is based on misconceptions. You have to try, put forth the effort, to go the extra mile, to answer the phone, to reach out. To give.

There's nothing unconditional about love.

Like anything else worth having in life, it comes fraught with conditions.

If only there was a manual for this game.

She Was There

She was there to tuck me in at night, reading me a story over and over.

She was there to pluck me out of the closet when I was having nightmares.

She was there to put bread bags over my tennis shoes, when Atlanta got a rare snowstorm.

She was there to make my lunches, while I ate breakfast before school.

She was there to dye the macaroni green on St. Patrick's Day, just for giggles.

She was there to drive us to Six Flags over and over one summer, so we girls could hang out all day.

She was there to take us to the mall on Saturday, to put up with our wanting and wishing.

She was there to teach us how to walk with confidence, even with a shopping cart.

She was there to coach basketball, or softball, or tennis, whatever we were playing that season.

She was there to help me pick out just the right outfit, so that she could take our photo on the first day of school.

She was there to make sure we were doing our homework, propped on our bed with a lapdesk firmly in place.

She was there to decorate my room, resplendent in Pepto-Bismol pink, because that was how I wanted it.

She was there to repair the hole in the wall after I'd slammed the door open one too many times.

She was there to let me put posters and clippings from Teen Beat and Tiger Beat and Seventeen magazine on my walls.

She was there to tell me that one day, I would grow into my height, if you know what I mean.

She was there to teach me right from wrong, but give me enough room to figure it out myself.

She was there to listen while I cried from a heartbreak, without saying that it was just puppy love.

She was there to teach me how to drive, reminding me to look in the mirrors at more than my lip gloss.

She was there to answer my questions about sex and love, even when it made her blush ever so slightly.

She was there to laugh at my jokes and put up with my stories, despite the fact that I'd lost track of the point.

She was there to witness my graduations, ceremonies and awards shows, to tell me she was proud.

She was there to cheer from the sidelines, and drive me home from the far away basketball games on Friday nights.

She was there to cry with me over romantic comedies, and Christmas commercials, in the dark of the living room.

She was there to drive me to college, setting up my dorm room and leaving me to grow up on my own.

She was there to give me the space freshman year, because she'd read a book that advised parents to do that.

She was there to support me, to teach me, to let me make my mistakes as I should.

She was there to move me into my first apartment, and my second, and my third, and my fourth...without looking back.

She was there to say goodbye, as I left my hometown for a bigger, brighter future in a new city.

She was there to listen while I sobbed after getting laid off, being dumped, or just plain hurting.

She was there to spackle, paint, refinish, tile, reorganize, decorate my new condo, even when nothing seemed right.

She was there to calm my nerves, ease my worries, comfort my doubts, just when I needed her.

She was there to remind me that being smart was more important than being pretty, that being confident was more valuable than being right.

She was there to urge me to be myself, to love me no matter what and to always answer the phone when I call.

She was there.

And, today is her birthday, and I have nothing, not enough money, not enough time, to tell her properly how much she has meant to me.

Because, like mothers should be, she has always been there.

Our relationship has ebbed, flowed and changed, and I am so thankful that we've arrived at this new place. Where we're friends, equals, partners, peers, and family.

Today, on her birthday, I celebrate my Mom. I know that I inherited a lot from her—on the outside, yes, but more importantly, on the inside where it really counts.

I love you, Mom. On your birthday, and always.

Thank you for being there.