Early Riser

While waiting at O'Hare airport at an ungodly early hour on Tuesday morning, I had a few basic observations that I'd like to share with you. It only seems fitting. Consider them my gift to you.

• Everything is easier to navigate at the airport if you arrive at 5 am. It is quiet, empty and peaceful.


• The TSA people are not crabby yet at 5 am, and that alone is worth getting up really early. The man practically helped me put my boots back on. Seriously.


• When they de-ice the plane three times before you board, and once before you get to the tarmac, it is a tad bit disconcerting. And, it smells pretty strange when the fumes get pumped into the air vents before takeoff.


• The airports HAVE to be the only place left you can find that printer paper that is all connected with the tear-off holes on each side. Those people are ready for just about anything—if they need a "Welcome Home, John!" or a "Happy Birthday, Mom!" sign, they're ready at a moment's notice.


• Coffee is the only thing I'm ready to put in my body before boarding a 6 am flight. And even that doesn't help when the alarm went off at 3:20 am.


• ALWAYS check which Chicago airport you're flying out of—a trip to O'Hare, only to find out that you need to be at Midway, and then getting rebooked back onto a flight at O'Hare will ruin your day. And your husband may find clever ways to rename Midway (MDW). This wasn't me, but I am so sorry for my friends!


• They must put something else in the air when they pressurize the cabin for takeoff. Seriously, I can't even stay awake long enough to make it to the end of the tarmac. Are we being collectively drugged?


• No matter how old I get, there is something so nice about being picked up at the airport by my Mom. I even forgive her for taking a photo of me as soon as she got out of the car to hug me (evidence below). I would rather have had her grab my suitcases, but I'll let her slide.

I got lucky enough to get out of Chicago before the delays hit O'Hare and people had to wait hours and hours to get out of town. And, I arrived without incident in Atlanta, where the "low" temperatures are about 50.

NOT complaining.

Merry Christmas to me! And to you, of course. Especially if you work at TSA or United Airlines.

Openly Giving Thanks

This time of year is my favorite. Gathering family and friends to eat, drink, laugh, watch football and relax together. What's not to like?

Traditionally, I would be also using this festive time to buy a boatload of gifts for those family and friends, including hostess gifts for the parties I'll attend and wine and ornaments for those who allow me to stay in their home.

Clearly, money is tight this year (tight is probably an understatement) so the gifts will be light. However, I can still express my thanks and appreciation to people in this forum.

Therefore, on this most American of holidays, let me openly give thanks.

Open hearts.
I am thankful most of all for the people in my life that make it worthwhile. Those in my life who love unconditionally; those who support me through the ups and the downs; those special people who allow themselves to be vulnerable, trusting in the future despite the unknown; those who care and aren't afraid to express it; those who make me laugh, let me cry and tell me I'm going to be ok.

Open minds.
Speaking as a casualty of this hard economy, I am thankful for the open minds of the American people to look beyond the norm, the comfortable and the easy to nominate and elect the right person for the job. I am inspired, excited and invested more than ever before in the future of this country, and believe that we are armed to attack the problems head on. And, as with any other relationship, I trust and have faith that the best is yet to come.

Open arms.
Is there anything easier to be thankful for than the welcoming arms of a giant hug? This is also a thank you to those who have, or will, host me throughout this holiday season. As one who lives 1,000 miles from her immediate family, it is a privilege and a joy to visit with and stay in the homes of extended family and the family of those I care about. I look forward to toasting, laughing, sharing and dining with my aunt and uncles, cousins and Brett's family this year. It will be delicious in every sense of the word.

Open doors.
I hate to do it, but this one is tangible. I am thankful for the doors of the fridge opening, revealing plates of turkey glazed to perfection, stuffing that is fluffy yet crispy, potatoes that are mashed and delightful, pumpkin pie and other pastries that are sugary and scrumptious and for the wine, beer and cider to flow to accompany the feast. I can't help it, but I have been anxiously awaiting the food, and the leftovers, for days. Maybe it is partly due to the unemployed diet of grilled cheese, soup, cereal and pasta, but I'm game.

Open windows.
With the overused metaphor, I would also like to be thankful for the windows that open when a door closes. With a fervor that is usually reserved for a slick salesman, I have been networking, contacting, communicating, following up, emailing, calling, touching base with and reaching out to everyone that I know in this industry, and it is working. I am not yet working, but I trust that that is still to come.

I wish you all a wonderful Thanksgiving and hope that you are sharing the time with your family, friends and loved ones. I am thankful that you all have allowed me this creative forum, this place to share my feelings, this expression of my opinions, stories and aforementioned ups and downs.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Love,

Colleen

Pump Up the Volume

While riding in the elevator at work today, I couldn't help but notice (she ensured that everyone did) this girl in there with us. She had on her iPod, with the infamous white earbud headphones, and the volume must have been turned WAY up.

She was silently bopping along to the music, and by the 27th floor, I was tapping my foot too. Since I could not only hear the music, but I could also easily identify the song and even which verse was playing. Heck, I could hear every word with clarity of enunciation that would make a speech therapist proud.

Made me think, though, that we're going to be one annoyingly hard-of-hearing generation by the time we are our grandparents' age. Deaf, quite possibly, as a whole slew of iPod-addicted people.

I can almost hear the thunderous conversations at Thanksgiving now...

"HONEY, PLEASE PASS THE MASHED POTATOES! NO, NOT THE SMASHED TOMATOES!" and "CHILD, WHAT'S THAT YOU SAY? YOU WANT THE TURKEY? OR THE BEEF JERKY?"

Yeah. Won't THAT be fun?

(And, yes, I realize that no one outside of Alabama's state lines serves beef jerky on Thanksgiving, and I've never even heard of smashed tomatoes, but they rhymed. Pipe down now, wouldja?)

Wouldn't Fit on the Card

Mom teaching me things even then. Christmas morning circa 1978.
In honor of Mother's Day, I'd like to honor mine. I'm one of those women you envy. One who has a fantastically fun mother with whom she can share stories, clothes, laughs and a bottle of wine. Or two.

As I age, I catch myself more and more saying things that we used to tease her for, or waving my hands the way she does, or crinkling my nose to stop the impending tears during a sappy movie, or raising my voice into a ridiculously high pitch to squeal excitedly about something fabulous.

I'm becoming her.

And I couldn't be more thrilled.

For her pleasure, on her day, here are a few highlights from my life with my Mom. Heads up, Mom—go grab a Kleenex. I'm just saying. I know you.

• The woman is THE PERSON you want while renovating or doing any number of house projects. There is just nothing she can't figure out, dream up, paint over or make happen. My condo is proof of her magic ability to take an ugly, empty, pink stove and fake-wood-metal-cabinets kitchen look amazing. And, the woman looks hot wearing an apron from Home Depot covered in paint. I promise.


• My Mom took great pleasure in making childhood memories and holidays special for me and my sister. Every year for St. Patrick's Day she would dig deep into her Irish-ness and dye all of our dinner foods bright green, distribute green paper leprechaun ears and toast her heritage with green glasses of milk. Our personal favorite was macaroni, and we were convinced it tasted different when it was green.


• As a woman who grew up in a household of 10 kids, my Mom is resourceful and industrious. She used to not only wow us with her pumpkin carving skills, but she handmade every Halloween costume we wanted, and they were WAY BETTER than the ones at the store. Lauren somehow got the shaft one year when she had to go as a book character, as Laura Ingles Wilder isn't all that cool, especially when your sister gets to be a punk rocker with pink hair. Sorry, Laur.


• In keeping with the above holiday theme, every Easter, while we girls were at church, she ensured that my Dad would be placing the plastic eggs all over our yard. We loved getting our new dresses, and giggled with Mom when Dad inevitably chopped up one lone purple egg with his riding lawn mower the following weekend.


• Ever the crafty one, my Mom is the queen of homemade birthday cards, and I gotta tell you, most of the time the message inside is funnier and more meaningful that the ones from Hallmark. When you care enough to send the very best, you go to Eileen's house and use her printer.


• I'll never forget the look on her face when she handed me the bouquet of bright red roses on the day of my college graduation. It was a combination of pride in what had been gained, sadness for what was lost, anticipation for what was to come, and reflection on where we'd been. I was proud to be the cause for that look, and will be continuing to make her proud as long as I can.


• My Dad gets credit for this one, too, but I have to apologize now for the "bleacher butt" they both suffered for years. Those gyms all look the same, smell the same, and have the same ridiculously hard wooden bleachers, and they sat there, yelling out my name, for years and years, during every season there was. The Norcross High School Blue Devils sweatshirt, however, has seen better days, and we're glad that it is now relegated to the back of the closet.


• It is only now, as an adult with a car and a huge city in which to run errands, that I fully appreciate the efforts of the driver. Captaining a mini-van full of kids, driving us all over the state, could NOT have been how she wanted to spend her weekends, but she did. With no complaints, and great oldies tunes. To which she always said, "I was in 7th grade when this came out!" or "I danced with Charlie Jacoby to this one in 1970!" We loved thinking of our Mom that young and free.


• Able to control her own work schedule, my Mom was great about dragging us girls on cool spring break vacations to Destin, Florida, where we were allowed to bring a friend. Now THAT made us feel grown up. As a family, we have fond memories, and silly photos from, Disney World, Grant's Farm, Busch Gardens, Six Flags, Hilton Head and Gulf Shores. The bathing suits were terribly cool at the time, but looking back, man were the styles funny. Mom, you were one hot mama!


• With a birthday that is just 3 days after Christmas, my Mom always made sure that I still felt special. She always used purple birthday wrapping paper (or some other non-holiday shade) and kept them a secret until the big day. We got to use the big, red, round plate that said, "You are special today" while we ate whatever meal we'd requested. I felt special then, and still do, thanks to her thoughtfulness.


• I think she was crazy to do it, but she let me have a HUGE birthday sleepover in 5th grade, and invited 12 or so girls to the house. Pretty sure they didn't sleep that night, but that kind of sacrifice for our happiness was never forgotten. She even painted EVERY girl's fingernails. Crazy woman.


• As an adult, I have even better memories, ones that go deeper than sporting events, holidays or family vacations. Now, my Mom is my best friend, the woman I long to become and a huge supporter of my dreams. Even when I can't afford them, and she has to sneak me a loan.


• Driving up in a U-Haul to move me to Chicago, it was almost as if my Mom didn't have a totally ruined hand, and a full set of prescription painkillers, from an unfortunate run-in with a Hunter Douglas blind. Despite the wrecked hand, huge cast and undoubtedly, the pain, she put on a smile and rode in the center all the way from Atlanta to Chicago, laughing the loudest when the U-Haul broke down halfway across Indiana. She's strong and resilient like that.


• When my vacation plans fell apart a few years ago, she immediately volunteered to get away with me. We boarded flights for Miami, and jetted off on to our cruise ship to the Caribbean. Just us girls. We dressed up, ate too much, drank buckets of beer by the pool, played games of Scrabble where I trounced her repeatedly, and we laughed and laughed and laughed. Only part of that laughter was AT her for trying to beat me at a word game.

As mothers do, mine has always been supportive of my dreams, even when I've lost hope. She has been there for me as I battled through a difficult job situation, and cheered the loudest when I moved on to better things. She's consistent with her encouragement during the MANY heartaches I've experienced, and is the best friend I could ask for. She asks the tough questions, the ones that I'm avoiding with full force, and when the answer comes out, and she softens the blow, I often have to just concede that she's right. She knew when I moved to Chicago that it wasn't likely that it would be "just for two years," and yet she is still convinced it was the right thing to do.

Distance is only on the roads, love reaches across the miles, and Mom, your opinion is still the most important to me. I hope I'm making you proud.

Before we got sauced at a Wine Fest in St. Louis in '05.
I love and miss you every day. I hope to become half the woman you are, and every bit the mother.

Happy YOU Day!

Who's Your Paddy?

I'm Irish. See, proof above. And, my tongue is still a lovely shade of kelly green from all of the dye this weekend.

So is the Chicago River.
Mine is from beer.

Sliante!

I'll Drink to That

As St. Patrick's Day nears, I get more and more excited. And, more and more Irish, to tell you the truth. This entire city claims any percentage of Irish blood they have and wears it proudly.

Last night I saw the U2 3D IMAX movie at Navy Pier, and while the proximity to St. Patrick's Day was a coincidence, it sure did reinvigorate my love of the renowned Irish rockers. Their sound is timeless, the guitar work is incredible, and I just plain feel good while listening. Don't judge. You likely have some mainstream music floating around on your iPod.

The movie was great fun—life sized Bono, giant Larry Mullen, enormous Adam Clayton, and of course, an unwieldy version of The Edge. You could see everything, the band sounded amazing, and it really was like you were at the concert in Buenos Aires. Or Rio. Minus the sweating, crowd surfing, body shuffling and likely 12 hours in line outside to get in the arena.

[Author's side note/plea, I beg you not to comment by ripping on Bono's political rants, activism or lyrical world views. At least he puts his money, and his time, where his mouth is.]

Back to the tunes. In honor of the impending holiday (a.k.a. public drinkfest and excuse to wear the oft under-appreciated shade of kelly green), I give you my list of top Irish bands, in my particular order:

U2 (quite obviously)
The Cranberries
Snow Patrol
The Chieftans
Van Morrison
The Pogues
Sinead O'Connor
Flogging Molly—they definitely get best name, right?
Enya
The Corrs
Westlife
Thin Lizzy*
Boomtown Rats*

And, an honorary mention for Dropkick Murphy's. Yes, I'm aware they're from Boston (thanks, Janine). But their music makes me think of the sweaty Irish dancing scene from the dregs of the Titanic. And that can't be all bad, right?

*I had to look these up. Knew the names, knew one or two songs, but frankly, that's all. I confess.

Sliante!

They Even Smell Pretty

In my defense, it has been awhile.

I wanted (or had resigned myself to being) the type of strong, smart, independent woman who doesn't need a commercial holiday such as today to make myself feel "romantic," "feminine" or "loved." Minus the bitterness common with singles everywhere on this fabricated holiday, I wanted to be the type of woman that used today as an excuse to celebrate fantastic friendships with the other strong, smart, independent women in my life. Which I've done for nearly a decade now—with great dinners, lots of laughs, and a few too many martinis.

But then the above arrived on my desk today, and I can't help it.

I like them. And the sender.

I can be strong, smart, independent AND a little smitten, can't I?

Empty Promises

While celebrating the holidays with extended family, the innocent question "So, Colleen, are you seeing anyone?" keeps coming up. It is practically the first question I'm asked. I'm sometimes not even fully in the door. The coat has definitely not even been yet hung in the closet.

This casual, yet loaded, inquiry inevitably leads to a laughing, joking, somewhat cynical conversation of The Vortex that has sucked in (and sometimes spit back out) the guys in my life, and the lives of my other single cousins.

The stories are piling up (I made notes on the plane and realize I currently have no less than 11 stories to tell) of the myriad vortex tales. The airplane napkin is chock full of my love disasters.

I promise the publishing of these stories is coming soon. For now, begin to collect yours, and send them my way.

Just be sure that you change the guys' names, to protect the guilty.