Day 23 - An Unexpected Day Off

Today, I received a wonderful gift - an unexpected day off of work tomorrow, in celebration of our girl’s basketball team winning the State Championship yesterday.  This is truly something new.

I blogged last week about the anticipation and expectation created by the possibility of a snow day.  This day is like getting a snow day without all that baggage.  We simply got an email that explained the reason for the celebratory break, congratulated the team, and encouraged us to enjoy the day off.

I initially had a difficult time wrapping my mind around the reality of this day off.  I was expecting to put in eight plus hours of work tomorrow, and suddenly I found that those same eight hours can be spent however I want. 

When presented with a hypothetical day off, I have any number of fantasies of how I will spend it.  I imagine that I might do any or all of the following in no particular order: sleep in, make a delicious breakfast, sit in my pajamas for as long as I want, read a book, take a yoga class, paint my nails, go shopping, visit a friend, take a nap, do a happy dance, clean my bathroom, vacuum, get Starbucks, do another happy dance, go for a run, go see a movie, clean my stove, tell everyone I know how excited I am to have a day off, lay on my couch, watch bad television etc. etc. etc.

Now, I’m pretty good with time management, and I can see clearly that I will never be able to do all of the above in a single day off.  Should I attempt to pack my day with even three quarters of those things, it will fail to be a day off at all.  10 pm will roll around, and I’ll be exhausted. 

So the question becomes, then, just how should I spend my day off?  Am I under any obligation to do any particular thing?  What if I sit in my pajamas, eat anything and everything edible in my apartment, and watch the entire Lord of the Rings Trilogy? (I don’t own it, but what the heck – I could go out and get it for the occasion).  What if I sleep until noon, then go shop at the exorbitantly priced boutiques on Damen Ave. and spend way more than I can afford on scarves, dresses, and Lululemon yoga clothes?  What if I wake up at eight, load up on snacks and coffee, get in my car, then drive north until I hit snow?  I could get out, make snow angels, scream at the top of my lungs, and then sit in the muffled whiteness.  What if I spend all day using my teacher ID to visit, for free, every museum in Chicago?  I could peruse ancient artifacts at the Field Museum, make faces at the fish at the Shedd, and sit silently and contemplatively before Monets at the Art Institute. 

I could do any of these things – and the “what if’s” are endless. The beauty of a day off is that it gives us the chance to imagine – to act like children again, when days off could be filled with trips to moon on a bicycle or treks up Mt. Everest on the incline in one’s own backyard.  It’s fun to fantasize, but at the end of it all, a day is just a day – far too small to fit all the wild dreams of one eternally grateful English teacher. 

I don’t know what I’ll do with my day tomorrow – but I do know that those twelve or so “found” hours are my oyster, and I can’t wait to find the pearl.  Here’s to free days, and filling them with anything we dare – or just filling them with dreams.

Day 22 - Go Spartans! Roll on St. Paddy's Day :)

As I sit down to write my blog for today – I have to congratulate my alma mater and current place of employment on our third state championship in school history.  Go Spartans!! I’m so proud to have spent so much of my life connected to such a wonderful school.  

Today, I spent the evening running a dance show with my own dance teacher, Kathy.  It was a small show at a local parish – the kind of show that, in my later years of dancing, I might have viewed as an obligation rather than a privilege.  I would have gone, danced, smiled, bowed, and gone on with my night.

Tonight, we had some trouble with our music.  The CD player provided to us malfunctioned, so we had to rely on the live musicians to play reels and jigs for our planned numbers.  Nothing beats dancing to live music, but it can be difficult for dancers who are not used to it. 

I was charged with announcing the show, so when I learned that we would not be able to use our CD, I was worried.  I didn’t know how the show would turn out, and I was apprehensive because I was, in part, a “face” for the performance.  Ultimately, our dancers performed beautifully.    The audience was appreciative, and the talents of both the musicians and our dancers shined. 

Watching our dancers arrive and perform, I was brought back to my own experience as a dancer.  They were so excited to be there – to dance, and be recognized and appreciated for their talent and efforts.  They loved the crowd, the music, and their own performance – and the mutual appreciation in the room was palpable.

I was reminded of the myriad reason why I love March, and I was renewed with my own enthusiasm for the coming weeks.  I have not only my birthday, but also one of my favorite holidays to look forward to – roll on St. Patrick’s Day!

Day 21 - Stations Revisited

Today marked the end of a very long week, and I ended it in a very lovely way – doing something I haven’t done since grade school.  I’d say that it qualifies as new.  Earlier in the week, my girlfriend Katie texted me to see if I wanted to go Stations of the Cross at Old St. Mary’s today.  I had tentative plans for the evening, so I wasn’t sure I would be able to go, but I found myself feeling like it was something I really needed to do.  When my other plans were rescheduled, I decided to join her.

My memories of grade school are not the sharpest, but I’m pretty sure we had to go to Stations every week during Lent (and that was how I felt about it – I had to go).  I remember the experience in that vague way that I remember so much of my childhood.  I remember the smell of the wooden pews, the shape and color of the stations hung at evenly spaced intervals around the church, and I remember having to either stand far away from each plague or climb over pews to get close to it. 

Mostly, I remember thinking that the Stations lasted so, so long.  The half hour or so they must have taken felt like an eternity in my tiny, pre-pubescent world.  My mind would wander to something, anything – most likely an upcoming test, or what was in my lunchbox, or the candy I had given up for Lent.  Feeling guilty, I would wrench my thoughts back to the moment, and try to wrap my mind around the story that was being told to me, for me, and around me.  I tried to grasp it, feel it, understand it, or identify with it in some way.  I simply could not comprehend the enormity of Christ’s journey, and invariably, I would feel as though I was missing something – like everyone else was “getting” something that I wasn’t. 

Returning to the Stations of the Cross as an adult was, in many ways, a very different experience.  Remembering how long they used to feel, I was almost startled by the brevity of the service – in the same way that, upon returning to a former grade school, one is shocked by the tiny chairs and knee-high water fountains.  There were a small number in attendance, but it was a meaningful and faith-filled experience, and I was able to draw my attention not just to the story being told, but to consider the meaning of Christ’s journey in my life – to have the kind of integrated, reflective, and truly prayerful experience I longed for as a child.

One might question whether I see any value in those hours spent at the Stations of the Cross in my youth.  The answer is an emphatic, yes. It was the seeds planted in those years, the relationship with God I didn’t realize I was building, that allowed me to fully appreciate and experience my time in Old St. Mary’s today. 

There are so many things in our lives that we do because we know, instinctively, that they are good for us.  We go to school, we read, we build relationships, we eat well, we exercise, we pray.  Often, in the midst of these endeavors, we feel like we might somehow be missing the point - like everyone is dancing and we’re the only one who can’t hear the music.  Then, one day, we have a moment like I did today – where our past experiences collide with our present, and the result is something truly beautiful and new.   Today, I’m thankful for my past and the gift it is to my present.      

Day 20 - A Good Hair Day

Hello all.  So today my something new is how I chose, or rather chose by default, to wear my hair today.  You might be thinking, oh no – she’s hit a new low.  She’s blogging about her hair.  Before you judge, indulge me with your attention.  If by the end, you feel I’ve wasted 3-5 minutes of your life, I’ll buy you a drink.

This morning I set my alarm a half hour early, as I suggested I might last night, in order to write a quiz.  The quiz, however, took more than a half hour to write, so by the time I got out of the shower – time was in very short supply.  I rushed around getting dressed, grabbing food, packing a bag to teach dance etc.  By the time I got back in front of a mirror to figure out what to do with my appearance, my hair was already halfway dry.  Rather than straighten it out with a blow dryer as I do every morning (it takes about 4 minutes) – I sprayed a little hairspray on it, fluffed it, plopped my hood over my head to protect my still damp strands from the elements, and ran out to my car.

The compliments started with my mom, although she always compliments me, so I don’t know if she counts.  “Your hair looks cute!” she said.  Others quickly followed suit.  “Ooooooh! I love your hair today!” several students in my first period class commented. “Ohmygosh we’re HAIR TWINS!” an especially exuberant student in my fourth period exclaimed.  In seventh period – my hair started a discussion.  By seventh period, a sneeze could start a discussion, so this is not remarkable.  “I love your hair like that!! Is that your natural hair!?  Why don’t you always wear your hair like that!? It’s my FAVORITE.”   A couple of my colleagues also commented on how much they liked my hair today.  It didn’t end at school, but continued to my dance studio, where one of my adorable six-year old students saw me and immediately blurted “Why is your hair curled? Your hair is always straight.” Not necessarily complimentary, but an accurate statement of fact.

The interest in and positive reaction to my hair when I leave it curly always befuddles me – mostly because I generally feel less polished and put together when I don’t blow it dry.  Curls are my default setting in the summer, but during the school year if my hair is curly, it’s usually because I’ve blown it out and re-curled it.  Crazy? Maybe.  But it got me thinking about a phenomenon called "The Ikea Effect" that I heard about on NPR.  The reporter explained the results of a study which revealed an odd pattern in human behavior. It turns out we place a higher value on those possessions or things we spend time and energy on – often overestimating or inflating that value.  It’s the reason we tend to privilege our own research in a project, think our dogs are the cutest, or believe the Ikea bookshelf we put together is worth more than the $800 one being sold at Macy’s. 

It’s not that I don’t like my hair in its natural state.  In fact, I kind of like it, and it saves me a step in the morning.  But perhaps I don’t appreciate it as much because it doesn’t involve any work.  It’s so odd that I can’t see the value in something that I haven’t spent ten precious minutes of my morning working on.  Others, however, have no problem seeing the value inherent in my God-given hair.

Sometimes we need to appreciate things just as they are – and some things in our lives just don’t need doctoring to be good.  Our faces are pretty without makeup, our bodies beautiful without Spanx.  Our family dinners are valuable without fancy food or place settings, and our quality time with one another better without the background noise of music or television.  I might pull out my blow dryer tomorrow, and I might not – but the positive reaction to my hair led me appreciate exactly what I have.

Below is the curly hair that is the subject of this blog.  It might be the only “selfie” of me ever published on the Internet.  In the future, feel free to remind me of its existence:

Day 19 - A Happy Anniversary

 Today I’m blogging in advance of my “something new.”  This premature posting is due largely in part to my energy level right now.  I know when I get home, I’ll think about writing the quiz I need to write for tomorrow, decide I can do it in the morning, set my alarm a half hour early so I can type it up then, and then I’ll go promptly to bed.

Tonight I am celebrating an anniversary with two beautiful friends of mine, and in celebration of our “friend-iversary” I’m offering my thoughts on timing, luck, and the people who are meant to grace my life with their joyful presence.

Two years ago tomorrow my friend Sheena and I decided to go to an event hosted at Old St. Pat’s.  I had recently joined the church, and the Young Adult association was putting on an evening of Irish dancing.  Now it takes guts and a little faith to go to a function at a place that is relatively new, but I had my secret weapon of eighteen years of competitive dancing in my back pocket.  If I didn’t know anyone other than Sheena, at least I knew how to dance.

When we arrived, the church basement was bustling, and there was a tiny woman with a brogue who took the mike and quickly started calling the shots.  She was not teaching individual dances, but ceilis – or group dances.  The event was a combination of people eyeing others and sizing them up while trying to figure out what to do with their hands, arms, and feet. 

A short time into the evening, Sheena and I ended up in a four-person dance with two girls who clearly knew what they were doing. Through a slightly breathless exchange while hopping and stepping around each other, we learned that they had both danced in their youth, and they were both Catholic school teachers.  We stuck together the rest of the night, and at the end we had an awkward phone number exchange that went something like this “Ummmm, so we think you guys are really great and we’d like to hang out again.”  Just a few weeks later we did, at St. Pat’s Siamsa ni Gael concert, and it has been true friendship love ever since. 

We’ve shared birthdays, parties, marathons, dance competitions, wine nights, and more in our two years of friendship – and I can’t help but feel very deeply that these two amazing women were meant to be a part of my life.  Last year at this time, we celebrated our one-year anniversary, and I couldn’t believe it had only been a year – I felt like I had known them my entire life.

There are so few people in the world that one can click with so instantaneously, and I’m so lucky that I literally danced into these two.  Finding their friendship makes me believe in the possibility of chance, and the certainty that those who are meant to be in my life will find their way there - and stay.  Happy Anniversary Erin and Antoinette. Here’s to many, many more. You girls rock . 

Day 18 - Don't Anticipate - Participate

This morning I woke up to skies that were gray but free of the impending flakes Tom Skilling promised were on the way.  As I drove to work, I contemplated what today might bring.  I thought for sure my drive home would be long and stress inducing – exacerbated by a long day at work, the “wintry mix” of sleet and snow, and highways clogged with tentative drivers and those driving too fast for conditions.  I’ve had drives home like that before, and I thought that if the day brought nothing new or exciting, I could surely blog about my drive.  I could work to find patience and serenity as I slid along ice coated streets, and skidded behind salt trucks. 

Then I rushed out of work, started my drive home, and encountered zero traffic.  Sure, the pavement wasn’t dry, and I had to turn my windshield wipers on, but the streets were salted and relatively clear.  It seemed that many people left work early or took alternate routes home because there were few cars on the road at all.  There went my “something new!”  How could I cultivate a calm mind amidst chaos when the chaos eluded me?  That got me thinking a little bit about anticipation and expectation.

There is no anticipation like the anticipation of a snowstorm amongst high school students.  They whisper about it, talk openly about, insist loudly and emphatically that it won’t happen – all the time crossing fingers and toes that it will.  This behavior is not limited to students.  In faculty rooms around school, “Snow-day” is whispered in hushed tones, weighted with a reverence generally reserved for royalty and sleeping newborn babies. 

A snow-day is like pitching a perfect game or winning the lottery – you worry that if you talk about it too much it won’t happen, and so you leave school saying “See you tomorrow!” in a voice dripping with certainty and sarcasm - tinged with optimism and a hint of desperation.  You don’t dare to hope for that day of blissful freedom, yet the possibility of it lingers in the margins of your consciousness – daring you to reach for it as it recedes before you.  One of my students imitated Patrick Stewart playing Macbeth, but instead of grasping at an invisible dagger, he snatched at the air crying “Is this a snow day that I see before me?!” It’s how we all feel this time of year, and often the promise of a heavy snowfall is far worse than clear skies and dry streets.

Today was just such a day.  I anticipated snow, and expected that its tumultuous arrival would be the subject of my blog.  The anticipation was exhausting, and my expectations for my drive home were a hindrance to this journey I am on.  This blog is not an exercise in looking forward – in anticipation - but in slowing down and noticing the realities of my life.  In my attempts to find something new, I came dangerously close to forcing something new. 

I began to think of all the times that I do this – the times I have preconceived notions about how an event, a day, a moment, or relationship should play out, happen, or progress.  Without intending to, I prefabricate my life – or at least intend to – until the rug is ripped out from under me, and I’m left wondering why the event, day, moment, or relationship didn’t fit the mold I tried to shove it in to.  I don’t want a cookie cutter life – I’ve never had one and I never will, but sometimes we all want our cookies to turn out just right.  I can’t blame myself for slipping up, but I can be responsible for remaining cognizant of this tendency in myself.  As we tell students on our Kairos retreats– don’t anticipate; participate.  Today, a little sleet, a little snow, and a hassle free drive home reminded me to be a participant in my own life. 

Day 17 - A Pinterest Recipe Conquered

Be forewarned: today I’m going to be one of those people who shares pictures of her dinner. 

Today I conquered a Pinterest recipe.  I went to Jewel after yoga, and, of course, my phone only had 2% battery left when I got there, and I didn’t have my car charger.  Therefore, I had to guess at the ingredients for the avocado chicken salad with cilantro and lime that I wanted to make.  I figured if I got those four ingredients, I’d be pretty much set.  I was right.  I loaded up my basket with fresh cilantro, lime, and avocado, and cheated with canned chicken (hey – give me a break ok?)  Then I even bought fresh bread at the bakery counter to toast and make open faced sandwiches, and I topped my basket off with the fixings for a goat cheese, cranberry, walnut salad (I know they don’t go together. I don’t care.)  I apologize if I’m sounding defensive about my dinner.  It’s wholly unnecessary.

As I checked out, I decided to recommit to going green at the grocery store, and bought two new re-usable bags in my favorite color.  Turns out I only needed one, because the contents of my basket- that would normally be bagged in three or more plastic bags - fit in just one re-usable bag.  So genius! So environmentally sound! So much easier to carry up to my apartment!  I took a picture of the before:

And the after (look how much stuff fits in there!):

Now the challenge is to make sure the bags make it back into the trunk of my car and into Jewel the next time I shop.  For some reason, that is a very real and serious challenge for me.

When I got everything unpacked from my sweet, magical, bottomless bag, I started on the making of my chicken salad.  I will not bore you with all the details - just some of them.  I chopped up fresh cilantro and green onion I had left over in my fridge (it was a bit dodgy).  Then I diced the avocado which, despite Jewel’s claim that it was “RIPE NOW!” – was not, indeed, ripe.  I figured I could tolerate about half of it, so I cut it up really small and tossed it together with the chicken, onion, and a mixture of lime juice and mayo. In case you were wondering, lime juice does amazing things to mayonnaise, and the dressing was delish (Yes, I just said "delish"): 

I toasted my bread, made my salad, and fixed it up nice and tidy on a plate.  I cracked open my bottle of Cupcake Pinot, and sat down to my very Pinterest-y dinner. 

I have an aversion to monochromatic meals, and the chicken salad runs dangerously close to being “too many green things on a plate,” but the salad and bread shook up the color palate just enough.  I think I liked the salad better than the sandwich  (of course – it was infinitely easier to make), but all in all it was a good meal. While I ate, I watched videos of Jennifer Lawrence being adorable - which made the experience even better.  One recipe down, fifty-some to go before I make everything on my "Recipes to Try" board.  Maybe I’ll go for those soft, chewy, delicious cookies next.  Here’s to Monday friends.