Spring Break for our school district begins on Thursday. We planned to go up to the Wisconsin cabin ("El Cabino") and open it up for the season. One day, I was going to take our daughter to a Wisconsin Dells indoor waterpark while dad did some home repairs. However, according to our security cam, there is still plenty of snow on the ground up there! Our house is on a private UN-plowed road, so if there is still too much snow, we cannot get to the house via the Rockin' Van.

 Here in Illinois, it is also chilly, although much of the snow has melted and the puddles have evaporated.

Our vacation plans are also nebulous in my mind because I am getting antsy about my daughter's upcoming First Holy Communion on April 19th. My entire family, plus her godparents, are descending upon our Illinois home to atttend the ceremony and a luncheon (at a local restaurant, thank GOD!) But they will be by various times throughout the weekend. There is much work to be done at this property prior to the big day.

Speaking of which...I meet with a contractor tomorrow regarding the piteous state of our gravel (more like mud-bog) driveway and parking area. As of May this year we will be in this house for 10 years. In my opinion, its about time to finally PAVE the driveway.

How lame am I that I'd forgo a trip to the woods to see if I could squeeze in some time supervising a crew of steamrollers, backhoes and cement mixers?

Warning: Since I feel I'm overdue for a discussion of my guts, here is an update. If this sort of thing makes you sick, then scroll down to more amusing posts.

I am rounding the bend in the last week of my Lenten "sacrifice" of no coffee or coffee drinks (lattes, etc.)

However, my switch to tea seems to have had wonderful benefits to my overall sense of well-being.

In November, I began having episodes of severe epigastric pain. In January, via endoscopy,  it was discovered that I had bile reflux which was irritating my stomach and if left untreated can lead to stomach cancer.

The goal in treating this is to reduce the cause of the reflux, since all liver & pancreatics tests were THANKFULLY normal.

I made some small changes, including going back on my banned-in-the-USA med, Zelnorm and it seems to have made a WORLD of difference. No "backups" of my plumbing, so the bile can stay in the small intestine where it belongs. I also feel that switching to tea has helped. Despite what is said about coffee having a laxative effect, it never seemed to "work" that way for me. One large mug of Earl Grey tea in the morning somehow seems to work well with making me feel "normal" and because of that, I have not had any tummy pain the entirety of Lent (when I made the switch.)

I am having mild issues of basic acid reflux, but as long as I eat very small meals/snacks through the day instead of 3 bigger ones, it seems to be tolerable. I have chosen not to take prilosec, zantac, etc., because my symptoms are so tolerable, its not worth the headaches and expense for the OTC's for indigestion.

Somehow, I have a feeling that my Lenten promise of "sacrifice" (because I did used to love my coffee) has yieded a blessing for me in terms of physical self-discovery. In fact, I don't miss coffee at all anymore. So was it really a sacrifice? Those first 3-4 days, YES! But now I'm "over" it and smiling.

In the wintry months of my junior year of college(circa 1990,) I was introduced to a bar in the (then) offbeat Chicago neighborhood of Wicker Park. At the time I was a college radio dj, and likely the first thing I noticed was how many members of various local bands were in attendance. I spied these characters, sipping at their Hacker-Schorr Weiss beers, carefully tipping back the mammoth glasses so as not to have the accompanying lemon wedges spill on to their goatees. Other less monetarily-endowed patrons (much like myself) enjoyed the $1 glasses of Leinenkugel.

As the years went on, I graduated and moved into a charming apartment in a Northside enclave known as Andersonville. Andersonville (and adjacent neighborhoods) had its own wonderful selection of small bars and taverns, each with its a unique ambiance. But despite the proximity of these, I was continually drawn miles down Damen Avenue to that dark, Wicker Park cavern of knotty pine and red vinyl. Luckily the Damen Avenue bus dead-ended at my street, so I could hop a ride, noting each stop with schoolgirl glee in anticipation of the night's events.

This bar was NOT a pick-up place, nor a date place. To some, it was a see-and-be-seen joint; to others it was a haven for cheap drinks and fantastic, eclectic music spun on the house turntable by the bartenders. The bartenders were also well-known musicians among the crowd of regulars.

And then there was the bouncer, Ken.

I never once saw Ken actually "bounce" anyone. Despite the (at the time) seedy locale, the crowds, though varying depending on night of the week, always seemed amiable. Ken sat perched atop a barstool at the entrance wearing a beret and looking very much like a beefier, more fit Philip Michael Thomas, minus the pastel suits. Occasionally he'd help the bartenders by washing glassware. As my best friends and I became not one or two but three to four-night-a-week regulars, we'd sometimes get a, "Goodnight" from Ken as we left. He was an enigma.

Then one night, in what must have been the waning days of winter, my friend, Bridgette, and I were approached by Ken. As we sat at the bar, he walked to us, handed me a business card with a handwritten address on the back.

"I'm having a party next Friday night," he said. "You girls should come."

We were both so simultaneously shocked and thrilled, we just stared back. Finally one of us muttered, "Thanks."

Our next move was to rush into the bathroom to further examine the "evidence" (the card) of what we thought was our validation into the Rainbo Hall of Fame.

On the front of the card was the bar info and simply "Ken" in the corner. On the back was scrawled an address in the 2100 block of West Washington. If you know Chicago, you know that is the Westside, likely even sketchier of an area than that of our beloved tavern. We were undeterred.

The following week, with the giddy combination of excitement and fear, we headed to the private party. As we walked up to his home, we read a sign on the door:

I believe it also listed some sort of Evangelical affiliation, or at least had a Cross on it. In other words, his party was (apparently) an opportunity for him or his pastor or SOMEONE to attract a new group of young people into the fold to hear about Jesus.

 We must have spent 10 minutes on his front stoop, shivering in the cold, trying to decide what to do. Bridgette and I, both raised Catholic but at the time very loosely affiliated with that persuation, had great doubt (that it would be fun) and fear (that they'd try to indoctrinate us) relating to this situation.

In the end, we fled the scene with disappointment and still feeling a bit confused. Ken never spoke to us again. Not that he was nasty; I'm guessing that the Spirit just  didn't move him off his barstool.

In retrospect, I feel I acted a bit like Peter, denying Jesus when it hit the fan in the wee hours before Good Friday, then rejoining his friends a few days later. To this day, I wish I could re-do that scene as the person I am today: confident in my faith, happy to enjoy the spirit of fellowship with other children of God, and gracious enough to follow-through on a personally-delivered invitation.

Within the past few months in our town, an Ethan Allen furniture gallery closed it doors. A Goodwill "retail store and donation center" opened in its place.

OK, take in that bit of irony first...

Part two of the story:

I decided to browse the new Goodwill, and luckily, I snagged 3 pairs of bargain-priced capri pants in hopeful anticipation of spring. As I was browsing, I noticed a thin figure with two-toned, ratty blonde hair piled on her head. She looked familiar (see entry on 11/16/07). As I turned the corner, I could not help but notice...BLACK FURRY YETI BOOTS!

Yes, in a bizzarre juxtaposition, I saw Ms. Porche-driving, 30-fur-coat-buying, plastic surgery victim shopping at the Goodwill!

Somehow that sighting imparted a different cache on the store than I ever expected...

Last year, about this time inthe Lenten season, our family got some take-out fish for dinner. (No NOT this.) (Or this.)

It was enjoyable...until my throat began to close up and in desperation I guzzled a quart of kids benadryl (it worked.)

I have a seafood allergy, and per my Allergist, I now have to carry an Epi-pen.

This year for Lent for safety reasons, we just go the vegetarian route. I have already made:

• Indian food (delicous biryani, buttery nan, dal, curried veggies.)
• Roasted Red Pepper soup & "gourmet" grilled cheese
  
• Cheese pizza (bor-ing...)
• Cavatelli with three-cheese rose sauce (ok well that was from a local trattoria...)

I need to lay off the cheese because as you may or may not be aware, it is BINDING and, uh, I'he been having "issues" and need to avoid constipating items.

I am out of ideas and ALREADY feeling hungry for dinner. Consider this my solicitation for suggestions. (PS - I don't really like potatoes and my family won't eat lentils althought I LOVE homemade lentil sloppy- joes.)

I took another all-knowing online quiz. This I found courtesy of some stylish gents whose critiques of pop culture figures I enjoy immensely...

Anyway, I found an quick and easy way to pay off the $2600 bill for my new transmission.

My second-grader had her say this morning at the bus stop about tonight's Project Runway finale show:

Me: Who do you think will win?

Her: Well, Julian, I think is the best designer but she didn't use any good colors. Christian used a few more colors because he used tan. And Rami makes some pretty things, so I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

Me: Jillian. Her name is Jillian.

Her: I think Julian makes the best dresses. Christian makes some weird things. But he uses more colors.

Me: (again) Her name is Jillian.


Last week, she offered her assessment of the Rami vs. Chris March showdown:

Her: You know, I think Chris' best talent is that he would be a really good friend.

I thought that was a truly insightful and on-target critique!

No, not men decked out in wigs, lipstick and sequins...I'm talking about those sometimes difficult and often taken-for-granted items we know as Automatic Transmissions.

In October I bought a new-to-me 2005 Mercury Sable with 40k miles on it. It was a good price, in good condition, but out of factory warranty. With my 1998 Taurus, (virtually the same car) we had few major problems with it; just inconvenient little things requiring inexpensive DIY repairs...until, of course, last year when the poor thing literally fell apart.

Friday, while driving my husband to the train station, child riding in the backseat, I felt that tell-tale "clunk." The transmission started slipping out of gear. As our ride continued the problem got worse until I could not drive out of first gear. I doubted I'd even make it the 3 miles home...so I put on my hazards and coasted 2 blocks up the street to an AAMCO station. THANK GOD they were still taking customers that late in the day, their neon "OPEN" sign like a beacon of hope on that cold and blustery afternoon.

I knew that in a pinch I could loan my daughter my gloves (she forgot hers!) and we could walk the 2-3 blocks in the freezing February air toward the train station and take a cab home, but the owner of the AAMCO would have none of it. He noted my car would be in the shop for a few days (fine w. me, because I have the fallback of the Rockin' Van) and since my house was on his way home, he'd drop us off.

After further testing (and I trust this shop b/c I have used them before for system flushes for the Taurus) the Sable needs a rebuilt transmission.

Damn!!!!

I was disappointed with the news, but then...I was considering how it is merely an inconvenience, not a tragedy. We are in the fortunate position to be able to pay for the rebuild without worrying about it impacting our food purchases, prescriptions, heating bills or mortgage. Thanks, busted tranny, for making me grateful for the safety nets in my life.

I have noted my interest in spa treatments - from massage to coffee wraps, facials to saunas.

However, despite the fact that their facilities look incredibly luxurious and relaxing, I don't think I'll be "treating" myself to this service anytime soon:

(from the Juvenex specialty menu:)

GYNO SPA CURE: Try this ancient remedy that Asian cultures have known for centuries. Utilizing healing herbs to irrigate the vaginal passage to restore optimum health. Available for the first time in the U.S.

30 Minutes ‑ $75 - 12 Sessions for $750

Make it in gingham? Somehow I thought it was more fun if you make it in bed?!

(Oops,did I say that?)