This weekend, hubby is flying to Argentina for work meetings, and later next week he flies on to Sao Paulo, Brazil, for more meetings.

Its funny to me when people who know us hear of the exotic locales that hubby visits as part of his job. He has literally flown all over the world, and samples virtually every sort of cuisine. Oddly enough he speaks NO languages other than English. (To his credit, he does know a few basics in Cantoneese.)

I speak Spanish & French (not well, but enough to get by) and yet have never travelled outside of North America: Canada, Mexico, the carribean and Bermuda are the only "international" desitnations I have enjoyed.

In my past life as a software trainer, however, I did venture across all regions of the United States. On one of these trips, my boss accompanied me. We arrived at the airport to head home from Atlanta, when we learned our flight was delayed at least four hours due to bad weather, I coaxed her into checking our bags and jumping on the subway/metro/whatever-they-call-their-public-transporation system, and browse around downtown Atlanta for a bit. I'll never forget her chuckling and admitting to me, "You know if it was me, I would have just sat at the airport and waited. I could never just take a train on my own!"

Both hubby and I agree that you really get a "feel" for a locality by utilizing its public transit system. You encounter everyday people, everyday neighborhoods...things that aren't included in a tourist brochure when you ride the rails. In Europe & Asia, he has raved about the convenience of the train and subway systems that he used.

That said, I do believe that when in South America or Mexico, hubby and his co-worker(s) usually end up in private hired car services. From what I understand, safety is a part of the equation as well as efficiency. I find it interesting that, when in the US, most business travelers ALSO utilize cabs, limos, or rentals cars.

I am not sure what that says about American interest in passenger rail. Unfortunately, we have had many crises in the Chicagoland area with our transit agencies due to federal cutbacks.

I hear and read alot of talk about "green" incentives. I truly feel that a high-tech, infrastructure investment in efficient passenger-only rail service could be a great solution for the gridlock (and air pollution) now a way of life in metropolitan areas across the country.

But sadly, even the systems we have in place are havens for crime - even in mid-day. In my hometown of Philadelphia, a 36-year-old manager of a Starbucks was beaten to death  while waiting for his subway train by a gang of high school students in an apparent robbery attempt.

Recently in Chicago, a young man, on his way to school on a CTA Bus, was shot and kiled for no apparent reason.

I'm saddened whenever I hear of these events because it is not just a blow to our social sructure in general (as crimes always are) but specifically it lessens the support and usage of transit.

In graduate school, I studied to be a transit planner, learning complicated mathematical formulas for calculating route scheduling, car capacity and more. No one ever taught us, however, how to increase the desire for ridership and capital investment into such systems.

Do you enjoy surprises?

Genuinely speaking, I do not.

I'm boring that way.  I suppose its due to my leanings toward a Type-A personality that turn "surprises" into "things to worry about because I can neither control nor understand them."

Despite that, as I have mentioned elsewhere, I signed up my family to be part of a Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) farm cooperative.

How does the "surprise" theme figure into my newfound granola-ish lifestyle choice? Well, depending on conditions, the farmer delivers a big box of...whatever grew well given conditions, season, etc.

I received an email update tonight from the farm mananger. She (yes, a woman owns and runs this organic farm! DOUBLE granola points!) noted that our boxes will be delivered next Thursday, April 7th.

I still have not learned to make canned goods yet. I suppose I could buy a "kit" to do this but I'm going to rely on my penchant for making creative salads, stews, soups, juices and sauces  to "use up" any particular "surplus" item we receive. If I'm completely flummoxed, I do have two large boxes of freezer bags, so hopefully some of the stuff will be freezable. I know that giving items away via donation or sharing with a neighbor is an option but I do have to prove this food experiment to my budget officer, (aka - my husband) as well as to myself in terms of cost-benefit.

I don't like surprises...but I am really excited to get my first Mystery Box of organic produce.

After our stomach-stuffing brunch, I took this picture of my daughter playing outside:


I know I'll be regretting wishing for warmer weather once it turns to 90 and humid in July, but this is getting ridiculous! Will spring PLEASE come?!?

Yesterday afternoon, I was in a tizzy, trying to get my daughter to nap so that she'd be able to manage the marathon Mass (2 hrs+) that is Easter Vigil. I thought about bagging our plans to do Church at night so that we could indulge in Asti Spumante, chocolates and cured, glazed prok products all morning, and instead awaken early for a morning Mass.

Luckily, she did finally sleep, and later, we readied ourselves. Despite the objections of my family members who deemed my frock "too loud for church," I donned a silky knit animal print dress and some pointy-toed, knee-high boots (we have snow on the gound...not the weather for peep-toe shoes!)

The first good omens were securing a good parking spot and a roomy pew. From  there, everything went well, and my daughter behaved nicely. My husband kept his eye-rolling to a minimum. We did have a few stifled snickers together when one of the cantors began in too high of a key and botched her psalm...but other than that it was a lovely - and quite moving - service.

As I type, I have a glazed ham warming and homemade scalloped potatoes bubbling in the oven. The Ballatore is chillin' in the 'fridge and the glazed Easter cake is tempting me, but will remain wrapped until the time is right.

I have busted into some of the Whoppers eggs and Jelly Bellies brought by The Bunny...who almost didn't make it this year.

Last night, I knew I had to ready the Bunny goodies for the kiddo. I kept reminding myself over and over to do it once she was sound asleep. Thinking it would take awhile to kick in,  I took a Restoril to get a decent sleep (I've been sleep-deprived the past few days) and planned to head to my hiding spot to fill plastic eggs with pastel m&m's.  I ended up conking out and waking up at 8 am with no basket ready!

Whoops!

I snuk into the basement, and fortunately the kid was engrossed in morning cartoons in the family room. I managed to stealthily fill the eggs, and put together a basket brimming with goodies.

I dashed upstairs, again, unnoticed, and told my husband to alert the child that something got the dogs upset (they were barking as usal in the morning for me to get up and walk them.) She came dashing up, I pretended to just be awakening from slumber, rubbing my eyes.

Excitedly, she explained, "Mom, I was awake all night so I guess the Bunny couldn't come. So I went downstairs to watch tv. I guess he waited for me to get out of sight before he tossed the basket through the window and did a quick repair!"

OK... I never thought of the bunny as a sort of benevolent vandal but if it works for her, it works for me!

Unless you possess some understanding of:

• the level of immaturity inherent in most college students
• fun with prank phone calling prior to the advent of caller ID
  
• Evanston public access television and its "personalities"

 
then you will not find this tale amusing, entertaining, or beguiling and you should move on.

If, however, you wish to discover HOW a character known as Cassandra Meade  (as well as Brandy Jantzen, the "author" of this blog) came to be, then here is the story.

College students - despite low cash flow, limited time, and lack of so-called "common sense" - have an uncanny knack for acquiring the barest of necessities to survive in the real world, such as cable television.

While kicking back after a rigorous day of studies, my roommate, Bridgette, and I happened upon a re-airing of "The Rob Linkhart Show" – Evanston Public Access Television's answer to Late Night with David Letterman. Midway through the show, our housemates enter the apartment. The homespun qualities of said show are discussed with much amusement and delight with our upstairs flatmates Dan, Aaron and Sanford. A habit soon develops in the house: watching the show together, taking note of Rob's quirky style and mannerisms, snickering, drinking Olympia beer ("It's The Water!"), more snickering.

In time, a plan is hatched to shake things up at The Rob Linkhart Show.

As it happened, Sanford's girlfriend at the time was a production assistant at the show, so she alerted us to live airings and "call-in" opportunities.

We gathered together one afternoon, popped on the show, and to our delight, a local telephone number flashed on the screen. I was designated as the person to make the crank phone call, pretending to be a sexy fan with stalker tendencies. At the time, I was a smoker, so I already possessed a gravelly quality to my voice. I breathily spoke on the air to Rob, and made remarks akin to innuendo about naughty "games" that we could play together.

After I hung up, laughter ensued, and even more beers were consumed. We decided to up the ante.

I called in again, and finally gave my name to the flummoxed (but, apparently flattered and intrigued) host: "Cassandra."

Rob then began to refer to me by name during the show. He was hooked…and so were we. The prank took a turn toward the be-wigged when we decided to be part of the live studio audience.  I was too chicken to go as my usual freckled, spunky, red-haired self. I decided to complete the Cassandra character with a thick, lustrous brunette hairdo, false eyelashes, and a pout of red lipstick. To aid my plan, I visited a local theatrical shop, and immediately was attracted to the look that exemplified Cassandra.

The gang of us attended the show the following week, and poor Rob seemed visibly shaken by the "new blood" in the studio. Meanwhile, I began getting so many compliments about my "hair" that I began using my investment more often. I discovered it came in quite handy during cold Chicago winters when making the trek from the El platform to our favorite dive bars – it was the most glamorous "hat" I ever had! And of course, besides being warm, it didn't mess-up my hair

So what began as a joke, became a small obsession for me, leading me to acquire additional wigs such as "Midge," (a short, full angled bob) and of course, "Brandy," a long, red, rocker-chick number. At the peak of my fetish, I believe I had in rotation  6 wigs.

Many of them now reside silently in my attic, along with the kitschy vintage outfits that accompanied them to various nightspots on Chicago's Northside. Some have gotten a second life of rotation via Halloween costumes or in theatrical productions. But I'll never forget "Cassandra," my first.

As Cassandra, (with my college friend, Philip), April 1991

 

Cassandra, heading out for Halloween, October 1991

As "Brandy" (with vintage leopard scarf in hair), circa 1992

Part of my collection: "Brandy" modelled by Aaron; "Midge" on me, and "Cassandra" modelled by Odie

 

The decision is in and our Spring Break trip is cancelled.

The factors that helped me arrive at that decision are:

1.) my yard looks like crap so if its anywhere above 50 degrees in the next few days, I will be out cleaning and gardening

2.) there is still snow (and accompanying bitter temps) up at the Wisconsin house so...what is the point? We can't use either screened porch, go to any of the parks or go hiking so...

3.) I still need to find elements for my ensemble to wear to my daughter's First Holy Communion in April. I got a GREAT jacket from a neat boutique (and at half-price!) but I'd like a black pencil skirt to go with it, perhaps some magenta kitten-heel pumps, too. I do have a new pair of black slacks as a backup but I was hoping to be a bit "dressier" My daughter is an INCREDIBLE shopper so I'll take her with me to find something just right.

4.) My husband is jetting off to Brazil next weekened for work, and realized he'd like to be at work next week to finalize things before his trip

5.) I got a coupon in the mail for the spa that does kiddie mani-pedi's so I'll probably treat the kiddo and myself to some spa time.

6.) My daughter and I both agree we'd rather go to our own parish for Holy Week/Easter services

Oh well...

I am friendly with a guy I know from my Church.  I say "friendly with" and not "friends with" - that is an important distinction.

Before you read any innuendo into it there is NOTHING remotely sexual about this friendliness between the two of us. Anyone who knows him could verify that (read into that what you will...)

We have discovered over the years that we have so much in common. Most important of these shared traits, is our combination of genuine interest in faith and spirituality mixed with a healthly level of fascination with "minor" vices and earthly pleasures (casinos, spa culture, food, pets, pop culture, shopping, etc.)

We share "private jokes" between us, and often find others shaking their heads at us when we engage in our silliness and joking around. But for various reasons, our relationship is kept at arms length.

He is close to my age, of the same ethnicity (LOTS of "in jokes" between us on that topic alone!) and of course the same religion. If you haven't guessed by now...he's one of my parish priests.

I knew this day would come, but I found out recently that he'll be moving on to another parish sometime next year. (Priests serve various terms at a given parish and then are shifted around as they are needed in the diocese.)

I am not sure whether to be devastated by this or happy. I wonder if our connection was not as priest-parishioner, if there could ever be an actual friendship?

Knowing what I do of him and his habits,  I suspect he'll retreat into his new life and leave the rest behind. I am guessing it would be no different than how a doctor or counselor is with their "patients:"  if you ran into them at the grocery store you'd get a "hello!" but that's about it.  I am guessing there is always a fear that when socializing with "civilians," they would dump their troubles, complaints, and needs on you at innopportune moments and never allow you, the "service provider," to just be yourself and have "down time."

Its unfortunate, but I completely understand the practicality of it all.

I am most fearful that my faith cohesiveness may suffer without his homilies or classes to connect my point-of-view and way of seeing God and the world around me to the larger Church community. Not that I'd ever consider myself a "follower" of him, or anyone else for that matter. Its just that, so far, he's been my favorite travel partner along my spiritual journey.

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.