tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-102094622024-03-13T12:30:32.205-05:00The Crafter in the RaftersA collection of crafting ideas, projects, and how tos.celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.comBlogger58125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-42365221600115807082009-09-14T13:56:00.002-05:002009-09-14T13:59:07.017-05:00Blog RebootI've decided to restart my blog, but under a different name and with a different purpose. "Eclectic" was all about my life and my thoughts about my life. And while that was meaningful to me and somewhat helpful, writing about the things that go on in my everyday life just didn't seem to hold my attention too much. So, I've decided to write about something I like a lot, something specific (and no, that would not be my handsome soon-to-be-husband). I'm thinking crafts instead.<br />
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Planning my upcoming wedding has gotten me thinking about a lot about crafting. I'm what you could call at DIY bride. I'd rather figure out a way to do it myself than to buy something pre-made. So, I've been scouring the internet for wedding project ideas, and wracking my brain for a few more, especially projects that highlight my own kind of flair. <br />
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In future entries, I'll be talking about the projects I'm working on and, of course, showing pictures of my progress. I have absolutely no idea how these projects are going to turn out, but I can't wait to try!celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-33264627100542818882008-05-01T12:38:00.008-05:002008-05-01T13:15:33.062-05:00Meet My Physical Terrorist...I Mean TherapistSo, four weeks ago, I tore ligaments in my left index finger during an Aikido class. It really didn't hurt, and I didn't think I was a problem until my finger swelled up to twice its normal size and my hand developed nasty-looking purple bruises on the back. My MD told me to ice it, put a splint on it (that I had to buy at the local Walgreen's), and get a squeezy ball for when I took the splint off. He made no mention of needing to see him again or of needing any additional physical therapy. I followed his instructions to the letter.<br /><br />Well, that was until I took the splint off after four weeks and realized that my finger is now perfectly straight (my double-jointed fingers are never perfectly straight) and that I can't bend the dang thing without bursting into sobbing tears. That's bad. I'm left handed and a guitar player. Although a straight finger would make bar chords really easy for me, I just can't go through life with a finger that makes me look like I'm pointing at everyone and everything. It's rude! Somehow I doubt that a squeezy ball is going to fix that problem!<br /><br />So, today I went to a hand specialist who informed me that my finger should never have been immobilized (fabulous!). So, now I have several weeks of physical therapy to go through in order to get the finger back to its normal, unusually flexible self. You might be giggling and thinking how silly physical therapy for a finger sounds. I did that myself. I especially cracked up when I started thinking about painting a face on my finger, adding some hair to the top, and doing finger puppets with it :-)<br /><br />Sadly, that's not what happened. By the end of the 15 minutes of therapy with a very nice, if not slightly sadistic, woman, I was near tears and debating whether I could actually leave the finger straight and still function normally. She gave me exercises that I need to do six times a day, 10 times each. These exercises basically force the finger to flex, even when it don't wanna. And it really don't wanna! The movement is searingly painful, and I can feel the ligament move when I'm doing them, which just gives me the willies! I keep picturing the thing snapping right off my finger and through my skin. (OK, I've been watching too much Anime; I admit it.) What evil creature came up with these dastardly exercises anyway?<br /><br />The good news is that with my new and improved buddy strap, I can keep doing Aikido, which I've been doing all along anyway, and I will be back to normal in a few weeks. It's just going to be a very painful few weeks!celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-15481209984536417532007-06-01T14:19:00.000-05:002007-06-01T14:43:44.348-05:00Bermuda!!So, I may complain from time to time about my job, but I can't deny that the benefits are fabulous! I was informed this week that I'm going to Bermuda for our big annual meeting. What a great birthday gift...an all-expense-paid trip to Bermuda! I know I'm going to be working really long days, but it's Bermuda!! Even if I have to go to the beach at midnight, I will! I probably won't get to enjoy much of the scenery, but I will do what I can while I'm there. I just can't wait!<br /><br />I really haven't traveled much. Most of my trips consist of going back home to Michigan for one reason or another. I've been to Disney World and to New York, Baltimore, and Washington D.C., but that's about it. Going to Quebec for my honeymoon is really only "foreign" trip I've taken, so having the opportunity to go to Bermuda is just absolutely awesome!! And, I've always wanted my passport, so this is a great opportunity for me to get it. Of course, getting it on such short notice (I leave in two weeks) is a bit of a freaky endeavor, but it'll be fine. <br /><br />It's funny, as soon as I was told that I was going, my mind flooded with things like "my bathing suit is nine years old, I need a new one" and "dear God, do I own shorts that fit?". Needless to say, I've got a lot to do before I leave that doesn't involve getting things done at work. This is a big deal for my company, so I want to make sure that I represent them well, especially since I'd like to go to the AGM again (although next year it won't be in Bermuda). I'm really excited though. I can't wait for June 16th!!celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-69402293500273000322007-04-24T11:11:00.000-05:002007-04-24T11:26:13.755-05:00I PASSED!!It's official! I actually get to graduate! After five years of working on my master's degree, I'm finally finished. There was some question on whether I would get to graduate, given the fact that I didn't pass the master's exam the first time around. But, the retake results are in and I passed!! I turned in my last research paper and reading journal last night, so I'm good to go.<br /><br />I can't tell you how happy I am that I get to graduate. It's been a long haul. I've literally put my blood, sweat, and tears into getting this degree. It's not that I actually intend to change careers--I like my job that pays me really well--now that I have it. My reasons for getting this degree really don't have much to do with my job. Starting this program was one of the first things I did that was just for me. I didn't do it to compete with my friends, or to please my parents, or because I was expected to. I did it because <em>I wanted</em> to. I don't always do what I want. Most of the time, I do what other people want or expect from me. But this, this was mine. And it didn't come easy. I definitely struggled along the way with school and with myself.<br /><br />In the end though, I'm proud of myself for what I have accomplished. And for me to be able to say that is the best gift in the world.celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-4706020861254762662007-04-03T16:08:00.000-05:002007-04-10T16:36:10.537-05:00My New Little FriendAs sad as it was to say good-bye to Victoria, I am pleased to announce that a new little critter has weedled his way into my heart. Meet Quigley:<br /><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5049312616367672834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmLhBHoSp8IL9Tqljc98RA_pf5RfsXJCVM4j7bIRD2JlImzp9SD1DJ4_kxyMm9BCophW4vnMqq9GkMv9z8U6zrfW8toq3hFxLosdIGPj3b6iS1ATxhMr5XCmtrC1HAkYnJvKQh/s320/Quigley.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p>He's four months old and an absolute sweetheart. I went into the Anti-Cruelty Society with every intention of picking out a very small kitten, like in the 8 to 9 week bracket. But, they were all adopted. I was decidedly disappointed, until a little brown stripey paw grabbed my finger. He had my undivided attention as he rolled on his back and looked lovingly at me. That sealed it. I just had to bring him home. I'm such a sucker.</p><p>I've never had such a snuggly cat. Victoria snuggled, but not like this. He wants to sleep on my chest. He wants to be held. He likes kisses and being carried through the house. It's a bit strange for me, but I'm not complaining. He's a joy to have, but he's also definitely a kitten. There's a lot of jumping and running and playing going on in my apartment now. So much so that I have to leave the house to get anything done. Even eating is a challenge. I officially do not like paw prints in my sandwiches. Personal preference.</p><p>But, in the end, I can't resist that little face. He doesn't replace Victoria, no kitty ever will, but he's a very special kitty, and I'm happy that I get share my life with him.<br /></p><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5049317237752483346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgumFRpDsk80fVCvLaKuhBjgRUFQia0fSHlqkR48NW7_atxLkE7BLF78o0QsH9sh_ZQx1z32GdqwEgoJ1_nO6mLSEhvFvteyKJXDlFtrg1G2lDvqqj4K01YbkXGTeM7hmZ6tEha/s320/491416da5dd8%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" />celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-41835260389590682822007-03-06T08:55:00.000-06:002007-03-06T09:46:33.871-06:00Good Bye, Miss Kitty<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNJu9xZHiZ84e36BpK5YY-ezli5BSFV31Ytznp0IvknhBCZfoGiVZLRo_SV-WtWTmGOx2b4VH5XDPP6fQyOF7KkFjbzmD6HxRVieyZfjAZ2th1tmiH6JbKajRGeti_OuB7CuTK/s1600-h/Miss+Vicky.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038829455418111698" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 279px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 215px" height="212" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNJu9xZHiZ84e36BpK5YY-ezli5BSFV31Ytznp0IvknhBCZfoGiVZLRo_SV-WtWTmGOx2b4VH5XDPP6fQyOF7KkFjbzmD6HxRVieyZfjAZ2th1tmiH6JbKajRGeti_OuB7CuTK/s320/Miss+Vicky.jpg" width="293" border="0" /></a>It's never easy to say "good bye" to someone you love. Last Sunday, I said good bye to my little girl. I had been planning on taking her back to Manistee and putting her to sleep there, but she and Mother Nature had different plans.<br /><br />She weedled her way into my heart from the moment I first saw her hiding in the back of her cage at the Anti-Cruelty Society. She was everything you could ask for in a furry companion and a few things you probably wouldn't want. But, she was never boring. She had personality, and she filled my life with companionship and happiness (also bite marks and scars).<br /><br />My apartment feels empty now. Her toys have all been boxed up, and her tent put away. You wouldn't think that something so small could leave such a big hole, but she did. I miss her, the random showering episodes, her refusal to allow me to go to the bathroom alone, her greeting me at the door when I come home, her hogging the bed. I miss it all.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWVlV71DW-VEjjTZzWJkZC73BBsA8LRWQPJvVFCPtxoxiPVc_8Q357fcY9IMGraviUKamzPHHr-9gDnfpGKBsmHUF1vZWzFIsoLUCFdLC2eYzJJmx-9obRiJvpW2Jwegq4FXqx/s1600-h/Surprise+Vicky.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038832775427831522" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" height="208" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWVlV71DW-VEjjTZzWJkZC73BBsA8LRWQPJvVFCPtxoxiPVc_8Q357fcY9IMGraviUKamzPHHr-9gDnfpGKBsmHUF1vZWzFIsoLUCFdLC2eYzJJmx-9obRiJvpW2Jwegq4FXqx/s320/Surprise+Vicky.jpg" width="275" border="0" /></a>But despite missing her, I think I'm ready to move on. I had plenty of time to prepare for what was going to happen eventually. And even if the timing of it was out of my control, she went very peacefully. I couldn't have asked for it to have gone better actually, for my sake and for hers.<br /><br />I will always remember her fondly. Eight years of constant companionship will not be forgotten. But, I think I'm ready to start thinking about getting another kitty. It won't happen right away. But sometime soon, a little fuzzy one will strike my fancy and I'll just have to bring him or her home with me.<br /><br />In the meantime though, I hope my little queen is raising holy hell in heaven. That was, after all, what she was happiest doing, and she was definitely good at it!celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-7606589210589235462007-02-02T09:53:00.000-06:002007-02-02T10:16:00.846-06:00Well, That's News.Apparently, there was a bomb in my building yesterday. Both the <a href="http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/chi-060202pipe-bombs,1,4082789.story?coll=chi-news-hed">Tribune</a> and the <a href="http://www.suntimes.com/news/metro/240590,020207package.article">Sun Times </a>have articles about it. It seems that everybody knew about this incident, except those of us who work in the building. The building management never told us that there was a bomb. They didn't evacuate us. They just quietly called the police and hoped nobody would notice the police cars and bomb squad officers milling around the building. <br /><br />It took me a long time to get used to working across the street from the biggest terrorist target in Chicago. I freaked out just a little when the government uncovered the incredibly poorly planned attack on the Sears Tower, even though I knew it was nothing. Somehow I felt safe. I believed that the building would do what was in its power to protect the people who spend the majority of their lives between these walls. Now, I'm not so sure. My company wasn't notified of the incident until 5:30, almost three hours after it happened. And all our people were told was that there was an incident with one of the tenants and the police had been called. Yeah, there was an incident alright...somebody sent someone here a bomb! Hello! Don'tcha think communication would be a good thing here?<br /><br />My favorite part of the articles is where they say that the bomb didn't do what it was intended to do. Really. It didn't blow up? How nice. The fact that something like this could happen where I work is just a really freaky thought for me. Perhaps I'm a little naive about such things, but really who would have thought?celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-12026619367312323062007-01-10T09:24:00.000-06:002007-01-10T09:53:34.056-06:00Victory!After three weeks of waiting to hear anything about my essay from my master's advisor, I finally have an answer. I got me an A!! Woo! Let the heavens break out in a rousing rendition of the Hallelujiah Chorus 'cause I'm finally getting my master's this spring. I have one class and a two-hour "conversation" with the two heads of my department about what I've learned over the course of my study left to do and then I'm done. I can't imagine what it will be like to not be in school. I wanted to quit several times over the years, especially in the last few months while trying to finish my essay, but I didn't. And I'm very happy that I didn't. As of May 12th, 2006, I will have my Master's, and I did it on my own. Yay me!celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-5258251486416351202006-12-11T15:41:00.000-06:002006-12-11T16:05:53.825-06:00Let the Celebrating Begin!I have wonderful news! After a second mammogram, which made the first one seem almost pleasant, the doctors have told me that I'm fine. There's no cancer! There's absolutely nothing wrong with me! (OK, there's absolutely nothing wrong with my breasts anyway. The rest of me is another story entirely.) :-) I cannot express how relieved I was, and still am, at the news. My brain told me that everything was fine, but until I actually heard the words, I didn't really believe it. Now, I can finally relax.<br /><br />The other wonderful news is that my master's essay is done! After over a year of researching, planning, writing, and rewriting, the torturous thing is finally over with. It's in the hands of my advisor as I write this. I hope she likes what I have done. But, even if she doesn't, I'm proud of it. It's a good paper. And even more meaningful is that despite everything I've been through this fall, I didn't give up on it. I wanted to more than anything. But with some strong encouragement from my friends and family, I kept working on it. And I finished it. That means more to me than any A my advisor could give me. (Of course, the A will certainly help with the whole graduating thing, but that's minor.) :-)<br /><br />I've been flying high since I finished the essay. I'm looking foward to celebrating Christmas this year. I've always had things to be grateful for when it comes to celebrating, but this year feels even more special.celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-37482238178502332682006-11-14T10:31:00.000-06:002006-11-14T10:59:40.339-06:00The UnexpectedI had been waiting to update everyone on the lump situation until I had heard from my doctor. I went for a mammogram and ultrasound last week. The mammogram was perhaps the most unpleasant experience have ever had. Imagine having your most sensitive body part placed between two cold slabs and squeezed as hard as possible, while not screaming or breathing. I was convinced that the woman working with me was taking sadistic pleasure in the procedure, but that was probably just my imagination.<br /><br />In any case, my doctor sent the results to me by letter yesterday. It turned out to be a very clinical, cold-sounding letter, obviously written by the technicians who read the tests. The good news is that the lump I felt is nothing. Unfortunately, they found something irregular in the other breast. It took my breath away for just a minute when I first read it. I wasn't expecting that. In fact, the thought had never even crossed my mind. But, there it was in black and white medical speak nonetheless.<br /><br />So now, I'm going in for another round of tests. I'm no less scared than I was the first time around. In fact, I might even be more. It's one thing to find out on your own that there's something up. It's quite another to have it sprung on you. Here's to hoping that it's nothing.celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-1161616942474325562006-10-23T09:47:00.000-05:002006-11-14T10:30:08.971-06:00FearI'm at a complete loss to explain exactly how I feel right now. I fear something that I've never really worried about before, and I worry a lot. I've thought about it in passing occassionally, but I never actually thought I'd have to deal with it. Certainly not at 30. While I was showering this morning, I did my monthly breast exam. I'm not very good about it most months, but it seemed like a good time to do it. After all, it is Breast Cancer Awareness month. And there it was, the one thing that a woman does not want to find...a lump. It's not very big, but it's there. I stood in shock, disbelieving what I was feeling. I still don't think that I believe it. I'm forcing myself not to panic because it could be any number of things that aren't the dreaded cancer, and besides panicking about it wouldn't be very helpful anyway. But, there's that immense fear in the back of my mind of what it could be. Right now I just wish that I could start the day over...celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-1160597524818741812006-10-11T14:36:00.000-05:002006-11-14T10:30:08.756-06:00Move over Eddie Van Halen!Add this to the long list of things that I never thought I would do--I bought an electric guitar. I am not the prototypical rocker. In fact, most nights I'm in bed by 10. But, the guys in the band had suggested that perhaps some of the songs that I play rhythm on would sound better with an electric rather than the acoustic I usually play. I couldn't really argue. My beloved acoustic certainly has it's place, but there are just times when rocking out is totally necessary. You can't really "rock out" on an acoustic. There's something too refined and subdued about the instrument. It kinda screams "coffee shop," not "rock concert." <br /><br />Anyway, the idea of playing an electric struck a chord with me (yeah, I know, bad pun), so I found myself trying to find one. I didn't want anything flashy--I wanted a sleek-looking, rock 'n roll guitar, preferably black...none of this pink sparkly crap for me. I priced new ones and found that I was going to need at least a couple hundred dollars to get one. I figured there had to be a cheaper option. So, I went to my favorite Web site, <a href="http://chicago.craigslist.org/">craigslist</a>, where I've gotten everything from haircuts to free furniture, to see what I could find there. I found one. For $50. It came complete with the amp and everything...for $50. I e-mailed figuring that someone else would snatch it up before I could get there. They didn't. At 9:30 at night, a time that mysteriously qualifies as "late" these days, the guy e-mailed me back saying it was still available and that he wanted it gone that night. So, I changed out of my pajamas, hopped in my car with my friend the <a href="http://www.zombierama.com">Zombiemaster</a>, and drove to this guy's apartment to pick up the guitar. I was expecting to find a beaten up instrument, but instead I found an almost pristine Yamaha electric guitar, with chords and amp. Again, for 50 stinking bucks! That's the kind of deal you just can't pass up. I need some new strings, a longer chord, and a bag to carry it in and I'm ready to rock! Who knew?!celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-1156194560015067602006-08-21T15:40:00.000-05:002006-11-14T10:30:08.335-06:00Man DressingThere are few men I know who would allow me to dress them. And I'm not referring to the physical act of dressing them, but rather the buying or picking out of the items to dress in. Although I don't think there are very many men in my life who would be willing to let me dress them in the literal sense either. Ahem. Anyway, two sentences in and I'm already off topic. <br /><br />Picking out clothing is kind of a personal thing, so I don't generally force my personal taste on anybody and certainly not on a guy. The only person who seems to enjoy me buying clothes for him is my father. If I buy a shirt, he lives in it for weeks on end afterwards. Once I bought him turqouise socks with a yellow and pink argyle pattern on them for a joke. They were hideous, and he wore them almost every Sunday to church for several years. I'm still not sure if he really liked them or if he was enjoying torturing me, but either way they brought him great pleasure.<br /><br />My mom and I have been trying to update my dad's wardrobe. In preparing for my brother's wedding in a few weeks, we went through his closet. He's had the same shirts for 20 years or more. And his ties...good God they were the most hideous things I'd ever seen. Paisley, broad stripes, awful colors...you name it, it was there. There was only one among them that was passable. So I hatched a plan. Since I had a new dress for the wedding, new shoes, and even a new handbag and my mom had a new dress, new shoes, and new accessories, my dad deserved new stuff to wear for the wedding too.<br /><br />Since I'm very fond of his suit (he looks fabulous in it), I decided to find him a new shirt and tie to go with his suit. Saturday I trekked out to the Lincolnwood Mall to see what I could find. Kohl's had a sale on some really nice short-sleeved, button-up-the-front shirts. After three phone calls to find out what size he needed and what color he'd like, I finally bought one. Then I had to match it to a tie. You'd think that would be easy. It's really not. I had about six in my hand at one point all at $25 to $40 a piece. Why is a tie that expensive? I don't pay that much for a shirt most of the time, and a tie is smaller and used much less often. Anyway, off topic again.<br /><br />I stumbled across a line of ties designed by the late, great Jerry Garcia. Well, I don't think he designed the ties per se, but the designs on the ties were his. I found one that match my dad's new shirt pretty well. It's not a perfect match, but I somehow thought it would be cool to have my dad walking around wearing Jerry Garcia's artwork whether it matched his shirt exactly or not. <br /><br />While I was out, I also picked up another polo shirt for him, because my mom thinks he's cute in polo shirts (he is, of course), and Spongebob Squarepants pajama bottoms. He'll get those for Christmas. I spent too much, but my dad has spent so many years providing for his family and giving us whatever we need, that it's nice to spoil him for a change.celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-1155938482792843532006-08-18T16:30:00.000-05:002006-11-14T10:30:08.181-06:00My DadMy dad gets really uncomfortable whenever someone makes a big deal over him, so if he knew that I was writing a blog entry about him, it would completely freak him out. That's why I'm glad he doesn't know about blogs yet. (I'm working on it.)<br /><br />I've had a very strange relationship with my father. He was always gone or busy or crabby when I was growing up. Working 7 days on, 2 days off shifts will do that to a person. He was tough as nails when it came to impressing him, especially when it came to education. My brother had a tougher time in school than I did, but my all A report cards just never elicited the kind of reaction I was hoping for. I wanted him to be as excited as I was, but he never was. At least he never appeared to be to me. I didn't know how wrong I was about him.<br /><br />At some point in my adolescence, I stopped talking to him. I was too busy with my activities and my boyfriend to be bothered with my dad. He lectured. I didn't have the time or the patience for that. He didn't understand me, so rather than argue, we just didn't talk. And when we did, I was a bitch to him. I'm not proud of that.<br /><br />But then, something changed. Actually, a bunch of things changed. My grandfather, my mom's dad, died. I watched how difficult it was for my mom to deal with losing her father. I felt guilty for having blown him off much the same way that I blew off my dad. I didn't want to be standing at my dad's grave wishing I had been around more or taken the time to at least talk to him once in a while, so I started making a concerted effort to speak with him about anything. I was helped along by the need for us to discuss my plans for college. He was determined to foot as much of the bill as he could, but we needed to agree on where he'd be footing the bill to. So we talked. A lot. <br /><br />He beamed the night I graduated from high school, in a way I'd never seen before. He was in his suit, the one he only wore to weddings and funerals. He cried when I gave my salutatorian speech. He told me, for what seemed like the first time ever, that he was proud of me. And then I got hired at his factory for the summer. I finally got to see what my dad went through. And we finally had something other than school and finances to talk about.<br /><br />When I graduated from college, he had that same proud look. And he bought an entirely new wardrobe for the event. You have to understand, my dad does NOT buy clothes unless my mother throws out his old ones and forces him to buy new. When I asked him about it, he said that he wanted to look good for his daughter's graduation. He walked me down the aisle that summer and gave me away to my husband-to-be. I was the happiest daughter when I got to dance with my daddy at the reception. I was four again, only this time not dancing on the tops of his feet. The song could have lasted all night and that would have been OK with me.<br /><br />So, now here we are. I'm divorced, and my dad is ill. We don't know what's wrong with him. We keep hoping we'll find out sometime soon. But, he still has that fabulous smile and still wants to help me fix my car, even when there's nothing wrong with it. He's always there with a hug and a kiss, and long stories that change subjects ten times before they end. He loves his family, and isn't afraid to tell us so anymore. I have had some great conversations with my dad about everything from science to religion, politics to finances, boys to being single. Through it all, he shows me what an incredible man he really is. No matter what happens to us, I'm glad that that I gave him the chance to be more to me than the guy who paid for college. He is my dad, and I hope to be as awesome as he is someday.celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-1153773558699575522006-07-24T14:09:00.000-05:002006-11-14T10:30:07.901-06:00"Heartbreaker!"Have I really not posted anything here since May? Good Lord, I am really bad at this. No wonder I don't keep a diary anymore. I think I made four entries in my diary throughout my high school/college years: (1) I met a boy. (2) I'm dating that boy I mentioned. (3) God I'm so depressed. Nobody likes/understands me. (4)Remember that boy? We're getting married. Clearly, future anthropologists will not be looking to my memoires for anything helpful regarding life in the United States during the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. You'd think a history major would be better at that.<br /><br />Anyway, here's a brief summary of what's been going on: the kitty is doing better, I turned 30, and I've gone back to being craftsy after a hiatus of several years.<br /><br />OK, maybe I should be a little more specific about those things.<br /><br />KITTY<br /><br />I am happy to announce that kitty and I have finally come to an understanding about how we're going to handle this diabetes situation. Basically, she's going to take the shots as long as I can find her and manage to pin her down. Thankfully she's been really stupid about the places she hides (I'll never see a black cat flattened against a white wall. Nope not in a million years.) and isn't too feisty about me pinning her down (as in my ratio of scar tissue to uninjured tissue has gone down considerably). She still howls like an alley cat, but that's a minor annoyance. So, it looks like kitty and I will have many happy years together after all. She's pretty astute (despite her bad hiding skills), so I think she will tell me when she's had enough. And then I will let her go.<br /><br />TURNING 30 DIDN'T SUCK!<br /><br />I always get a little weird around my birthday. Something about not being where I want to be in my life and fearing getting old before I get to where I want to be, I guess. So, 30 was going to be a big one for me and I was dreading it. I didn't want to be single and 30. I didn't want to have to face the fact that my life wasn't where I wanted it to be. I didn't want to be alone on my birthday. As it turns out, I had a fabulous birthday accented by two phenomenal evenings of celebrating. One evening of all out debauchery, good conversation, and bad karaoke; and one evening of sitting quietly with my two best friends eating cake and ice cream, playing Zombies!!!, and listening to music. I couldn't have asked for a better birthday.<br /><br />I thought that would be upset about being 30, but I must admit that I rather enjoy it. I don't care about what people think of me anymore. I do what I do because I like doing it, not because someone wants me to or thinks I should. I like my life the way it is, and I like who I am becoming quite a bit. That's the second best birthday present I've ever gotten. The first would have to be the massage and bike locks my friends got for me this year. The world could have ended on the day I got my massage and I really don't think I would have cared!<br /><br />CRAFTING<br /><br />I've recently rediscovered a creative outlet I had all but forgotten about...cross stitching. I picked it up when I was in junior high because I realized that I couldn't paint. My mom paints beautifully and I wanted to be just like her. My drawing ability is pretty pathetic, although I make a killer "kitty hanging from a balloon by its tail." So, it stands to reason that my painting was just as bad, well at least the kind of painting I wanted to do. Bummed that I could not paint my way out of a cardboard box, my mom and I went in search of a craft I could do. We found cross stitch. For years, I spent many hours stitching away on projects and giving almost all of them to my mother. I've done some beautiful pieces over the years, and the quality of my work is quite good, at least so I've been told. And then I gave it up. I can't remember why. But, now I'm back to it. I can sit for hours in perfect calm stitching away on whatever project I happen to be working on. Right now it's an awesome-looking wizard. I can't describe the feelings of utter calm and relaxation that come over me as I sit stitching in my rocking chair with my kitty curled up next to me. I never realized how much I missed that until I got back into again. When I get some projects finished, I'll post pictures.<br /><br />THE DEPRESSION LIFTS<br /><br />As many of you know, I suffer from clinical depression and have since I was fourteen or so. But, today is officially my first day of being completely off of my meds! Don't go getting all panicky on me about that. I did it with the consent and help of my doctor. The withdrawal was not pleasant, but I feel fabulous! The biking back and forth to work, the eating properly, and the pure peace of mind has brought a whole new change in me. I don't know how long it will last--the autumn will be the first great test on that one--but I'm very excited to be me again without the medication. Yay!<br /><br />THE BAND<br /><br />Finally I get to the part where the title of this entry actually makes sense. My band did a performance on Saturday night, one of our best if I do say so myself. Despite the fact that we are a geek band and still new at this whole performing thing, we are doing really well. Every performance gets a little tighter and a little stronger. Strictly going off what others have said about me, I seem to be coming into my own as the lead singer. I am still really nervous when I go on stage, but I love the rush, and I'm very proud of what I'm able to do up there. I think my crowning achievement from Saturday night though was my rendition of Heartbreaker. That was Jamie's song. I never touched it with a 10-foot poll, convinced that my voice wasn't right for it. But Walter requested it at the end of the night, and I couldn't refuse him. He did record our demo CD after all. So, I sang it, or more accurately, I blew it out of the water. It was awesome! The doubt in my mind about my ability to handle that song vanished by the time I finished the first chorus. I couldn't believe that it was me singing. I wish they had gotten it on tape or video as proof, but I'll remember it for a very long time.<br /><br />So anyway, that's what's going on in my life. My life isn't what I expected it to be, but it's pretty dang awesome if I do say so myself!celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-1147982367358087002006-05-18T14:03:00.000-05:002006-11-14T10:30:07.700-06:00Good and BadThe good news is, my kitty seems to be doing relatively better. That is, she's back to tear-assing through the house at 5 am when the birds and squirrels come out, and not-so-gently poking at me so I'll come see what the aforementioned critters are doing. Because at 5 am, I care that there's a bird out my window, really I do. And she's gained some of her weight back. Unfortunately, she's still drinking water like a fish and using her litterbox way too much, or lately the carpet in front of the litterbox. I'm still waiting to hear back from the vet about what our next steps are.<br /><br />The shots themselves are pretty much exercises in kitty/owner combat in which practice does not make perfect...not by a long shot (no pun intended). For every move I make, she's mastered an effective countermove. It's like playing a full-contact game of football with a creature one twentieth your size. I've tried sneaking up on her while she's sleeping and quickly inserting the needle before she has time to realize what I'm doing. That method worked twice and hasn't since. I tried coaxing her with food and poking her while her defenses were down. This one is still useable, but only rarely. I tried scooping her up, cradling her gently, and then poking her; that one didn't even work once. She's much too bright to fall for the "here, Kitty, Kitty" method of anything. The one that seems to work the best so far (other than having someone else pin her while I poke her) is to sit on her. Yes, sit on her. Sound cruel? Well, she would agree with you. <br /><br />We've been waging battle against one another twice a day for a month now. It's not fun and it's not comical (well, OK, sometimes it really is). I have difficulty inflicting pain on another creature, except seagulls. Oh yeah, and mosquitos. And even though I know it's for her own good, she doesn't realize that. There's a confusion and hurt in her eyes while I'm pinning her down that just breaks my heart. How do you explain to an animal that you're doing what needs to be done to save their life? The only thing more heart-wrenching is the hug I get from her afterward. She puts one paw on one side of my neck and the other on the other side and she buries her head just under my chin as if to say: "Mommy, please don't poke me anymore. I don't like it." And all I can do is pet her and tell her "I don't like it either." And I don't. When I envisioned my life with this cat, I never pictured this. In my mind, she'd live to be an ornery, old cat and die a peaceful death at the respectable age of 18, like my Jessie did or as it looks like my mom's Sophie (who's already 15) will. But that's not what's going to happen here. <br /><br />All the while I'm doing this, I'm trying to figure out why I am. Is it because she deserves a longer life, or is it because I can't let her go? Is it fair of me to keep her alive? Am I being selfish? And then there's the flipside of the coin...the side of me that's the most difficult to face...do I really want to do this? Do I really want to invest most of my spending money into saving this cat? Do I really want to pin her down twice a day for the rest of her life? And how long will that be? Will her eventual death be peaceful now? Am I being selfish for considering the possibility of putting her down? Is that fair to her? They're all valid questions for which I have no answers. All I know is that I love her like she was my child. I can't imagine my world without her. So where does that leave me? Where I'm at right now, pumping hundreds of dollars into an animal to keep her alive and healthy. And in the meantime, I pray that I'm doing the right thing for her and for me.celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-1145565340385486312006-04-20T15:34:00.000-05:002006-11-14T10:30:07.535-06:00Kitty UpdateI just got some fabulous news from the vet. Victoria does not have renal failure! In fact, the test show nothing else wrong with her, so all we have to deal with is the diabetes! I'm so happy right now!celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-1145553021343486692006-04-20T11:30:00.000-05:002006-11-14T10:30:07.360-06:00Finding the HumorIt's been a bad couple of days, but they haven't been completely devoid of humour. I've always gotten a good deal of entertainment out of living with my cat, and even in illness that hasn't changed. Despite her small frame and three pounds of weight loss, she can still put up one hell of a fight, as evidenced by the way the veterinary assistant presented me with my sweet fuzzball yesterday morning. Alan, the VA, had her completely wrapped up in a towel. Only her big, bright eyes were visible. And he was carrying her as far away from his body as he could with hands that were safely covered by kevlar gloves. Kevlar! Apparently, Victoria let them know what she really thought of them after I left! I may not like the scars she leaves on me or my guests, but I secretly enjoy the fiestiness she possesses. I know she won't take any shit from anybody and I love that. Now, if I could just get her to understand that most people aren't actually trying to give her shit. Then, maybe she might stop attacking innocent dinner guests.<br /><br />However, the true entertainment (and I use that term lightly in this case) began after I got home, or rather when I tried to give her the first dose of antibiotic. That’s when she really started fighting. She must have sensed how unsure I was about doing this. It had been roughly seven years since I had had to cram anything down her throat. I remembered how I was taught to do it: console the kitty; wrap her under your arm; squeeze the sides of her head; when she opens her mouth, push the plunger into it; and finally repeat consoling kitty. Simple, huh? Well, I think perhaps she took the online course of kitty kung fu because for whatever position a put her in, she managed to wriggle free. I tried putting her on my lap in the bathroom. I tried comforting her on the couch and then pinning her there. I tried scooping her up in a baby position and feeding it to her like a bottle. All the while I’m trying to pry her jaws open, I’m also trying to calmly tell her through gritted teeth that “it’s OK sweetie, you just have to open your mouth” because reasoning with a cat when you’ve got a stranglehold on her is really going to work folks. I finally plopped her down on the living room floor, sat on her hind quarters, pinned her front half down with one hand, and pried her jaws open with the other, while a third hand belonging to my dear friend squirted the liquid into her mouth. I can definitely see the humor in a grown woman failing to pin a seven pound cat. Clearly, I won't be taking to the mud wrestling circuit anytime soon.celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-1145454394959942362006-04-19T08:10:00.000-05:002006-11-14T10:30:07.119-06:00Sick KittyI just found out yesterday that my fuzzy companion is a very sick kitty. She has been diagnosed with diabetes, a bladder infection, and possibly renal failure. I can't express how sad and frightened this makes me feel. When it's happening to a human, you can talk to them, ask them about their feelings, explain what you're doing and why. You can't do that with an animal. Victoria doesn't understand why I had to leave her at the vets last night, or why they keep poking her with sharp, pointy needles, and telling her what a good kitty she is for not scratching their faces off for it. I'm scared for her, and I'm scared for myself.<br /><br />Victoria has been my constant companion for seven years. She's the only thing that I come home to every night. She's my best friend, my fuzzy baby. She's been a source of endless love, entertainment, and frustration since I brought her home from the Anti-Cruelty Society. I can't stand the thought of her being miserable. I've been told that she can lead a normal life with the diabetes. So as long as they can guarantee me that, I'll take care of her, even though my finances are strapped to the hilt as it is. <br /><br />However, the awful truth is that if she has renal failure, I'm not going to be able to afford treating her for that as well. Nor will I feel right about putting her through two extensive treatments that will diminish the quality of her life just so that I can keep her with me. I will have to make the decision to put my angel down. The mere thought is devastating. The house was so empty and quiet last night without her here. I can't imagine what it would be like if that were permanent. I'm hoping that I don't have to find out. At least, not yet anyway.celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-1139609518967897962006-02-10T16:06:00.000-06:002006-11-14T10:30:06.765-06:00Wow!Just because I'm geeky happy about this, here is a snipet from an email I received this morning from the band's bassist/manager:<br /><br />"To be candid, it was in all our best interest to get you guys on early cuz you brought such a big audience in and because you played a smokin good set that people over there are STILL talking about today (Thurs). You guys really made an impression."<br /><br />How awesome is that? So awesome that they've offered us a feature night at the open mic in May. That just so totally rocks! Just had to share :-)celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-1139416523832138282006-02-08T09:57:00.000-06:002006-11-14T10:30:06.615-06:00A Night at LunarIt was an amazing night! Last night <a href="http://5th-avenue.tripod.com">the band</a> and I performed at an open mic night out in Villa Park. <a href="http://chicago.citysearch.com/profile/3539656/villa_park_il/lunar_brewing_co.html">Lunar Brewing Co.</a> is everything you would expect out of a neighborhood bar. It's smokey, full of somewhat-rowdy drunk people unwinding after a long day, and has very little seating. What you might not expect though is that this little-known pub houses an awesome collection of home brews on tap and has the perfect set up for hosting bands. It's got a professional-looking stage with lights and a platform for the drums and everything. It felt so much more, well...professional. <br /><br />After a little snafu with our stage time (it was originally midnight), we were able to get on second. I must say that we rocked the house! It was awesome! Despite a few vocal hiccups (cigarette smoke is not good for me) and a couple of forgotten words that nobody seemed to notice, we did great! Big kudos go out to Fred who managed to keep the beat perfectly after losing one of his drum sticks during Heartbreaker. It was one of those nights where everything is clicking and none of it feels awkward. I can't describe the feeling when you hear people actually asking for you to do one more song. The rest of the time we were there, people kept coming up to us and telling us how good we were and how much they enjoyed the set. It was just amazing!<br /><br />Come to find out, the open mic was being web cast, and the guy hosting made mention of possibly having us for a web cast of our own. The owner also assured the audience that they would have us back soon. I can't wait!<br /><br />Listening to the CD of the set (which the owner was kind enough to make for us) on the way home last night, I couldn't help but be silly giddy over what we had just managed to do. In 20 minutes, we had managed to win over and entertain a crowd that wasn't composed of just friends and family (big thanks to our friends and family that did show though). These people were total strangers and they loved us. How cool is that?celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-1137610351169135472006-01-18T12:23:00.000-06:002006-11-14T10:30:06.456-06:00Pass the Soap...Kitty?I've heard that a cat's personality changes as she gets older, I've just never really noticed it that much. However, recent events in the celtickris household have alerted me to recent changes in my fuzzy companion. Victoria has always been curious and active. Bouncing off walls was her favorite past-time for quite a while. As was chasing bugs and mice. Don't get me wrong, she still does those things, she's just much more calculating about it. In other words, she's calming down in her old age (OK, she's only 7, but it's setting in I tell you). Lately however, she's found a new hobby...taking showers with me. This from the cat who until very recently detested running water, unless it was coming from the bathroom faucet in a light enough stream for her to drink from. One morning, I ran the water for my shower as usual and hopped in. As I was scrubbing yesterday's mousse out of my hair, I felt something brush up against my leg. I looked down to see two bright yellow eyes looking up at me. There she was sitting in her princess pose (butt down, front paws right next to each other directly in front of her back paws, tail wrapped all the way around) looking curiously back up at me. It didn't seem to phase her that she was sitting in a large puddle of water, or that her fur was getting wet from the stream of water from above. This from a cat who used to skitter out of a room the minute I'd reach for a water bottle to squirt her with. Competely confused and rather creeped out I might add, I finished my shower, with my fuzzy voyeur sitting patiently at my feet observing. I half expected her to ask for the shampoo or something. Don't ask why I didn't kick her out...I don't think well before noon most days and certainly not without coffee. Once we were out of the water, of course, I had to dry her off because there's nothing worse than a wet, furry animal roaming around your house, leaving little wet paw prints on everything. While I was rubbing her down with a towel, which she also used to hate, the screwball was actually purring. So very strange. You know, I'm all for togetherness with my cat, quiet cups of coffee in the rocking chair, snuggling up on the couch in front of the fireplace, even her poking at my nose so I'll pet her when I'm trying sleep, but showering?...that's just too much.celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-1137432028736159282006-01-16T11:09:00.000-06:002006-11-14T10:30:05.954-06:00Happy Day!Anyone who has battled their weight will understand this fashion victory...<br /><br />Saturday morning, I managed to slide into a pair of jeans that I haven't been able to wear in 3 months. Note also that I said "slide," not "managed to stuff myself into" or "had to suck in just to zip while hoping no one noticed me turning blue from the lack of oxygen," but "slide." I consider it a great personal victory, since I don't really exercise (this morning's two trips to the train station notwithstanding), and "diet" is just not a word in my vocabulary. At this rate, I may be back to my high school weight by the end of the summer. Yay!celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-1135982678713797832005-12-30T16:29:00.000-06:002006-11-14T10:30:05.595-06:00New Year's ResolutionsWell, the sun has set on another year. It was an interesting year for me, full of everything that makes good storytelling. So, now it's time to set goals for the new year, things I want to accomplish before December 31st, 2006. Resolutions about losing weight, exercising more, eating less, that sort of thing, seem empty to me, at least they're not the kinds of things that I would realistically follow through on anyway. Nope, this year, my resolution is to throw out the script my life was supposed to follow and write a new one on the fly. I'm going to start a new chapter of my life (again), trying to avoid expecting too much of myself and leaving the baggage of previous years where it belongs...in the past. I won't run away from myself anymore, or try to hide amongst all the "activities" I do. I'm just going to allow myself the opportunity to enjoy the life I've built. I'll finish my degree this year (I hope), and I will take my trip to Ireland. And the rest of the world can come and go as it needs or wants to. I'll be happy with what I have and who I am.celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10209462.post-1135103611432642912005-12-20T11:49:00.000-06:002006-11-14T10:30:05.398-06:00Out of the BasementWell, my band and I finally made it out of John's (bassist extraordinaire) basement and onto an actual stage, with an actual audience. Well, it was more of a carpeted section of a coffee shop floor, and the audience was pretty much our friends and family members, but the important thing is that we played out somewhere...finally. And we had a blast! From beginning to end, we had a great time, despite the many issues that are inevitable when you first play out somewhere. We had sound difficulties, two sick singers, an array of vocal hiccups, several forgotten words, and a couple of sour notes, but we were a band and we certainly entertained our audience. To our credit (or detriment...that remains to be seen), the entire evening was caught on video. Somehow I doubt it will be for public release, but who knows? Maybe it'll make an appearance when we hit it big. There will be a VH1 special: 5th Avenue--Then and Now. (Or not.)<br /><br />In any case, we learned some very valuable lessons from our first gig. (1) If the sound system isn't yours, let the person who owns it set it up. It'll go better for everyone involved, and will spare the audience's eardrums from the high-pitched feedback sound nobody likes to hear. (2) Check out the place before you show up sexily dressed to a Brownie/Cub Scout meeting. Hiding in the bathroom is not a good way to start off a night. (3) Free drinks are awesome, even if you're only getting water and hot tea. (4) Never start a gig with a song that requires one nerved up member of the band to sing by herself. The results will not be pretty. (5) Don't be afraid to cut songs, especially if it's painfully obvious that you're going to run long. (6) Take a short 15 minute break between sets, not a half hour lunch. (7) Most important, regardless of what goes wrong, have fun. The less seriously you take yourself, the better the performance will be in the long run.<br /><br />All in all, it was one of the best nights I've had singing, not because I was vocally perfect ('cause I so wasn't), but because I let it all go and sang what I felt. I may have sounded like a smoker with a bad case of laryngitis the day after, but it was totally worth it. And, I can't wait to do it again!celtickrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14071538919375989037noreply@blogger.com0