Quiet Sanctuaries In A Busy City

I took the kids to the Lincoln Park Zoo on Tuesday, and was so startled by the lack of morals that were paraded in front of my innocent children, that I completely forgot to share about the treasure of a sanctuary we stumbled upon as we trekked back to our car after our primate education.

And that, my friends, was a really long sentence.

I can not stand paying for parking, so our spot was a bit far from the zoo, at least for child legs, but I secured it after a well fought circling expedition. And boy did I squeeze into a dandy space. I am a fantastic at parallel parking. A skill I picked up after years of auditions downtown where street parking was the only option I would choose for 5 minute auditions. Fifty cents in a meter was one thing, but no way was I going to pay anything over a buck to run inside, spew my talent in front of a camera for 5 minutes, only to be back in my car before the engine cooled.

So we parked. And between walking to the zoo, walking through the zoo, and walking from the zoo, Zane's little three year old legs were spent. As we left the zoo, I could tell he was dreading the walk back to car. I was trying to distract him from the distance with stories about the zoo, the clean stories, rather than the sordid tales, but my efforts weren't working.

And then, we passed a gate. A gate I've driven past several times over 16 years living in Chicago, but one I've actually never walked by. Driving by, I always assumed it was some sort of service entrance for the zoo or the Conservatory.

This time, on foot, we glanced in.

All of us squealed and ran in. We stopped and looked upon what could only be described as the perfect urban oasis. For located smack dab west of Lake Shore Drive, right behind the Lincoln Park Zoo, and a spit East of the Conservatory, we discovered, for the first time, the Alfred Caldwell Lily Pond. The sound of cars? Gone. The tops of buildings? Covered by trees. Sitting on the bank of the pond? A painter. Settled on the rocks? A couple having a picnic. How could we have lived here for so long and never known that this place existed?

Harper, Zane, our neighbor Bradley, and I followed the stone path as it curved around the pond which, yes, as the name suggests, was filled with lily pads. And it was quiet. Quiet. In Chicago. Zane kept commenting about the "journey" we were taking. Harper, my nature lover, expressed surprise at every little bend. Bradley, couldn't believe the Atkins were still walking after hours at the zoo and just wanted to sit by the edge. To reflect, I'm sure. Although secretly, I think our energy was too much for him.

We came upon a rock formation and noticed that there were people above us. So, we too, decided to climb up and see what we would find.

What we found at the top was a the perfect picnic spot, complete with a mini fresh water pond/waterfall. Yes, all man-made, but absolutely refreshing. We removed our shoes and just sat with our feet in the frigid water. It was there and then that we decided we would surprise George by bringing him back to this exact spot this morning for a picnic breakfast. I knew he didn't know this place existed and that he would be just as moved as we were when we first stumbled upon it.

After picking up bagels and coffee this morning we headed downtown and arrived just before 9. Zane was very close to giving away our secret by sharing with George that we were headed to the "water and the rocks". But even so, our secret was pretty safe.

He was floored when he entered. Just as I expected. "Has this always been here?" seemed to be the question of the week with regards to this hidden piece of solitude. Speaking with some neighbors tonight, we learned that they too, had no idea that the Alfred Caldwell Lily Pond existed.

We took the path around until we reached our picnic spot. When George went to put our things down we took delight in telling him "no". He would need to actually climb up to find our spot. We climbed and sat.

"Guys, this is the best gift I've been given all year" was George's response.

We ate. We splashed. We guzzled coffee. No, not the kids. I may be an addict, but I'm not a pusher. We took turns grabbing Zane's hands so he wouldn't slip on the rocks. We took a few photo's with our "loaner camera" from Ritz (can't wait for ours to be repaired) and enjoyed our family.

After breakfast, we went to the Conservatory to see more beauty.

Afterwards, Harper and I actually jogged the path back to the car whereupon she announced that we should begin jogging every morning. Hmmm.

George and I actually watched many joggers and marathon training teams running the path this morning and both thought, although we didn't speak it, "That was once us." I could tell by looking at him, and he could tell by looking at me that we both felt we were missing something from the beauty of the day - a healthy run, as we once upon a time knew.

For me, witnessing joggers makes me feel as if I could run again. At least the 5K's. No more half marathons . . . just a thought. I don't know yet. Don't hold me to it.

It was a perfect Chicago morning. Followed by a perfect Evanston afternoon with my daughter.

Bookman's Alley: Evanston

Before having children, I invested (not wasted, mind you) a lot of time and money in used bookstores, and even dabbled in collecting First Editions of my favorites books. One of my favorite quiet spots, was Bookman's Alley in Evanston. Bookman's Alley is the complete opposite of a stuffy antique book seller, in terms of attitude, and yet very stuffy as it pertains to feeling cramped, books piled everywhere, the smell of must, dusty old furniture, and various pieces of military uniforms and other antique treasures strewn about, all creating a general feeling of being launched back in time.

It's glorious.

After Harper was born, and the budget got crunched, I actually sold a few books back to the owner at Bookman's Alley, and because I respected the quiet nook that is this place for so many, I really never returned with baby in tow. Plus, I didn't have the expanded time or money to just browse without care or responsibility once having children.

Today, while on a date with my SECOND GRADER I decided to share with her my long lost friend, and we ventured into Bookman's Alley.

Her response only confirmed that she is indeed my daughter. Yeah, yeah, everyone knows she's physically my kid, but her reaction to Bookman's Alley confirmed that soulfully, she's my girl. For upon entering the bookstore, she immediately exclaimed, "Oh! This is the greatest place!"

I could have cried as she found books on Egypt tucked in a corner.

I cringed as she attempted to touch the rare first editions, and found the owner very gracious and patient as I explained to her that I didn't have $400 on hand, and thus she should probably not be taking them off the shelf.

She saw Zane Grey books, got excited for Zane, and asked where she could find "To Kill a Mockingbird".

"Oh, Harper, First Editions of that book are rare and run something like $2500. I don't think there is one there."

We found the children's books and she chose to purchase, with her own money, a rare riddle book called "Cleo Catra", a book of riddles involving the theme of Ancient Egypt and cats. If you know my daughter, she is an expert on anything ancient Egyptian and loves jokes and riddles. She picked the book off the shelf and then tucked herself away in one of the many little crannies that are all over the store, in order to read her find. She explored drawers of old desks, finding old papers dolls and postcards, and asked repeatedly if I would purchase a $50 copy of Robinson Crusoe because, " . . . it's so old!" She didn't want to leave. Neither did I.

Could it be that after 7 years, I can rekindle my love affair with used bookstores while sharing this passion with my daughter?

And this is how Harper, who was complimented by the owner on her "coiffure", became a first-time collector of books with her first purchase at Bookman's Alley. And although she requested that we return after school so that she could complete her homework there, I fear that it would be too distracting for her. Plus, there's no way we could visit with our little wrecking ball in attendance.

But, I love my son. I named him after an author whose books are all over that shop.

I just can't bring him anywhere near it.

Regardless of whether she is every able to sit there to finish some homework, it most definitely won't be our last mother/daughter visit.

The day ended with a neighborhood movie on the Klamm's block. Families all gathered in front of a makeshift screen to eat popcorn and watch "Monster's Inc."

Today was a day of quiet sanctuaries in two busy cities.

Time to Accessorize!

Either wear the darn thing or don't.

You can choose to wear it.

You can choose not to wear it.

But if you choose not to wear it, or decide to remove it after realizing that responsibility actually takes some personal sacrifice, please don't complain that things aren't getting done, or that needs aren't being met. Admit that you don't want to wear it. Or bear it.

Know that your actions, the actions of even just one person, are relevant and powerful and can indeed contribute and lead to change. Don't follow a crowd who expects others to move mountains. Accept and walk in a manner which reveals to the world that you believe in your heart that God is present, that you know in your head that He is working, and that He has equipped you to join Him. Your actions do matter. Your actions do count. Your actions affect other people. Your personal actions do indeed affect other people.

Make a decision.

Either wear it.

Or don't wear it.

The responsibility of making the initial decision to wear the bracelet is yours, and yours alone, to make. Come on. You know how to dress yourself . . . choose your own jewelry. You don't need Clinton and Stacey to help you decide on this accessory. If you choose to remove it, and you can, as you do have free will, please don't make the excuse that someone else made you to do so.

Let's stop making excuses as to why we don't take responsibility.

Let's own our personal decisions.

Let's accept and admit our personal responsibility.

Warning. I didn't say doing so was easy.

Taking responsibility for our words and actions has become blurry. Being "others focused" has turned into a blame game for our own missteps. Whereas shouldn't being "others focused" actually mean loving and serving others and putting the needs of others before our own?

Let's put the blame game away and choose another activity.

And before you get all up in a tizzy, know that I am speaking to myself just as much as I am to you. Whoever you may be.

Responsibility is hard. Sacrifice is uncomfortable. Confronting our true thoughts, words, and actions (or non-actions) can be embarrassing.

And yet ultimately, we don't ask other people to wear our accessories for us, right? So get dressed.

Wear your own responsibility.

Wow! That looks great on you!

Matthew 5:33 "But let your statement be, "yes, yes' or "no, no' and anything beyond these is of evil."

Primate Education (Or . . . Gorilla Porn)

Contrary to the little girl's comment, the female gorilla was not giving the male gorilla a piggy back ride yesterday during our visit to the Lincoln Park Zoo.

Nope. Not at all.

Not even close.

Of course, when I heard her squeal, "Look, Mommy! That gorilla is giving the other one a piggy back ride!", I very quickly gathered up Harper, Zane, and Bradley, our neighbor, to come and watch the scene as I didn't want them to miss out on the fun.

I should check the source before blindly following the crowd.

We got quite the free show.

Front and center.

Up against the glass.

I could have been "window shopping" in Amsterdam.

Daddy Gorilla finished his "piggy back" ride and moved off to the side where he literally slumped down to floor with his back against a pole. Exhausted.

All of us shocked parents just stood there. Speechless. None of us wanted to overreact, as then we would have to explain. So, a "piggy back" it was.

I love the zoo.

This Is Where ADHD Can Land You

By now, unless you have been living under a rock, you know of Michael Phelps and his incredible 8 gold medals and 8 new world records in swimming during the Beijing Olympics.

What you may not know is that Michael has ADHD. His mother, Debbie, a principal with the Baltimore school system, has shared about this in interviews and is also a contributor for ADHD Moms, a group on Facebook. I have been reading this group for some time now and somehow glanced right over the fact that I had been reading articles written by Debbie Phelps. Michael Phelp's mother! I didn't even put two and two together until I began reading interviews she had given. So, now, we're Facebook friends.

How incredibly crazy is that?

Michael, like Harper, was on medication when he was younger. Once swimming became his source for expelling excess energy, he chose to leave the medication behind.

So, no, he was not on medication when he wow'd us last week. He was not on medication when I was jumping on the couch screaming. He was not on medication when I allowed my daughter to stay up until close to midnight so she wouldn't miss one fingernail finish in swimming.

Harper was shocked to hear that she and Michael Phelps share something in common.

What she doesn't see, however, is how she also shares a talent for swimming. She has decided to hop out of the pool for an indefinite amount of time, but I do honestly pray that she will pick it up again at some point. There is something there. We're not sure what triggered her wanting to leave swimming - something only she knows in that head of hers, but we're still hopeful.

What she can see, however, is that her issues with "focus" happen to the best of them.

The best. Like Michael Phelps.

Where's the Wheaties box??????????

Beach Bums

It's a wonder to me that we were even able to get this picture of all the cousins.

All smiling.

All looking at the camera.

Is it really possible?

Thank you Lord for this photo.

Now, if we could only get this same shot year, after year, after year . . .

THAT would be cool.

Offending Security

We caused a bit of a ruckus at the airport today. Not a great place to have a ruckus nowadays, to be sure, but we honestly didn't mean to do so. It wasn't severe, well, not in our eyes. We weren't pulling an Olsteen or anything like that.

No, we just assumed something we probably shouldn't have assumed.

Last week, when we started our little merry adventure back in Chicago, we missed the early boarding announcement for those traveling with small children. As we stood in a really long line to board, I noticed, after some time, that it wasn't moving. Nobody was boarding. I made my way to the front to find that they were boarding those who needed extra time: passengers in wheelchairs, parents with children and carseats to get strapped tight. We quickly left our place in line and boarded with this group.

Today, on the way home from vacation, the gate was crowded. No seats available. No seats offered - and yet there was one seated woman in particular who seemed peeved that Zane was walking around. Fun. I love irony.

As the time of our departure drew near, we noticed that a line had formed for boarding and that a family with two small children was making their way down the ramp to board the plane. Immediately, I recalled last week, and thought, "Oh, we missed the announcement!" and made our way down the ramp.

Yes, in hindsight, I did find it odd that there were no airline personnel at the top of the ramp to take our boarding passes, but I figured they were at the bottom, at the door leading to the whatchamacallit thingamabob that one walks down to reach the plane. Nope. We reached the door only to find TSA agents. Well, they don't take boarding passes. Where was everyone?

They let us through anyway. They let us through anyway.

We made our way through the whatchamacallit thingamabob that leads to the plane only to be met halfway by two attendants walking towards us from the plane while making circular motions with their fingers. Circular motions which meant "turn around".

"Why are you down here?"

"Um, we saw the family boarding, and assumed you had started early boarding."

"We haven't."

One of the flight attendants then muttered, "Oh, crap." and hurried off back upstairs to the gate.

At that point I thought the second attendant would ask us to turn around, or would at the very least ask to see our boarding passes.

Neither happened.

"We haven't started boarding yet."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Should we . . ."

"Go on ahead."

She never once looked at our boarding passes.

We realized at that point that we had made a snafu. And so had they. There were no airline personnel at the top of the ramp to stop us from heading down the ramp. TSA didn't stop us as we made it to the whatchamacallit thingamabob. The flight attendant didn't stop us from boarding.

But, obviously, the "Oh, crap" response from the male attendant made it clear that someone had messed up.

Just as we got settled on the plane she came for us. And she was mad. And in charge.

"Did you board before you were told to board?"

They could have removed us from the flight.

"I'm sorry, we didn't realize you hadn't started early boarding. We just assumed you had when we saw the other family with children boarding."

"This is considered a huge security offense. Next time, do not board until you hear the announcement."

"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you."

And then I shut-up. Just shut-up.

Now, I admit, we made a mistake. We done wrong. We made an assumption about the situation based upon our boarding experience back in Chicago a week earlier, but clearly, clearly, today, someone had left their post. Anyone could have gone down that ramp. We weren't being sneaky. How could we be? We were loud. And clunky. And in plain sight. Two adults holding two carseats, two bags, a restless Zane, and Harper, following behind lugging her own carry-on while complaining that her arm was tired from pulling her bag, but that she couldn't pull it with her other arm because that was her non-dominant arm. We were not hard to miss.

And yet, there was no one to stop us.

Not even the TSA.

Hmmm . . . now that's good work.

And then, of course, mid-flight, I attempted to take my potty training boy to the lavatory at the front of the aircraft. We were in seat 8. It made sense. Um, no. One in coach does not venture past the first class curtain. Even though Zane was squirming, I was sent to the back of the plane.

They were glad to be rid of us.

I almost expected to be met by TSA back in Chicago.

Wonder who got written up because of us?

Notice that the name of the airline has not been mentioned in this post. I've learned my lesson on that one.

Food, Glorious Food!

Even though I have lived in the Chicagoland area for 16 years now, it took this most recent trip back to the East Coast to reveal that I have not necessarily developed a sold-out love affair with Chicago delicacies. After pondering this a bit I realized that my "it's ok" attitude towards Chicago eats may be due to my taste buds lacking the nostalgic history of Windy City fare. It's not that I dislike Chicago's famous foods, I dig the hot dogs, and have learned not to drench one in ketchup. However, I didn't grow up salivating over hot dogs or with the culinary knowledge that ketchup is sinful, and thus, the whole idea of the ultimate Chicago hot dog is not really ingrained in my senses. Deep dish pizza? I can take it or leave it. I'll choose a nice thin New York slice over the deep dish any day - even if that means using a napkin to sop up the oil that rests a top that wonderful gooey melted cheese. So, while my taste buds may harbor a crush on Chicago foods, they certainly aren't married to them.

Before I left for my trip to Dallas back in July, I took 4 weeks to return to a way of eating that has always been very effective for my body type. I had just purchased a lovely gown to wear on Seminar awards night, (for a whopping $18 at a second-hand store), and I wasn't about to not fit into it. It was the push I needed to get my eating back under control. And even through my time in Dallas I was very careful not to overindulge. The result being that I felt fantastic.

However, I didn't merely stick to the plan for the sake of that trip. I knew I had a big vacation coming up, and wanted to be in a place where I could really enjoy my favorite East Coast foods without the constant worry that I was overeating and thus ruining all the work I had done. I wanted to be in a good place mentally and physically so that I could eat the foods I love!

For instance, when we head to Cincinnati we hit Montgomery Inn for ribs, Skyline for chili, and Graeter's for ice cream. So, it would only stand to reason that when in Maryland and Pennsylvania there are other favorites that must be consumed!

And, well, consume I did!

I had my fill of my favorites: Chesapeake Bay steamed crabs for one, (or, rather, a dozen), which is the type of meal that makes your mouth sting from the amount of Old Bay seasoning covering each and every one. With chunks of crabmeat, a ton of melted butter and vinegar for dunking, a feast can be had! Note: there is a lot of melted butter and a lot of licking one's fingers. You come out smelling like Old Bay, and everything is a complete mess, (this is definitely not a meal for those who insist upon manners and tidiness at the dinner table), but that's what wet wipes are for. And a trip to the boardwalk is not complete without Thrasher's Fries covered in vinegar - which can only be eaten on the boardwalk. Let's add on some Philly cheesesteak and an icee - which is NOT a slurpee - purchased from a vendor on the street and we've just about had it all.

Back at "home", we've got Nanny's sausage and peppers, eggplant parmigiana, and corn beef and cabbage . . . all in one meal. Yes, all in one meal.

I'm stuffed. I'm just now beginning to come down from my food orgy and will definitely need some detox time when I return home.

And then again, after walking Philadelphia yesterday for 4 hours, I think I've gotten in the amount of exercise needed in order to take on something else. Especially because today we're headed to an exhibit on treehouses. Lot's of climbing involved.

I'm sure I'll be famished afterwards.