ace of spades

for those that don't know of my recent life change, i recently left ralph lauren after being there since day one of my journey in nyc.  i just finished my second week at kate spade as a product manager for full price and outlet clothing.  all i can say is: i'm going to have a major shopping problem.

over the last four years i have built up my closet with earth tones and riding boots to fit the RL mantra.  now i'm throwing all that out to refill my closet with black, white, and splashes of bold color and prints.  more than once since i've started at KS, friends have said to me, "i wasn't surprised at all that you are working for kate spade because it is totally your style."  i couldn't agree more, which is why i say i'm going to have a major shopping problem!

wearing a kate spade dress and shoes (not pictured) in my new digs at the kate spade new york offices.

the new job is more creatively based than i previously was doing, which is something i was really looking for.  the environment is much less corporate than my old job and filled with very creative types.  most of the employees are 25-35 year old women that are incredibly driven, and i feel like i fit right into the culture.  most of the employees have been there less than 3 years (which is when kate spade sold her brand to liz claiborne inc), so i'm really getting in at a time of major growth and opportunity.  the hours are longer and the work much less structured, and i barely notice.  glittered pumps and polka dot prints are everywhere you can see, and the cultured, classic, stylish woman define the brand and the environment of what it is to work there.

there is a quote from "sex and the city" where carrie says, "every woman in new york is either looking for a job, a boyfriend, or an apartment."  i have always felt that this was a true statement based on my experiences here; i have gone through a lot of challenges (stolen wallets, stolen identities, bed bugs, getting stood up on dates....), but i can honestly say that as of this moment: there is nothing else i want; i am the happiest and most blessed girl in the world.  how many people can really say that and mean it?

The Tale of the Locker Room Lurker

I love my gym.  You might even call me a bit of a gym rat because I go everyday without fail.  I originally joined my gym in February, after having been a member at another gym for several years.  I now belong to 24 Hour Fitness, and with my membership, I can attend any 24 Hour Fitness in the U.S., including one conveniently located five minutes from my parents’ house that I can use when I’m home.  The thing I’ve figured out though is that it’s not necessarily the gym as a whole that I like; it’s the particular location that I frequent down the block from our apartment that I’m obsessed with.

Going there every morning, I always see the same people.  I’m always in the locker room with the same women and something about seeing total strangers completely naked really makes you feel like you know them!  I also take classes with these same women and that strikes a team-like bond.  One of the girls I met when I first started is Alison.  We instantly bonded when we figured out that her husband was from Kansas and born in Salina, just like me.  She visits Kansas City to see his family, and so we always have a lot to talk about.  Chatting with these women every morning as we get ready to go to our respective jobs is a really refreshing way to start the day.

Not long after I joined, I started noticing this very eccentric woman getting ready in the mornings in the locker room also.  I had belonged there for about a month and had never seen her.  Most of the girls in the locker room are in their 20’s and 30’s and are in pretty good shape because they are there every morning and generally care about their appearance.  This woman did not really fit that mold.  She was middle-aged and had a very bad drug store hair dye job and would walk around complaining about how bad the amenities were in the locker room (which by the way, they are the best amenities I have seen in any gym outside of a spa).  She would put her make-up on and leave major streaks under her chin that weren’t rubbed in and she would dry her hair and walk around like Cousin Itt from the Addams Family with her hair covering her face.  She would do laps around the locker room with holes in her underwear and her stomach hanging several inches over the top of it, always voicing on-going commentary on the state of affairs with her accented voice; I just wanted to listen to the Today Show!  Not that everyone in there has some supermodel body or something, but most people cover up to get ready after they’ve gotten out of the shower, but this is not what she did.  In addition, I noticed that I never actually saw her work out.  Living in New York, you get used to seeing people that march to the beat of their own drummer, so I shrugged it off to her just being a bit obnoxious.  After a week, she stopped coming and I realized she had been using a 7-day free gym pass and I felt a bit relieved to go back to a quieter locker room.

Fast forward 6 months or so to last Saturday.  I was at the gym working out with my trainer, and I spotted that unforgettable black Cousin Itt hair again on a tour of the gym with one of the membership consultants.  Oh, great.  Here she goes again, I thought.  I thought about saying something to someone at the gym, but I decided that it may not be my business.  Sure enough, Monday and Tuesday of this week she was in the locker room up to her previous shenanigans.  Alison and I started talking and theorizing that she was either: a) a gym hopper that just went around the city taking advantage of free membership trials without ever having to pay, or b) she was homeless.  I wasn’t sure about the homeless theory, only because she had always seemed to have some change of clothes and makeup and never appeared or smelled like she hadn’t bathed in a while. 

I paid close attention these past three days at the gym and Alison did too, and we definitely did not see her work out.  This morning after my workout and shower, she was lurking around and pretending to get ready again.  Alison mentioned to me that she had seen her in the locker room walking around in her underwear even before we had done our workouts over an hour previous.  The final confirmation on the homeless theory came a few minutes later.  The girl that is the attendant in the locker rooms in the morning came in and appeared to be looking for someone.  I asked her who she was looking for and she said, “I have to take someone’s member pass away.”  I asked if it was the black-haired woman and she said, “Yeah, she’s been sleeping here.”

I didn’t stay to see how that played out, but now I have my answer as to her story.  I do feel bad for the woman, but she didn’t go about things in a very smart way, always making her presence known so obviously.  I can only hope that eventually she will find her way to a shelter or something.  My coworker volunteers at a shelter where the tenants are required to learn job skills and it is not far from the gym.  It just makes you realize how lucky you are to have what you have.  Even people that are employed live near poverty (the poverty level in NYC is $21,000 a year), so getting back on your feet in this town is hard to imagine.  Yet another reason it’s true that, “if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.”

A Glimpse at Another Life

Several weekends ago, my friend and former coworker, Crystin and I went out to the Hamptons to stay with Henry’s family.  Crystin also helps Henry with his homework one night a week, so we were both excited to see the whole family since school is not in session and haven’t been over for our regular visits.

We took a 4:00 PM train out of Penn Station and arrived to Southampton around 6:00.  Henry stood anxiously by the tracks waiting for us to arrive, which surprised me since their house is just a five minute walk from the train station.  We all hugged and Connie drove us to their house.  They have a side pebbled driveway that leads to a detached garage in the back of the house.  We took our stuff to the pool house where we would be staying and could smell that Connie already had the grill going.  We put our stuff away and walked back toward the main house where there is an outdoor patio.  Connie offered us margaritas and snacks right away.  How nice is that to get off the train and have a cocktail waiting for you?!  That night we enjoyed steak and various side dishes Connie had concocted.  We sat out on the patio and chatted with the whole family, even big brother Nick, who surprisingly graced us with his presence.

The next morning I got up and went for a run while Crystin did laps in the pool.  Afterward we ate some breakfast and then Jim took us in his convertible for a tour through Southampton.  He drove us through town and pointed out all the shops and the spots where the boys hang out with their friends.  Then he drove us south toward the water and showed us all the beaches, as well as the mansions lining the streets.  It was hard to get a good look at them because they all have large burms out in front for privacy.  As we got closer to the beach, the houses just got bigger.  I could hear the dollar signs clinging in my ears every inch of the way.  Every part of the Hamptons has a few key famous people, including fashion designers.  Montauk as Ralph Lauren and Southampton has Calvin Klein.  Several years back I had seen Calvin Klein’s monstrous estate overlooking the ocean, but he has since torn it completely to the ground.  How could someone hate their house that much that they just said, “Screw it.  We’re just going down to the dirt and starting over.”  Not only that, how could someone have so much money to do so??  Well apparently Mr. Klein has such endeavors and finances.

When we finished our tour through town, we came back and put on our swimming suits.  We decided we would ride bikes to the beach and eat lunch there.  Riding our bikes allowed us to see a lot more houses because we could slow down and peak through the greenery.  We biked about three miles and arrived at the big beach, which also houses a large concession stand.  We went down near the water and laid out for about an hour before deciding we wanted lunch.  We left our towels to hold our spot and walked up to the concession stand.  Amongst the typical burgers and hot dogs listed on the menu was also a lobster roll.  I thought that sounded perfect until I saw the $21.95 price tag.  Considering the quality of the rest of the food, I thought it was about $10.00 overpriced, so instead I settled on a chicken sandwich.  Crystin and I ate our food at the tables on the patio outside the snack bar and then headed back to sand for some more sun. 

As we walked closer to where we had been laying, I was having a hard time locating our stuff.  At first I panicked that someone had taken our towels and shoes, but then I realized the actual tragedy: the tide had come up and covered all of our stuff in sea water and sand.  Luckily we had taken our phones and wallets with us, but now we had nothing to lie on.  Before you call me a complete moron, we were a good 30 ft behind the tide when we got there and over the dune, so we were completely shocked how much the tide had come up.  With our things soaking wet and nowhere to sit, we had no choice but to end our beach trip early.  We rolled up the towels into a ball and strapped them to the back of the bike and headed back home, and instead spent the afternoon at the pool.

That night we enjoyed another home-cooked meal courtesy of Connie.  Nick didn’t hang with us that night, but Henry did, and we enjoyed another relaxing evening out of the city.  Connie even took us into town to pick up some dessert at a local restaurant which is a celebrity locale.  Our celebrity spotting: Billy Joel’s daughter.

The following morning, Crystin went for a swim at a local lake with Connie and her swimming group.  I’m not a swimmer – especially in open water – so I did not join them.  When they returned, Connie made waffles for us.  After cleaning up the kitchen, we headed to the pool for some last rays before heading back to the city that afternoon.  Jim came and swam with us for a while, and then we packed up our stuff and had some lunch before Connie drove us to the bus station.  We ended up taking the Hampton Jitney back to the city instead of the train because Connie had given us two free passes.  We arrived back into the city around 5, feeling completely pampered and rejuvenated.  What a way to spend the weekend.

A picture tells a thousand words

As follow-up to my last post about my grandfather, I wanted to post this photo that came in the last years of his life.  It perfectly captures everything that embodied him and how I remember him.  He always wore a huge toothy grin when he wasn't snoring in the recliner.  He started wearing trucker hats when it was quite unfashionable to do so, which he kept them on the wall of his bathroom.  He was always wearing a polo shirt with khakis and white socks pulled up with tennis shoes (too bad the photo is cut off for that gem!).  And, he was always eating a cookie that most likely my mom had made for him.   This was my Papa:

One year later

The Fourth of July is less than a week away, and while this is a special holiday for Americans, for me, it is laced with a bittersweet feeling of loss and remembrance of a different kind.  This year’s Fourth will mark one year since I lost my physical grandfather to Alzheimer’s, although he really died at some undefined time before that.  I usually write my posts about things in a whimsical sort of tone, but real life is not always so sunny, and this particular event is something I am thinking a lot about lately.  Most of you that read this may have even known my grandpa, and others may have only heard about him, but I want to tell you who he was to me.

Mahlon “Bill” Adams grew up on a farm in Ada, Kansas, one of four boys.  In an ironic twist, he himself had no sons and four daughters (although he was always considered his girls’ spouses his own sons).  Then from those four girls came all grandsons and one granddaughter – me.  Because of these gender lines in our family and the age spread of my cousins, I always had a very special relationship with my grandfather.  He was forever my Papa, and I, his Little Cottontail.  If there was ever a man that could be summed in one word, that was Papa, and that word was jokester.  When he laughed, he laughed with his whole body, shoulders hunched over and shaking up and down.  Further to that, Papa was the funniest person he knew, which made him all the easier to love. 





Papa and me circa 2000

 
As a child, I had a beloved blankie that he was always trying to steal from me just to get a rise out of me.  The game became that if I was touching Bear (my grandma), I was on “safe base” and he had to let go of my blankie.  At one point around age 8 or so, I got so fed up with his shenanigans that I took out a pair of scissors and cut a very small square out of my blankie and said, “HERE!!  Now you have your own and can leave me alone!”  He immediately chuckled and pulled out his wallet and slid the square into it.  He carried that swatch around in his wallet for more than 15 years, tucked right next to a picture of me.  I’ve been told that he often pulled it out and repeated this story to his buddies at his coffee group.  Unfortunately, that piece of blankie got lost at the end of his life, when he was repeatedly pulling things in and out of his wallet as a way to make sure things were all in order.  That’s not the end of that story, but I will get to that...


Papa was a cabinet builder and from an early age on the farm he was building his own toys.  As a little girl, Papa built me my very own dollhouse with customized wooden furniture, a pink painted broomstick horse that he teasingly named Plug, a small wooden step-stool, and a baby doll bed.  Bear always jokes that when he built the doll bed, she warned him, “You know she is just going to climb right in that.”  He replied, “Oh no she won’t!  She knows she’s too big for this.”  Guess who won that bet?  Hey, I was only 2 ½ - in my eyes it looked like it was my size!


Papa taught me how to give a Wet Willie, how to peel an apple, how to fry bacon on a campfire, and how to snore quite properly.  He also unfortunately taught me the cruelty that life sometimes hands.  When I was in middle school, Papa was diagnosed with prostate cancer.  I remember the heavy weight of fear and sadness that set into my chest when my mom first told me he had cancer.  In my mind, that immediately meant death, and I felt physically incapacitated thinking of it, until my mom assured me that it should be treatable.  Luckily it was very treatable and he never had any other cancer scares after the initial treatment.  It was a handful of years later when he was diagnosed with dementia and finally Alzheimer’s.  If I’m being honest, I don’t remember those days.  I was in high school and college when the symptoms starting showing up, and I was probably just too consumed in my own problems to really allow myself to grasp the reality of the situation.  When I graduated college in 2006 though, that was when I started to tune in to what was going on with him.


I still saw Papa at most holidays, but in between that, I didn’t have regular communication with him, so I think I tended to brush off the things my mom was saying about his decline – him not being able to button his shirts anymore, his more frequent naps, his coming in and out of conversations, his stumbles when he was walking.  When I closed my eyes, all I wanted to see was that goofy man with the pot belly, plaid shirt, and trucker hat.  If I started acknowledging these things as a sign of anything, it made it all real, and that was not a reality I was prepared to face.  It became even easier for my denial to grow when I moved to New York in 2007.  I then saw him even less than before and was less conscience of his digression.  For a long time I believe he tried to hide what was going on with himself.  He was ashamed.  To me, I think this must have been the worst time for him, being somewhere in between awake and asleep, knowing that everyday he was going to lose a little more of himself.


In the last year of his life, my mom and my Aunt Shellie were visiting him nearly every weekend, in order to give some relief to my grandmother.  Whenever my mom would tell me how the weekend went, I would cry because the man she was describing was not the same man I had held close to my heart for 25 years.  At one point my mom insisted that I plan a trip to come home to see him.  I knew that it was a goodbye visit, but I would not allow myself to admit it.  That was April of 2009 and that was the last time I saw him.  At some point shortly after that trip, I had to ask my mom to stop updating me on his illness.  It was too hard for me to think about, especially when I couldn’t just get in the car and drive three hours and be sitting next to him, holding his hand, and every picture I saw of him, he seemed to age 5 more years.  His face had started to droop, he was losing weight, and that toothy grin was barely there anymore.


The week of Christmas that year, my mom called and told me it was time to put Papa in a care facility.  Those all-too familiar feelings of fear and sadness took me over again.  I had thought I would get to see him one last time, but it was too late.  He was too far gone at that point.  There was such a strange silence that year at Christmas.  It wasn’t full of its usual joy.


In June of 2010, I knew the end was near for him.  He no longer recognized any of his daughters or my grandmother, and he would not eat or drink.  I am glad that I never saw him in that state.  It makes it easier for me to preserve the positive memories of him in my mind, but there is also a part of me that wonders if he would have mistaken me for my grandmother as young woman, as I look so much like her.  And would that have made his world better for just a few moments?  I don’t know at what point this changed, but Bear always tells me that even once he was moved into the care facility, a smile would come onto his face with mention of my name.

Papa and Bear

On the morning of the 4^th, my phone rang and I saw it was my dad calling.  The ever-presiding head of the family, I have not seen my father cry but two times in my life.  But there he was, on the other end of the line, barely able to speak.  All he could muster out was, “Papa’s gone.”


As much as I had tried to prepare myself for that moment and knew that it was on the horizon, I was in total shock at that moment.  I suddenly found myself unable to support the weight of my own body and fell onto my bed, weeping for what felt like a physical pain in my body.  I could not breathe.  I could not speak.  I wanted it all not to be real.  This pain would surely be over and everything would be back to normal, right?  But that’s the thing about death…there is no going back, no do-overs.  The only thing that gave me the littlest bit of comfort was knowing that the body that had taken my Papa hostage could no longer turn him into someone he was not.

One positive thing about having a fatal disease is that it allowed our family to prepare a funeral that rang through Bill Adams in every aspect.  I won’t go into all the details of that, but the one thing that will always stick out in my mind was how clear the sky was that day.  For some reason, it made me feel at peace.  I felt like I was looking at a landscape that could only be created in movies and paintings, and I knew it was just the way he would have wanted it.



The sky and the view at Papa's funeral.  Amazing photo is courtesy of Sam.



One year later I’m still fighting his loss on a daily basis.  He is in my dreams almost every night and so I never want to leave them.  I’ve started volunteering in the New York City chapter of the Alzheimer’s Association in order to help deal with my grief.  I am not the only one with this story, and it helps to surround myself with young people who can relate.  Every time I do something for the organization, I hope that Papa is looking down on me with pride.

A few weeks ago I was home in Kansas City, and I was sitting out on the back deck of my parents’ house talking with my sister-in-law, Kimi and Bear.  I was telling Kimi how Bear had given me her wedding earrings when I graduated from high school, to wear at my own wedding one day.  She asked me to describe them and I realized that they were upstairs in the storage closet, so I went to look for them.  I found the box where I knew the earrings were and with them was a card that I had not recalled ever having received.  Inside was a note that Papa had written to me and half of the swatch of my blankie I had given him all those years ago.  In the note he told of how he would always carry the other half with him and be reminded of me and that when I looked at my half, I would know how much he loved me.  I had never felt his love more… 

A Tale of Two Cities

Over Memorial Day weekend, Sammy and I ventured off to Chicago for a little getaway.

The trip started off a little rocky when the cab driver dropped us off at the wrong terminal.  We were flying Delta Shuttle, which we mistakenly assumed was the same as Delta.  We didn't realize our mistake until we were attempting to go through security and were informed we were in the wrong terminal.  The correct terminal was not within walking distance either, so we had to hail another cab and reload our luggage.  The driver pulled us up to what looked like a regional airport, which was actually the Marine Terminal of La Guardia Airport.  Luckily the line was super short, so we managed to get through security and at our gate with just 10 minutes to spare.

Once we arrived in Chicago, we realized it was much colder there than it had been back in New York.  I started to panic that I had not packed properly, but Sam assured me the weather forecast slated Friday to be the coolest day.  We got checked into our room at the Westin on N. Michigan Avenue.  If we went back, we would not stay in the area again.  It was a bit like staying in Times Square in New York - too many tourists and did not give a real feel for the true city.  

For lunch we went to the classic Chicago dive called Billy Goat's Tavern.  It has been in Chicago since 1939 and is cash only.  The menu consists of hamburger, double hamburger, cheeseburger, double cheeseburger, or grilled cheese.  They do not serve fries or rings, and do not serve Pepsi products.  Their motto is, "No fries, chips!  No Pepsi, Coke!"  Stepping up in the line to order was a bit intimidating and reminiscent of the Soup Nazi.  The man behind the counter was much nicer than the Soup Nazi, although when I tried to order a grilled cheese, he said, "Grilled cheese?  No.  Double cheese!" (as in double cheeseburger).  When I stood waiting for my food, I was unsure whether or not I would actually get my grilled cheese or not.  I ended up getting my grilled cheese and Sam had the double cheeseburger.  It was cool to be at such an iconic place.

After lunch, we headed to Millennium Park.  Luckily the sun was out that day, so we were able to enjoy some beautiful views, even if it was chilly.  Sam took photos of the outdoor art and the expansive garden there.  We made our way to the south end of the park and toured the Chicago Art Institute and got to see several famous paintings.  That night we had a wonderful dinner at Frontera Grill, a Rick Bayless Mexican-style restaurant.  It was no KC Mexican food (I'm extremely biased on that one...), but it was pretty tasty, and we had a really entertaining waiter with an interesting curly tipped mustache.

Inside of the Art Institute.

The "Bean" in Millennium Park.

Water art in Millennium Park.

Shot of downtown buildings.

The next morning, we awoke to a clouded sky and the same cool temperatures from the day before, but we tried not to let it deter our excitement for the Cubbies vs. Pirates game at Wrigley Field.  We got there early enough to walk through Wrigleyville and I got my very first Cubs t-shirt.  Sam was really excited to see his favorite team play and I was excited to be at Wrigley for the first time.  The game started off scoreless through the first three or four innings, and we enjoyed some beer, hot dogs, and ballpark nachos.  Then the Pirates started scoring.  And scoring.  And scoring!  When we left the game was 10-0.  Sam started rattling off statements that could only be heard elsewhere from one Rick Martin, such as, "God, I don't even know why I watch this team anymore!  They are absolutely worthless!  They constantly play like garbage and always let me down!!  I wish I had never become a fan of these freaking Cubs!!  They are an embarrassment to baseball!"  Etc, etc, etc. (I will spare you the obscenities).

Sammy and me in front of Wrigley.

After we left I wanted to stop in Nordstrom Rack that was near our hotel so I could use a gift card I had.  Just as we got to the store, it started raining.  By the time we left it was downpouring, so we had to purchase two umbrellas from there too.  We made the five minute walk back to our hotel and successfully got drenched in the process.  We had planned to go to the 96th floor of the Hancock Building that night, so we were bummed that the views would be distorted with clouds.  We ended up going anyway and were able to see some of the fog lift before sunset.

Dinner that night was beyond amazing.  We ate at a place several people had recommended called The Publican.  It was in an area of Chicago that had a sort of Brooklyn feel to it.  The seating was family style, so you ended up sitting with strangers next to you.  I actually really liked it because it sparked conversation.  It was an Americana style tapas theme, and there wasn't a single thing we got that we didn't love.  The best thing we had was a barbecued pork belly.  It literally melted in your mouth.  We also had this raw asparagus dish that I'm bound to recreate at home.  It was chopped raw asparagus, shaved parmessan, lentils, and  oranges tossed in balsamic & olive oil.  The flavors all complemented each other so well.  Overall, just a phenomenal meal.  Oh yeah, and it's a great beer spot - not that that matters for this vino girl though!!

Sunday morning was originally supposed to be the best weather of the weekend, so we had pre-booked an architectural boat tour for 11am that day.  Again, we woke up to clouds and temperatures in the 50s.  Just as we were approaching the docking station, the rain came again, and this time even harder than the day before.  There was a heavy cloud of fog too, that didn't allow you to see the tops of any buildings.  Exactly the worst conditions for an architectural tour.  The tickets were non-refundable, so we decided we would just have to suck it up.  There was a covered lower level on the boat, but by the time we got there, there weren't any seats left below, and there was no visibility to the buildings.  We each bought a $2 poncho and went to the upper deck as the tour began and the rain continued to beat down on us.  We got to hear a lot about the history of the city and how it became the architectural capital of America, and I did find it extremely interesting.  If the weather had been on our side, I would have had no complaints.

By the time the 90-minute tour concluded, I was soaked to the bone, despite the best efforts of my poncho and umbrella to keep me dry.  We decided we would get lunch on our way back to the hotel.  We stumbled upon an Italian wine & cheese bar called Quartino and stopped in to eat.  We warmed up with delicious soups served in individual clay dutch ovens.  The food was wonderful and helped to lift our spirits over the weather.

 The fog we had on the tour.

 More fog.

That night we met some friends that Sam knew in town for some classic deep dish pizza at Lou Malnati's.  It was SO GOOD.  I had never had deep dish before and it was so much better than I was expecting.  Not only that, the meal was very economical.  After dinner we went out for some Chicago night life at a speak easy.  I ended up turning in early, but Sam stayed out for some fun.

The next morning we packed up and headed back to the Big Apple.  We were quite relieved to get home.  Unfortunately, the weather had really taken a damper on our vacation, especially knowing everyone back home was enjoying sunny beach weather.  I will say though that all the food we had was amazing and was my favorite part of the trip.  

So how does Chicago compare to NYC? Here is my side-by-side comparison:

WHAT: Pizza

WINDY CITY: Deep dish.  To eat: knife and fork may be necessary.

GOTHAM: Thin crust.  To eat: fold and half and eat with your hands.

WINNER: TIE. Not only was the deep dish delicious and filling, it was cheap! Check out http://www.loumalnatis.com/ . But there is also something to be said for good ole slice of NY style thin crust. Favorite in the city is La Pizzaria: http://lapizzerianyc.com/ . 

WHAT: ARCHITECTURE

WINDY CITY: Spacious and not as concerned about budget as they are about honoring the design.

GOTHAM: Buildings built narrow and tall, and not as many high quality buildings.

WINNER: WINDY CITY.  There are so many more interesting buildings in Chicago than there are in New York, and they do not sacrifice the craftsmanship and art as much as NYC contractors.

WHAT: PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION

WINDY CITY: Subways (the "L") and buses.  Subways are differentiated by colors and are a bit sporadic in their coverage.

GOTHAM: Multiple train and subway options for all parts of town and the boroughs.  GOTHAM.  As much as I might complain about the MTA in NY, the public transport in Chicago is a joke compared to NY.  It's not as easy to understand, it's slower, and does not cover as much of the city. 

WHAT: ACCESSIBILITY TO OTHER CITIES

WINDY CITY: Major airport hub, so there are lots of flights to choose from.  Located just an hour and a half plane ride from either New York or KC, but most bigger cities require a plane ride to get to.

GOTHAM: A bus ride away from Boston, Philly, and DC for $30 roundtrip, leaving every hour, but it's a long plane ride to Phoenix or Cali.

WINNER: GOTHAM.  Closer to more major cities in my opinion.

WHAT: BAR SCENE

WINDY CITY: Can't speak to this much, but the drinks sure are cheaper!

GOTHAM: Every type of scene imaginable.  People drink a lot in this city because most apartments are too small to just go and "hang out" with friends, so our bars become what other people use couches for.  Drinks can be insanely expensive.  I get reverse sticker shock when I go to other cities.

WINNER: TIE.  Depends whether you want options & scenes vs. economics.

WHAT: PEOPLE

WINDY CITY: Walk at a much slower pace, but incredibly friendly and full of manners.  Everyone has faith in humanity.

GOTHAM: Everyone has an edge, and in order to survive here, you must develop one too.  One time walking down the street outside of Grand Central Terminal, a guy was walking the opposite direction of me and bumped my shoulder so hard that I almost fell.  No apologies.  But I did turn around and yell some choice words. No one has faith in humanity and if you do, you'll get your identity stolen or scammed some other way. 

WINNER: WINDY CITY (as if it weren't obvious...).  Oh, how I miss the people in the Midwest.  People actually look you in the eye and say please and thank you.  They do need to learn to walk faster though.

WHAT: SPORTS

WINDY CITY: They've got the Cubbies, the White Sox, the Bears, etc.  Wrigley is a cool experience, but the fans don't really get into the game very much.

GOTHAM: Nine professional sports teams plus some minor league teams.  Fans here are die hard.  But they are also haters.

WINNER: GOTHAM.  Gotta love the passion.

WHAT: WEATHER

WINDY CITY: When it's nice, it's nice, but when it's bad, it's baaaaaad.  Snowy, windy, and cold most of the year.

GOTHAM: Similar to weather in the midwest, but without the thunderstorms.  It's typically 5-10 degrees warmer here in the winter compared to KC, and 5-10 cooler here in the summer compared to KC.  I'm in a constant debate with myself if it's worse here or in KC, though, because here you are exposed to the elements.  We don't just have cars to jump into and crank up the AC or the heat.  When it snows, we have no choice but to walk through it, and all the cement from the tall buildings radiate the heat like an oven, making the whole city smell like a garbage can.

WINNER: GOTHAM.  I can't deal with the cold.

WHAT: COST

WINDY CITY: Midwestern costs, slightly elevated depending on neighborhood, etc.

GOTHAM: Insanely expensive.  For what we pay in rent, we could have a mortgage on a 3-4 bedroom house in the midwest.  Beers are $7 or $8 & rent is typically half of a person's monthly income.  Most people in their 20's still have some sort of financial support from their parents, unless they work in finance.

WINNER: WINDY CITY.  (No need to explain why!)

OVERALL WINNER: 

What can I say?  I love New York...

Life Happens

I realize I have been a total slacker and my posts are getting fewer and further between.  I promise to be better at this, especially since I made Sam do all the work to duplicate the original Reese photo!  The problem with New York though is that it literally never sleeps – the adage is true.  Life is constantly going, going, going, and it can be hard to find the time to sit down and write something.  I’ve lived other places and do not want to be snooty to say that people outside of this city don’t lead busy lives, but I do believe there is more opportunity to constantly have a packed agenda.  It’s what you do with your time that determines whether or not you’re living up to the full hustle and bustle of this city.

Take for example, my friend Ash.  She is always on the go.  She is always peppy.  She is always up for whatever.  If you’ve seen the movie “Election” with none other than this website’s namesake, Reese Witherspoon, she is the epitome of Reese’s character, Tracy Flick (one year, Ash even dressed as Tracy Flick for Halloween – priceless).  She is incredibly ambitious, competitive, and ultimately successful.  She packs her schedule to the minute of every day, with sleep being on the lower end of her priorities. 

Then there’s me.  I consider myself to be busy and keep a tight schedule, but this is nothing compared to my aforementioned friend.  The difference?  Operating hours.  This city may never sleep, but thanks to a variety of genetic reasons, this girl does!  I require more sleep than most of the ladies in a nursing home.  This limits how much my body allows me to accomplish in a day. 

During the week, I go to the gym early in the morning, work during the day, make dinner at night for Sam and me, and may grab a drink with a friend once in a while after work.  After that, I’m spent by 9 or 9:30 and crash, just to start it all over again the next day.  One night a week I tutor after work (refer to previous post about Henry), and I spend the other weeknights/weekends actively involved in the Mizzou NYC Alumni Chapter, volunteering at events, attending happy hours, attending chapter meetings, and playing on our co-ed softball and football teams.  Sundays usually involve a trip to our (awesome) church, meal planning for the week, grocery shopping, and laundry.  I also recently started volunteering with the Alzheimer’s Association’s NYC chapter.

All that may not seem super time-consuming compared to the lives of those reading this, but the other thing that takes up a lot of time is commuting.  Even living in central Manhattan, it takes on average 30 minutes to get anywhere because of the density of this city.  If you have the money to cab places, you may save time, but being reliant upon public transportation leaves you vulnerable to the delays of the loathed MTA (Metropolitan Transportation Authority) and can make a two-mile commute take 45 minutes.

That brings me to the title of my post: life happens.  So you will have to forgive me for the lack of consistency in my posts.  Plus, I want to make sure they are interesting and not just writing to have something. 

That’s my brief post for now; next to come: my take on the Windy City vs. Gotham…

Pun Intended

In New York CIty, apartments are everywhere, and I'm not just talking about the high rises you see.  Apartments are hidden and tucked in just about everywhere you look, most often above store fronts and food venues.  

In my second apartment I lived in, I was living on the Upper East Side on 2nd Avenue, between 88th and 89th Streets, above a restaurant/bar called Elaine's.  I never saw people my age in there, so I didn't go check it out myself for a while.  A friend of mine informed me that it was a very famous New York establishment, which I never expected living in such an unchic area of town.  

Over time I heard more and more about it and finally ventured in one time with some friends.  Once inside, it was easy to tell that every person in there was a regular and that we were clearly foreigners.  The walls were lined with framed playbills and autographed movie posters, and a large elderly woman sat on the edge of her chair at a table near the front, her eyes framed with abnormally large round glasses.  The two friends I was with had been there before and knew immediately that the key was to make nice with the bartender, and then everyone else's gaze would come off of you.  

This was not a bar for a young twenty-something trying to make it in the fashion industry; this was a bar for famous authors pulling up in limousines, actors who were in their prime in the 1970s, and any sort of professionals over 40 years old and making six figures.  Clearly, I did not fit in, but it was still a place to be experienced.  The famed name most commonly associated with this bar is Woody Allen, who filmed a scene there in his film, "Manhattan."  Over the course of the 2 1/2 years I lived in that apartment, I can't count how many times I came home to see film crews setting up outside the restaurant.

The even cooler thing?  Elaine, herself, owned the entire building, which meant that I was renting an apartment from her.  

I have since moved from that apartment this past fall, and Elaine actually has passed away.  I am now living in a quite different neighborhood of Midtown East, in an area called Sutton Place.  The dynamic in this neighborhood is quite different, but I like that I am not so far uptown.  Once again I am living above a store-front and a restaurant.  On one side is Madison Diner, which is pretty much straight out of Seinfeld and constantly packed with customers wanting their mediocre food.  On the other side is something quite contrary: a "novelty" store, creatively named Come Again.  I have inserted a photo as evidence.  

I know Elaine would be so proud.

Between the yellow and red awnings was the door to my apartment.

Elaine Kaufman

(And they're having a sale!)

Coincidence, schmoincidence...

Last week at church, our pastor Brian talked about affirming and denying the Resurrection of Jesus Christ on the cross.  By "affirming or denying," he was not referring to whether or not we believed the event happened, but whether or not we affirm the Resurrection in our actions in life after that of the Lord, in order to show him praise for his sacrifices and live in the way he has asked of his followers.  It is a message that has stayed in my mind over the last week.  One of the hardest parts of trying to live your life as an affirmation, though, is that you don't always get proof of the change you're trying to be in the world, but last night I was given such proof.

Sam and I went to a French restaurant in our neighborhood that we had never been to before.  The restaurant itself was quite small - only a little over a dozen tables plus the bar.  We were seated at a two-top table with one side on the booth that lined the wall, and because of the small space, we were quite cozy with the neighboring tables.

There was a small space on the other side of the table next to us, and I asked Sam if he thought that's where the advertised live music for the night was going to be set up.  Before he could answer, our neighbors affirmed, "Yes, it is; we just asked the same thing."  That comment led to a few other small talk comments, which led me to my usual talking at the faces of a strangers incessantly at the speed of light - much like I did to Sam the night we met (see, I picked him up, not the other way around...), and also led me to the conclusion that the couple was in from out of town.   A few minutes later I stopped mid-sentence and said, "I'm sorry - I'm from the Midwest.  I talk a lot."  (This is the time-frame in which Sam is usually sitting silently, trying his best not to roll his eyes over my repeated chatting up with strangers, silent, and looking down at his plate.)

The response?  "Oh, that's OK, I'm actually from the Midwest too," said the husband, who was about my father's age.

"Oh, really??  Where are you from?"

"Kansas City.  Well actually I grew up in Overland Park."

This immediately set off a firestorm of questions and findings of commonalities, including that the husband, Mark*, went to Mizzou!!

Through additional conversation, we learned that Mark and Karen* were in town from Los Angeles.  Mark was in on business, and they staying for a long weekend.  Per my usual self, I asked if they needed any restaurant recommendations, etc.  For the next hour or so, we chatted as the live music set up on the other side of their table, and I gave them a list of non-tourist places to eat and visit.  We continued to enjoy a lovely evening with this couple and were amazed over the chances that we would be seated next to each other in a restaurant in one of the biggest cities in the world.

As the plates were cleared from our tables, Mark excused himself and I sat talking with Karen while Sam listened in on the live music.  She leaned into me and said, "I don't want you to say anything, but I just [got some devastating health news] yesterday, and talking with you two is the first time I haven't thought about it since I found out." (Out of respect to Karen, I am refraining from verbalizing what the actual news was...).  I immediately threw my arms around her without even thinking about it.  It was such an emotional moment - incredibly sad, yet also so touching of a comment to receive from a complete stranger.

Before Mark and Karen left, I gave them my email address and insisted they let us know the next time they were in town.

When they left, Sam gave me his quizzical look, obviously regarding the hug.  When I told him what Karen had said, he sat in silence for quite a few moments.  I finally broke the silence and said, "I don't think this was all just a coincidence.  This was a sign from God."

Sam slowly responded, "I was just going to say the same thing..."

In the next hour of our date night out, we couldn't stop thinking about the blessing we had just witnessed.  I started thinking about Brian's message, and it led me to be filled with a joy I cannot put into words.  Striking up a conversation with a stranger (as I said, is something that usually annoys Sam) ended up making the day of someone who is suffering.  This experience affirmed to me that I should continue to just be me, because playing the character of me without any filters, affected someone in a positive way.  This is the character I want to continue to develop in myself.  THIS is what Brian was talking about!  THIS is the message of God!

This experience was not a coincidence.  It was not a chance of random people meeting at a random time.  THIS. WAS. FATE.

This was the work of the Lord.

*names changed