A month full of festivals, marches, parades, forms, commuting, rain, and sun, wind, and more rain, and more rain. Along with all manner of ups and downs, fits and starts, ins and outs, a kind of stuttering, meandering, toddler-like frankenmonster steps toward a consistent discipline.
Mostly a pass but on a few fronts, fail.
Or, if not fail then certainly room for improvement.
And improve I shall.
There are too many things in my cramped condo. Now, granted there are two other adults who live with me in this cramped condo. Thus, some of the things do not belong to me. But, I will attend to my shrinking the number of things that do belong to me and work to convince the others to shrink their things as well.
Note: the convincing is directed at daughter as son has been living smaller for a while now. In fact, it is his example I want to follow. That guy's dedication and discipline is epic.And as you might imagine it causes me some joy and pain.
The purging of things is metaphoric. Of course, I have other things on my plate that need attending. Of course there is the juggle between work and play; striking the delicate balance needed to attend to most, and being okay that it isn't ALL.
At least, not all at once
First up, my personal space, my bedroom generally and my personal business (and art) files specifically.
Summer in Chicago for many, if not most residents equals being outdoors at one festival or another. The weekends are chock full of options from one end of the city to the other.It is a grand opportunity to visit a neighborhood that is not one's normal stomping ground, to sample foods that may be outside one's comfort zone.
A random art fair aside, outdoor festivals are not typically my cup of tea. My sensibilities are turned off by three elements inherent in these fetes: 1. crowds 2. outdoor eating 3. too many people, wearing too few articles of clothing, imbibing too many fruity spectacles delivered in a culled out pineapples.
On the positive tip though, attending festivals is an excellent way to get in s-t-e-p-s.
While not your typical festival dweller I will, depending on the weather, other commitments, and the neighborhood, check the calendar, pencil in the possible events, and try not to talk myself out of attending at least 3 over the next 3 months.
Summer has just begun and I've already missed more than a dozen. Don't fret there are dozens more.
A Tribune photographer captured the actor at the blues festival last weekend. Check out the gallery. And yes, he pretty much dresses this way for everything, winter or summer, rain or shine.
I do look forward to summer in Chicago, more for the opportunities to get out on my bicycle over attending festivals. But it is grand to know that weekend IN and weekend OUT there is something I could do, somewhere I could go--have a fruity spectacle delivered in a culled out pineapple--if I truly wanted to go that route.
A few years ago I learned Chicago has a turtle club. Maybe more than one, but for the purposes of this note, one is all I need. The turtle club members had an open house (of sorts) which is how I had the opportunity to meet many turtles. It was a fun day. I thank my friend for bringing that memory back to my forefront.
Have I mentioned that my daughter is a culinary student? I am her official guinea pig taster. It has been fun and interesting.
Fun aside, I really have to ramp up my m-o-v-e-m-e-n-t regime. Again. And continuing.
Somewhere I read the question, "what are your biggest pet peeves?" I didn't answer there but will answer here: folks clipping their nails in public. Skeeves me right the frack out. Folks mentioned flossing in public and while that is icky, I don't have nearly as much of a gross out reaction to that.
My brother (the younger) is moving to Georgia in two weeks. He told me two weeks ago. It is fitting.
Seventeen. Why is seventeen stuck in my head?
Marriage. Marriage has been banging around the gray matter of late. Mostly I've been thinking I'll never (again) get to a point where I'll be in a marrying state of mind. I have lived alone (save for my son and daughter) since the beginning of the new millennium. I don't know IF I can live with another person in that kind of relationship and as I've never lived with a woman . . .
It is, at the moment, a thought too huge to embrace. Still, I am enthralled that the country is inching toward equality in the marriage arena.
Speaking of m-o-v-e-m-e-n-t, I want to take a Zumba class with the local park district. But I'm concerned that the age for the regular classes begin at 15. It's weird. They have a program called ACTIVE ADULTS for adults 50 plus. But they don't have a class for the same group, exclusively. Weirder: Zumba JR. Kids (Ages 4--6) Zumba Kids (Age 7--11) Zumba (Ages 15 & Up) . . You see that? What about ages 12--14? No Zumba for them.
Some of the songs on the (new) Michael Jackson album are creepy.
I considered growing my hair out (with designs on braids and beads or locks) and let my haircut cycle stretch from every two weeks to . . . well, now. Which wound up being about four weeks. The. HAIR. had. TO. GO!! I may revisit the idea, but have to figure out a way to survive the awkward stage where it must be combed but still too short to braid. Plus, I must be realistic; my fingers may be losing the nimbleness needed to braid well.
10,000 steps (at least) a day. Twice in the last seven days. The goal for the next seven, twice that.