The Palace of the Spitting Frog

Dinner anyone? (hint - read Aug. Seattle Mag)

2006-09-02T23:18:00.000-07:00

Carl and Tania's Wenatchee Wedding Celebration

2006-09-01T11:29:00.000-07:00

2006-09-01T09:48:00.000-07:00

Stories with Pictures

2006-09-01T09:44:00.000-07:00

Hello out there.... So - I haven't posted in a long time, and I have been playing around with the idea that I would make this a picture blog. I have wanted it to have a theme and I also want to keep working on my photography skills so there ya go. I am going to try and post only a title and let the pictures tell the story all on their own. I am a pretty talky person so this will be its own challenge. We'll see how it goes. First post coming up.

So... my cat's officially a teenager

2006-04-10T17:30:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, I have occasionally been noted as a neurotic pet owner. In the first couple years of owning a cat, my approach went like this - since my cat cannot talk to me and tell me what's wrong, if any little thing goes wrong I better take him to the vet so she can tell me what's wrong. Well, after a few drop $100 visits to find out nothing much was wrong (I even took him to the pet emergency room once because I was sure he was going blind), I finally stopped running to the vet every time he sneezed. However, I did create a bit of a princely cat (as seen in this pic).

Well, I have been traveling a lot for work (I am determined to write more about that later) and Hope has not exactly been a happy cat about this. Carolyn and Stephen have been great, friendly pet sitters, but sometimes he just gets mad about me being gone and he gets a raging rash to make sure it's clear to me that he is peeved. I have been really good - REALLY - and I let him have this little skin irritation and let it heal with no vet visits. Well, I decided to take today off and he has had a really bad "rash" near his mouth that refuses to go away and I couldn't help myself and I took him to the vet. Guess what. He doesn't have a rash at all! He has PET ACNE. Have you ever heard of such a thing? I have acne medicine for him and I am supposed to wash his face every few days to make sure his and yes I quote "skin stays clear". My cat is a full on teenager. What's next, will he come home dunk and break a chair on his way up to his room?

the Damn Garage Door

2006-01-07T19:01:00.000-08:00

My condo is above the garage door and when it opens and closes, there is this low hum that can be heard in my condo. Today, I was out all day shopping and hanging out with J and when I got home, the garage door was going up and down. This in and of itself is not that crazy but I got home 2 hours ago and it has been going up and down continually since I got here!

hmmmmmmmmmmmmm
(3.4 seconds)
hmmmmmmmmmmmmm
(3.4 seconds)
hmmmmmmmmmmmmm
(3.4 seconds)
hmmmmmmmmmmmmm
(10 seconds - is it done???)
hmmmmmmmmmmmmm
NOPE!!!!!!!!!!
hmmmmmmmmmmmmm

I think I am going insane. This hum is all I can hear.... oh, let it go away, away, away!

Christmas on Brentwood Road

2005-12-23T08:29:00.000-08:00

This is my 34th Christmas on Brentwood Road. It will be my last one here. I thought this would make me very sad, but so far it has been relaxing, fun and somewhat nostalgic. It all took a turn for me a few days ago when my mom and I were decorating the Christmas tree. We had these god-awful brightly colored, 1970's christmas ornaments (you know - the kind that are gold with a bright red spot on them) and every year, I attempt to get my mom not to use them. And every year, she tells me we have to because they remind her of when I was young and she and my dad bought the fake tree at Sears a week before Christmas and all Sears had was this one tree left and they had to undecorate it and pack it up to take it home and re-decorate it. All the while, yours truly, a two-year old who was loving to run was making tracks all over Sears while they attempted this. So every year, I try to remind my mom that I am still young and if we can get new ornaments, I would be happy to run around Sears to remind her of that day in 1974. She laughs and makes me put these god awful things up.

So -- this year, we open the box and for some very fortunate reason (at least for me, my mother was devastated with our discovery at first), the damn things are completely rusted and chipped. THANK YOU moist cellar! I finally convinced my mother that it was time to get some new ornaments and let these go out with the trash. She reluctantly agreed. Once this task was done, we put up all the gifts, six kid made, your the best grandma ornaments we have and I thought our tree was looking pretty great. My mother however, was mortified and said that our tree looked and I quote, "naked". Mind you, we had over 100 ornaments on the tree.

We sat looking at it, me very satisfied, her not so much, and I told her a story about my friend J in Seattle who collects ornaments.... I might even say she is obsessed with collecting ornaments. In fact, I said, we only put about half of J's ornaments on her tree when we decorated it a few weeks ago. My mother told me she wished J was not on the other side of the country because our naked tree needed some ornaments.

Let's just buy some I said. This was a novel idea to my mom - we hadn't bought any ornaments since that day in 1974 at Sears so she wasn't exactly sure how we should go about this. I suggested a ride out to Concord -- which if you are not familiar with Massachusetts history is where the famed "the British are coming" bit occurred -- and where now we have lovely boutiques and shops. So, we took a ride out to Concord and we bought about 35 beautiful ornaments (i even bought one for J but don't tell her), and when we got home we put them up on the real tree (the fake one having gone in the dumpster with the rest of 40 years of stuff) and last night my mom and I felt very happy.

As we sat there looking at the tree I thought to myself, see, we can make new memories and get past the old things that we held dear and it can still be great and it can still be home. So, for now, the tree is beautiful, and my mom is healthy and that's all that matters.

Traveling with a Cat

2005-11-20T00:05:00.000-08:00

Monday night I am taking the red eye to Boston for the Thanksgiving. I am taking Hope the Cat along with me. He will have an extended holiday there, being spoiled by my Mom through Christmas. Now, about an hour ago, this whole traveling with a cat scenario started to make me panic. Here's what I picture:

1. He jumps away from me as we go through security and I have to chase him around the airport.
2. He meows all the way from Seattle to Boston and the lady seated next to me bonks his case to make him be quiet.
3. He pees in his case and smells up the entire airplane.
4. He gets another blasted bald spot from the stress.

I love this little tyke and I just want this 10 hours that he has to spend in his cat case to be stress free for both of us. Maybe everything will be ok and we will just settle in and watch our Jetblue TV all the way home.

Sunday Morning at Café Septieme

2005-11-12T23:00:00.000-08:00

For the last eleven years, Sunday mornings have meant sitting with a book to read, some eggs, and some coffee for hours on end at the Café Septieme. This particular restaurant has always been popular but not too popular so no one ever minded if I stayed for a couple hours. They would keep coming by to refill my coffee and if it slowed down, the nice waiter that I got to know would stop by and ask me about my book. I love this restaurant. Despite my friends that pick on it because they say the service is a bit snooty and the restaurant just seems a little full of itself. I love it. It has dark red walls and mirrors and they rotate local artists work on their walls. I love it because Capitol Hill was my neighborhood for 10 years and this was my neighborhood restaurant. I am a creature of habit and let’s just say that I have seen my fair share of Sunday mornings looking out on Broadway from Café Septieme.

Ok, so now we have the background. And from my other posts, I think it’s clear that there has been a lot of change over the last year. Last weekend, I was feeling this sense of change swirling around a lot and so I decided to drive up to Capitol Hill and have breakfast at Café Septieme. I brought my book. It was raining outside. A perfect Sunday morning.

I got there and it was packed. My favorite waiter is still there but he was working the smoking section and I can’t stand that (it will finally be going away from Seattle!) so I sat on the other side. I had some new waiter. I ordered my breakfast without opening the menu. I opened my book and waited for my bowl of café au lait to arrive. It was delightful. My breakfast was good. I was managing my coffee consumption so as not to overdue it and I was just starting to relax when this new waiter came over and asked me if I was planning to head out soon. You see all the tables were full and “what if someone comes in and wants one”. I AM SORRY? WHAT IF….. Well, I was very gracious and I paid my bill and just as I was leaving another table emptied out -- so now they had room for two tables of what ifs. When I got in my car and closed the door, my face wet with rain, I felt very quiet and also somewhat content. I guess if everything is changing and it’s time to shake it up, it might as well reach all the way to my favorite neighborhood restaurant.

Sunday night in Seattle

2005-11-06T20:07:00.000-08:00

Today. I had a moment that happens every fall. When the rain soaked roads in Seattle smell like they did when I first moved here. Leaves cover everything and it's cold and gray and I am a bit melancholy because the sunshine is gone and time seems to be moving very fast. Some fall memories that crash through my head ....

1994: my first fall here. Upown espresso coffee, Seattle Rep and Roxy
1996: high on the adrenelaine of sold out shows of subUrbia
2000: the end of my time with the theatre company
2001: Hope the Cat comes to live with me
2003: times change forever in my family
2004: I buy my first home. A loft.
2005*: a new job. a new context.

Fall = change in my life... sometimes it's sad and sometimes it's happy. Always change though. Last week my mom put my childhood home up for sale. I can't decide if this is sad or happy yet. It's strange. What will be my "home"? Will it be the final thing that makes Seattle seem like home? Will I think of my mom's new condo (which is not even in Massachusetts -- it's in New Hampshire!) home? Will home just become about the people?

Ah the fall..... so many questions. Always so many questions.

*PS - I cannot even bear to put how the Red Sox screwed up w/Theo Epstein. That is too much to even put in the list. Yes, this particular mistake of my favorite team makes me LIVID.

The Hairdresser

2005-10-26T18:58:00.000-07:00

Last friday after work, I went to the hairdresser to get my hair cut. Now, this isn't an especially important event for me. I get my hair cut every six weeks. The only thing unique about last week is that I spent most of the week sneezing and with a giant fever so by Friday I was pretty worn out and pretty unhappy with what I saw in the mirror (it never occurred to me, apparantly, that my red nose and puffy eyes had nothing to do with the length of my hair) so I decided I needed a change.

When I arrived in my seat at the hairdresser, I whined a little and communicated this to my hairdresser. We often commisserate about the lack of single men in Seattle for us so when I said I want something sassy but let's keep it shoulder length, she really focused on the sassy part. I watched in shock as she cut 3" off my hair which was barely longer than shoulder length -- 6" came off at the last hair cut. The result of my sasssy and shoulder-length haircut is a haircut that wouldn't qualify as chin length or ear length, it is downright SHORT!

At first I panicked, I felt like a 1950's suburban Stepford Wife. My hair didn't move. It barely curls -- there is not enough length. I considered writing about it this weekend but I panicked every time I looked in the mirror so it wasn't possible. SHORT hair! I have never, since the age of 4, had short hair!

Well - now I have gone to work and gone out socially and everyone has reacted with a, "Oh my Gosh -- it's so different. It's great. It's SASSY!" and I am slowly but surely starting to adjust to life with short hair. What's the adjustment you ask:

1. No ponytails.
2. No barrettes.
3. No braids.
4. No buns.
5. No hiding behind my hair when I am nervous.

So - there ya have it. For my friends in NYC that read this, you are just going to have to wait. I am not adjusted enough to actually take my photograph with this crazy, sassy short hair.

A moment

2005-10-09T20:30:00.001-07:00

Two years ago today, I lost my dad. He was a quiet man. An internalizer. Until things had simmered long enough. And then, everything came tumbling out at once. Since he has been gone, I have spent a lot of time thinking about his life. And my life. And it’s true. The thing I kept denying. I am my father’s daughter. We are made of the same fabric. I internalize just like he did. I am self critical to a fault. Just like him. I have a deep belly laugh that was born from his voice. He loved openly and had a hard time letting himself be loved. We share this too…

I feel lucky that there was some time when I knew I would lose my dad before he was gone. It was awful and scary but it also gave me one very precious gift that it has taken me two years to fully appreciate. It gave me time.

Here’s what happened. My dad fell in June of 2003. I was very busy at work and I didn’t have a lot of time to pay attention to the nuances of the phone calls with my Mom. It was convenient to believe what she was telling me so I chose to believe that it was no big deal. I reasoned that I had a trip home to Boston in August - I would see for myself what was going on very shortly.

Well, I went home, and everything was not ok. My dad could barely walk. He was very weak. He was clearly very sick. And I was immediately relieved of any thoughts that he would recover. He fell again the day after I arrived. He went into the hospital 4 days after I arrived. And things started to tumble from there. There was a lot to deal with and I stayed for three months, long after my vacation had ended. It was a tough time for my family. But looking back, in many ways it was also a beautiful time. My siblings and I re-established connections with each other and accepted each other in ways we hadn’t ever attempted before. My mom and I became very close friends again for the first time since I was 10. And I got to spend three months with my dad - telling him over and over that I loved him, that I would be ok. It was a time when I was able to live with extraordinary strength. Helping my Mom. My brothers. My sisters. I didn’t shy away from the details. I didn’t ignore the facts. I got scared sometimes, but I have never been as strong as I was at that time.

There were moments that helped me through it. I went to NYC a couple times for work. To check in. To get a little break. We kept debating whether or not I should go back to Seattle for a little bit. We finally decided I should. I brought all my things to NYC. I went to work. I was heading to the airport the next morning. And my brother called. I needed to get back to Boston. Things were not going well. I called Heidi, Kip, Paul. Paul and I had dinner. A very tender meal where I shared the details of what I was going through for the first time to someone outside my family. He carried my suitcase to Heidi and Kip’s apartment. I would stay with them for one night before heading back to Boston in the morning. When I went up, Kip asked me if I wanted a drink. I said yes, that would be nice. He opened a brand new bottle of Irish Whiskey and poured us each a small glass. He bought the whiskey in honor of my dad. Heidi came home and we toasted my dad and I felt safe. I could go back and be strong again.

My dad died about a week after I got back to Massachusetts. In our home. Quietly. With my sister, my mom and I holding on to him. He didn’t want to go. The last movement he made was to kiss my mom as she told him she loved him. He was a quiet man. And he lived and he died with passion. I did the eulogy for his funeral. I am publishing it below, to share something of him, his life. On this day that marks one moment of his legacy.

This story of my Dad starts in 1945. He was a junior in high school that year. It was a time of hope in our country and it was a time of hope for my Dad. He went on his first date with my Mom. They graduated from high school together in 1946. They were married in 1951 and in 1953, our Creegan family started to grow. My parents raised children for over 40 years. My sister Martha was born in 1953 and I didn’t graduate from college until 1994. I often wondered. . . what made them do that? Six kids over 40 years. Every time I asked my Dad, he would answer very simply, “It’s what we wanted, Jennifer. We wanted a big family and we wanted to build them a home to grow up in.” They got what they wanted.

It wasn’t easy raising six kids. Money got tight sometimes. Time was scarce but my parents worked hard to raise us to love each other well and to cherish the thing we call “family”. I can remember so many things about what family meant to my Dad --

Taking me to father/daughter nights at Notre Dame.
Watching my brother James play hockey in Canada.
Walking my sister Maureen down the aisle.
Helping my sister Martha around her house in Vermont.
Sitting contentedly on the beach with my brother Ricky as they solved the problems of the world.
Saturday’s with Rob. Small jobs. Big jobs. Rob was always by his side.

I remember the anticipation of Friday nights, when I would change out of my school uniform, put on my play clothes and wait for my Dad to take me to the candy store. We would load up on M&M’s and Coca cola and we would sit and watch The Love Boat and Fantasy Island.

I remember the stories of golf trips to North Carolina. Ricky, Rob, James and Dad. The Creegan men. Playing golf and having the very important “boy time”.

I remember the look of concern and then laughter on my Mom’s face when she would come home after Real Estate class and find my Dad and I crying in front of the TV. “Have you two been watching Little House on the Prairie again?”, she would say. Sheepishly, we would nod.

I remember my Dad’s face when he told me that Maureen had given birth. That he had a grandson and I had a nephew. He was so proud. So happy. And I thought – he must have had this same look when each new child entered his life.

When I broke my arm and my brother Rob wanted to know how my Dad had let that happen, I remember my Dad determinedly and tenderly looking at my very concerned brother and reminding him that he was the Dad. And that he had things under control.

I remember that each day, my Dad never left for work without giving my Mom a kiss. And I remember that every night, kissing her was the first thing he did.

My niece Erin had a Snow White dress and she would twirl around and say, “Look at me, Papa”. And he would tell her she was his princess. Collin loved trucks and would run around the house with them, playing hard, and my Mom would tell him to stop running and Dad would say, “Mary, Mary. Let the kids be.” And then he would give Collin a little wink. Gary Robert, his first grandchild. “Such a good kid,” my Dad would say with the proud look of a man who loves to be “Papa”. Amanda and Ryan, the little ones. Born so close in age. They added such tenderness to my Dad’s life in these last few years.

And Karen and Gary. Entering our family through marriage. They are quiet people entering our loud clan. Holidays would often find Karen quilting and my Dad and Gary watching a movie in the den while the rest of us were being our loud Creegan selves in the living room.

And then came Linda and Lia, Jill and Kelsey. New additions to our family. My Dad was so happy to see James and Ricky find love.

I remember my Dad with his friends. 4th of July parties with the Lombardi’s. All those bridge games with friends from work and from the neighborhood. New friends in Kate and Bruce. Old friends like Aunt Margie and Uncle Bill. So many friends have touched my Dad’s life. And meant so much to him.

I remember those summers when Aunt Pat’s family would park themselves at Brentwood Road and we would go to the beach and into Boston. And my Dad and Aunt Pat would laugh so hard, it sounded like we had wolves howling in the house.

I remember what it meant to my Dad when my brother James was elected to the Planning Board in Chelmsford. How courageous he thought it was to run for office. How proud he was of all of James’ accomplishments.

I have also learned so much from my Dad in these last couple of months. I learned what the bond of brothers can mean as I witnessed the silent conversations between my Dad and his brother Paul. I learned what it means to have a life partner who is – through the good times and the difficult – the one by your side. My Mom is my hero. She loved my Dad so deeply. So well. With such courage.

My sisters have been here through it all. Loving him. Caring for him. He would sigh with relief when Martha, his oldest daughter, wiped his face with cold water. Martha has traveled here every week, helping my Dad. Loving my Dad. Loving our family.

Each day, my Dad would hold on to Maureen’s hand and find a compassion so deep. A love so open. Tender caring that she is so strong to give.

I thank my sisters for what they did for our family. The compassion and love my sisters showed to my Dad was inspiring and beautiful. Each day, they nurtured. They listened. And they gave him what he needed.

I learned what it means to be with my Dad. My brothers Rick and James and I have been here often. Traveling in and out. We have helped and we have loved. And my Dad was always so glad to see us. He would hold our hands with his tight grip. “Are you ok out there?” “Do you know I love you?” And we would respond, “Yes, Dad. I love you too – so, so much.”

And, finally, my Dad would look to my brother Rob for strength and truth. My brother Rob. Who looked after the decisions and took care of my Dad’s best interests through it all. I know that if my Dad could be here today, he would look at my brother Rob and he would say, “Thank you. Thank you for loving me. For taking care of me. For letting me go. You are a gift.” And so I say it for him. Thank you, Rob. Thank you for loving us all. For taking care of Dad. You are a gift.

My Dad was a quiet man. Sometimes you could sit in the same room for hours and there would be no break in the silence. Don’t let the quiet fool you. He loved us. Fiercely. Determinedly. And with the best he had to give. When I left for New York on business a few weeks ago, I went to see him. To say goodbye. I think it was the first time we both realized that we may never see each other again. He took my face in both his hands. He had tears in his eyes. And he looked right at me and said, “I am so glad we did it again. I am so glad for you, Jennifer.” Me too, Daddy. Me too.

It's All over for me and Netflix

2005-10-08T23:15:00.000-07:00

When I first got a Netflix subscription, I thought it was the best thing that had happened for movie-viewing since the end of kozmo.com*. The idea that movies would just keep coming to my mailbox and all I had to do was build a queue was something that made me very happy. I had a habit of owing a lot of late fees on DVD rentals so I thought this was a sure fire way to end that problem.

For a while, it was great. I watched a ton of movies but then.... I got some movies that I wasn't in the mood for and it took me a while to send them back. And then... I started to feel like a hermit because the pressure to watch my 3 movies and get them back so the next 3 could come was something I got a little obsessed about. And then... I moved and I just didn't have time to watch my three movies.

Every month I saw this $19.57 charge hit my bank account and I didn't blink an eye - I mean it allowed for unlimited movie-viewing. And then ... this morning I was balancing my checkbook and I saw that fee and I tried to think back to the last time I had actually sent my movies back. I realized that it was something like last January, which means that I have paid $156.56 for the privilege of having three Netflix envelopes gather dust on top of my TV. I think I actually watched the movies at some point but it's been so long I can't remember if I did.

For me, it seems that the occasional late fee from the local DVD store isn't so bad and it's a great place where I actually get to interact with people obsessed w/movies who will give me good ideas about what to watch.

Bye bye Netflix.

* ummm. I would still jump for joy if kozmo.com would come back. It was definitely the best thing ever.

Whatever

2005-10-08T10:37:00.000-07:00

This week I went to London on business. It was a good trip, I'll tell you more about it in a little bit. However, the big thing that this trip meant is that I was spared the agony of watching the Red Sox get eliminated in a sweep in the first round of the play-offs. What a ridiculous end to the season. I haven't read all the updates yet but from what I have read, it seems it's time to get some PITCHERS in the off-season. Ah well.... I wish we weren't used to this in Boston, but we are. This will be the last Red Sox post for a while. My mom says that she is utterly depressed because the Patriots aren't doing "as well as they should" either. Luckily, I am not a football fan so I don't have to hold on and watch this tragedy waiting to happen as well. Have sympathy for my Mom - she is the biggest fan of every sports team in Boston you will ever meet. Standing up screaming, can't make plans to go out, sport-loving Bostonian. What a thing to sign up for.

Must it ALWAYS be this way???

2005-10-02T23:18:00.000-07:00

They led the American League East for months. MONTHS, I am telling you. Yesterday afternoon I thought I was going to choke when they lost it to those sorry Yankees AGAIN. But today, they redeemed themselves, as they like to do. And off we go... into the play-offs we go!

Brandy Cleopatra

2005-09-28T23:09:00.000-07:00

Everyone should have one of these drinks. My favorite restaurant in Seattle is called Cafe Septieme. I love the deep red walls and big booths and how it gets pleasantly full but never do you have to wait. Some people have different feelings than me about this restaurant but let me tell you, it's a great neighborhood cafe. I lived in Capitol Hill for 10 years and many of the waiters know me by name, what I drink and which 3 things on their menu I choose from. Anyway, one of my favorite winter drinks (sometime I will tell you about my seasonal quirks) is a Brandy Cleopatra. This drink is the best. It comes in a wine glass and is frothy milk and brandy. It is a delight.

When fall starts settling in like it is now, there is nothing I like better than to go to the Cafe Septieme with Blade and have steak and a nice warm (I forgot to mention it comes warmed up!) Brandy Cleopatra. It just shows me that my favorite season is here and it's time to settle in to the cold and some good strong drinks with dinner.

Sunday = nervous belly

2005-09-25T17:09:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I start my new job. Such a strange feeling. I cleaned my house. Washed every single article of clothing I own, deep conditioned my hair. You would think I am about to go to my first day at a new school - except I am a grown up and I know lots of the people I will work with. I can't sit still. My stomach girgle girgles. I am excited and a little bit scared. We'll see how it goes.

Stairs 1.2.3.4!

2005-09-24T22:44:00.000-07:00

Today was a beautiful day in Seattle. It was one of those crisp fall days, sunny and warm but also really, really fresh. The day started out pretty good. Some errands, moving my office to the one for my new job with my friends J & S, and then breakfast where we had egg omelette souffles. After this nice, typical Saturday sort of day, we dediced to take a walk in Capitol Hill. J and I have this goal to get healthy this year. We have both been very stressed out and not so good at taking care of ourselves so we made a pact. Get healthy - eat healthy, exercise, lose weight. The whole 9 yards. I am happy about this pact. It's helping me change some things, having a buddy to hold me accountable. I am taking it somewhat seriously, you know, if I want the odd bit of not so healthy living, I am ok w/that but I am making a decent effort to stick to our pact.

However, there is an important thing to know about my friend J, when she sets her mind to something, SHE SETS HER MIND TO IT! There is no turning back. Somehow, at some point, J made a deal w/her husband that she would walk these stairs in Capitol Hill 200 times. And on top of this, some whimsical evening over dinner (after I had a glass of wine no doubt), I agreed to do this too. Yah - not one of my best moments.

Anyway, today on our walk, we spent about 45 minutes walking all over Capitol Hill, which was great (I'll tell you about this tower I had never been up later), and then and only then did we get to the bottom of the Capitol Hill stairs. These stairs are unbelievable in length. I think there are close to 600 stairs. The incline is pretty steep. We walked up and down these damn things 4 times. Up, catch your breath for a couple minutes. Down. Up again. Catch what's left of your breath for a couple minutes. Down. Up again. Not a single breath left but go ahead and do it again. Apparently, in addition to the weight that this is going to help me lose, this exercise is also going to help me ski better (which I haven't done since 1994 but which I am determined to do again this winter). Not the best consolation on the 4th walk up... but something to hold on to nonetheless.

Now that it's done, all I have to say is - OUCH. Every part of me hurts. I feel like an 80 year old woman. As I was doing this jaunt up and down the stairs, all I wanted was to be the dog, which J & S had tied up because he would get too pooped going up and down with us. Every time I passed him, I gave him a look of desperation - rescue me puppy! Now. Rescue me now! He just looked at me sadly and watched as I walked on.

When I finished, I thought climbing stairs should be outlawed. And yet, I will do it again tomorrow. 4 more times. As I said, J is a FOCUSED woman and we have made this pact and I do want stronger thighs so there ya go. After this weekend of stair climbing, I will have only 189 times more to go up and down these stairs (for you math wizards out there, we also did this exercise last weekend - 3 times up and down that time). If my body does not resemble a super-model's by the time these 200 climbs is over, I am going to wage war on these stairs.

Madame Me makes a change

2005-09-21T00:20:00.000-07:00

This week my friend KB from the UK is in town. We work together and have become very close friends over the last year. There are some very funny things that she says... I love the UKisms. Last night she burst out very passionately with something like, "and Madame me had a fit!" It was pretty great.

This week is my last week at a job I have passionately done for the last 6years. It's time for Madame me to make a change. 6 years seems to be my time limit. I worked w/Printer's Devil for six years, I have now worked in the same marketing group for six years. For the first time in a long time, I will try something totally new. I am excited about it. About the challenge and the opportunity. But, I am also slightly, I don't know, separate from it.

I have always loved work. Loved the thrill of it. The adrenaleine rush. The sense of Accomplishment (yes, it's capital on purpose). Something is changing though. Maybe it's my hormones... maybe it's that Accomplishment no longer seems like the only important thing. Maybe ... I just really want to get on with the soccer mom bit.

Whatever it is, it's different. When I was thinking about this move, my friend Mike said, "Creegan, you have to decide - do you live to work or do you work to live?"

At 33, I change my definition.

Work to live.
It's clear.
It's right.
And it's about farking time.

Image for my profile

2005-09-16T21:48:00.000-07:00

Ok, bloggers out there. How the HECK do I get an image uploaded to put w/my profile. I have tried for an hour to figure it out and I cannot get it to work. Help!

Look Ahead Girl!

2005-09-16T21:06:00.000-07:00

Last weekend Tina, Dave and I took the ferry to Orcas Island. We were going there for Brian and Heather's wedding. There was a lot of emotion floating around - Brian and Tina dated for many years, Tina's baby belly refuses to treat her gently, I am in the middle of navigating a job change, Dave is still adjusting to this country (there could not be a country more happy to have him - it is a LOT to move to a new country, get married and be on your way to fatherhood within one year though so he is a little quiet).

OK -- so I have set the stage. Usually when there is this much energy worling around, I get very quiet and grumpy. I analyze every move I make. I get, even, a bit glass half empty girl like. This can show itself in very interesting ways. Sometimes I just fold in and get quiet, sometimes I get cranks but it is not usually the case that I am optimistic in these situations.

After we spent 4 hours at the ferry dock waiting to come home, we boarded the boat and I decided to go outside, when I realized, here I am -- with all this stuff going on, and it's just about sunset, and we are on the ferry and I am outside, and everyone else is freezing but I feel that the air is crisp and fresh. I stay out there forever, thinking and breathing in the cold air. Just as I think I can't stand the cold anymore, I realize one other subtle thing that makes me smile right from the corners of my eyes. I am standing in the FRONT of the boat. I am watching us move forward. I am not standing in the back, sadly watching our weekend fun get further away from me. The optimist in me has finally won out. It kicked the behind of my pessimistic self and said, Not this time, Creegan! This time you will look in front of you and take your life for what it is and smile and know that everyone has to make choices and everyone has a few regrets and everyone has the right to smile and attempt to find a passionate, happy life. And this time, you will not look back.

It's been a week since this lovely boat ride, and I can still smell the cold Puget Sound air.

I knew it.

2005-09-15T23:09:00.000-07:00

I write about them and then it becomes a typical September in Boston. I am praying dear Red Sox. PRAYING. Please figure it out with Oakland. Please make this work for us.

HOLD ON!

2005-09-12T23:46:00.000-07:00

I am scared to even write this. Scared to think it. It's September and I am holding my breath. Every night as I leave work, I check the score. Literally trapping air in my lungs as I click, click, click to to see how it's going. And it is always a heart stopper. Please tell me why, Terry, why did we go into extra innings in Toronto? Keep going boys. Fingers crossed. It's September. What kind of tears will I cry in October? It's up to you.

So I moved my blog...

2005-09-11T19:53:00.000-07:00

So, it's a weird thing to publish your blog to all your co-workers and I just decided that it was holding me back. If some of my co-workers find this, so be it. However, a little distance from work seems like a good thing for my blog. I will store all my photos, music lists and book lists on my MSN Space, however, all my new blog postings will get published here.