Step one

Back when I first started blogging, I read about a few bloggers who were participating in this strange contest of sorts that had them writing a novel in 30 days. I scoffed, I pondered, I wondered how in the world someone could write anything that could be called a novel in just 30 days. Aren’t those things supposed to take months, or even years, to complete? The good ones should anyway, right? Why would anyone spend 30 days producing something that is not worth reading in the end?

I did not think this was for me.

Then I realized, at least these people were writing. I was only thinking about writing. It was not as though I was producing anything to read at the end of November, either.

From the NaNoWriMo site, “Valuing enthusiasm and perseverance over painstaking craft, NaNoWriMo is a novel-writing program for everyone who has thought fleetingly about writing a novel but has been scared away by the time and effort involved.”

I can muster up enthusiasm about writing, no problem. I have been known to persevere a time or two. I have more than fleetingly thought about writing a novel. And, man, I have definitely been scared.

Sounded perfect for me after all.

Why am I telling you all this? From the NaNoWriMo welcome email I received, “Tell everyone you know that you’re writing a novel in November. This will pay big dividends in Week Two, when the only thing keeping you from quitting is the fear of looking pathetic in front of all the people who’ve had to hear about your novel for the past month. Seriously. … The looming specter of personal humiliation is a very reliable muse.” Although, I am not sure this will help me much because I obviously have no problem looking pathetic in front of you (see Archives), I will take encouragement and support wherever I can find it and you have always been there for me. (Thank you.)

So, for the month of November, I will be writing a novel. If, at the end, I have at least 50,000 words to my story, I win.

I like writing and I like winning. This should be fun.

You better believe I added this to my 100 Things list. Writing, crossing things off lists, multi-tasking… I am winning already.

The same, but different

Today is my tenth anniversary in this house. It is not a remarkable milestone, really. It is not my first house, or even my first home in this adopted hometown, but it seems worth mentioning.

Ten years.

I remember some of what I was feeling and thinking that morning, before signing my name on mortgage papers that kept throwing around a number larger than any I had ever committed to repaying before. I was hopeful and thinking that many wonderful memories would be made in this house. It would be the place where I would forge new relationships, write great works, and laugh until the walls echoed. I was practical and thinking that even when my job sent me to live in another part of the country, or another country altogether, this house, in this neighborhood, with this school district, would retain its value and be a nice little investment in my future.

The Debra of ten years ago believed anything was possible.

I remember when my family and friends each entered my home for the first time. They all said the same thing, “This place looks just like you.” I took that to mean that my character and the character of the house meshed, which is how it felt at the time. It did look like me; it felt like me. I felt calm and content in this space.

A lot can change in ten years.

I still like my house. I know it well by now. I know that my bedroom is always going to be a bit warm in the summer and cool in the winter. I know what time of year it is by where the sunlight hits the wall, shining through the transom windows. I know where the floor squeaks upstairs and how to maneuver the staircase in the dark. But, I am not as comfortable here as I once was.

One of us has changed.

I want the same but different things today. I am restless and ready for change. I want to make great memories. I want to forge new relationships, write great works and laugh until the walls of my heart echo. I want to invest in my future happiness.

The Debra of today believes anything is possible.

Girls’ Weekend 2009

This past weekend was our annual Girls’ Weekend. Denise and I had considered going to New York City at one point, but a series of events led us back to Chicago for our fourth trip. That was fine with me, I love Chicago. Chicago and I are likethis. We are buds. Simpatico. Chicago is magnificent, and I’m not just talking that one Mile.

Here is our weekend in highlights:

The Good

• Westin River North The hotel, at 320 N. Dearborn, could not be in a better place for everything you might want to do downtown. It is close to restaurants, clubs, shopping, theaters… just perfect. If I could move in permanently, I would. The Heavenly Bed and Heavenly Bath were wonderful, too. In fact, if I could just move into that Heavenly Shower, I would be very, very happy.
• Whole Foods I know, to those of you who have the pleasure of one of these oases in your neighborhood, you probably think, so what? But I do not. And thus this bullet. There is a Whole Foods just a few minutes walk from the hotel and I had never been in one so we ventured in Friday evening. I fell in love. Has produce ever looked so gorgeous and clean? I think not. If the Heavenly Shower could become my home, Whole Foods would be my weekend getaway.
• Michigan Avenue I am not sure there is anything else to add to that. It is just pretty and shiny and good and pleasurable. It is everything that good city shopping should be. We did not spend a lot of time there this year, just a few hours on Saturday morning, but the quality of shopping… that was top notch.
• Weird Chicago tour This was the only thing we really had planned all weekend. We met a bunch of people at the Hard Rock Cafe for a walking tour around downtown, led by an author/psychic/ghostbuster dude who was hysterical and informative. It was amazing to learn not only about ghosts (they appear as white or gray transparent circles in photos and appear most often near water) but we also learned so much about Chicago’s past, like this and this and this. I highly recommend this to anyone interested in the paranormal, Chicago, or history.
• Reza’s Restaurant at 432 W. Ontario Oh my stars. We both agreed, this was the best meal we have ever eaten in Chicago. The food was fantastic, the wait staff impeccable, and the manager was incredibly kind and welcoming. I have already made arrangements to return, even though I live three hours away. Yes, it was that good.

The Bad

• Power outage When we arrived at the hotel, it was completely without power on the first several floors. I suppose registering for your hotel room by candlelight could be considered romantic by some, but was not really the experience I expected. We were upgraded to executive suites on an upper floor which had power, and came with free wifi and use of the club lounge, which was incredibly cool and gracious… except, there was no wifi or cable because, oh yes, the power was out below. Thankfully, later Friday evening the power was restored, I was able to get on the Internet and watch TV, and all was right in my world again.
• Weather It was incredibly cold, windy, and rainy most of Friday night and Saturday. I was just not prepared for temperatures that low in October, even in Chicago. Thankfully, the weather was perfect for the haunted tour Saturday night but I was already frozen from the day outside so I wore two pairs of socks with boots, two pairs of longjohns under my jeans, and a turtleneck topped by a sweatshirt topped by a sweater under my coat. And I was none too warm, even with the milder temperature. In fact, I am just now getting feeling back in my cheeks.

The Ugly

• The will-go-unnamed-tapas-restaurant The locals seemed to love it but for the life of us, we couldn’t figure out why. The food was just not good. We were left with a bad taste in our mouths and this question on our minds: “How do you screw up bread?”

Needing less, wanting more

I have become addicted to watching other people find a home. I know, right? Of all the addictions to have, I would come up with the most lame one. I doubt there will ever be a need to create a 12-step program for my problems.

Almost every evening, I spend at least an hour watching episodes of House Hunters, House Hunters International (my favorite), Property Virgins, My First Place, and similar shows on HGTV. (Aha! That is where my blog-writing time is going. Busted!) I am finding the whole process fascinating, from how much homes cost in different parts of the world, to what amenities are standard across countries, to what people have on their ‘must have’ lists. And everybody has a ‘must have’ list, let me tell you.

What never ceases to amaze me, while watching these shows, is how Americans really do seem to require much more space than people in other countries. If an American couple is looking for a home, you know they are looking for one with at least one or two more bedrooms than the number of people in their family, usually a three car garage regardless of the number of vehicles they own, and a master bedroom closet large enough to house a couple of baby elephants, if need be. Let’s not even start on how much kitchen storage they deem necessary or how many bathrooms are needed for a family of four. It is amazing how much r—o—o—m we think is enough. And it is never enough.

Contrast that with couples in Europe or the Caribbean or Central America (and I’m sure other places as well, but these are the areas I see showcased most often) and the requirements completely change. Nobody from those regions expects a house with a lot of square footage, nor do they seem to require it. If a house has two bedrooms for their family of four, they are happy. If it comes with a decent sized bathroom, too? Wonderful. Two bathrooms? Oh my, the joy! The kitchens are tiny by US standards, storage space is minimal and some bedrooms have only small wardrobes, no walk-in closets here.

This is where my analytical nature and psychology education team up with my lack of sleep to create sweeping generalizations and oversimplifications in cultural differences. Or, in other words, I start making stuff up because my brain needs a hobby.

The brilliant insight I came up with the other night was that the non-US people seemed to view the home as something different than did the US people. They did not select a home based on how much stuff they could put in it, but rather, how it would enhance their lives. The Americans generally chose homes based on square footage, school districts, and proximity to work. The non-US people were more likely to choose a home based on its proximity to the sea or mountains. They wanted outdoor space, beautiful views and the ability to commune with nature. If it was also close to their work and family and nightlife, and eased their ability to commute and socialize, so much the better. The home was not seen as something to fill with things, but more as a means to bring tranquility or joy into their lives.

Of course, I have no scientific basis for any of this. Some couples in Europe do want four bedrooms, two and a half baths, a decent sized garden and a lot of storage. There are many American families who want the lakeside cottage or the home close to their family. I am not implying that the desire for more space is bad and being satisfied with 500 square feet for six people is commendable. I am just saying, based on the episodes I have watched of produced-in-America television, there seems to be different expectations of a home and its purpose across cultures. There is also an incredible difference in the amount of stuff we accumulate and feel necessary for living here in the US. Things must give us a sense of security or community that we are lacking in our daily lives or something. I will have to have a few more nights of little sleep to ponder that theory.

I find myself wanting the lifestyle that comes from that non-US mindset. I want to look out my window and see gorgeous panoramas, breathtaking sunrises, glistening water, or amazing wildlife. I am ready to pare down all my belongings to essential clothing, a few pots, pans and utensils, and my books and live in a space that just accommodates them. I want my home to be more about sharing it with someone special than storing things. I am incredibly ready to move, and move on. I think I am soon to become a House Hunter.

I did it

Today marked the 365th entry in my journal and thus completed Goal #59 – “Journal every day for a year” on my list of 100 Things. I took some time today to read back through my journal and found it to be quite a mishmash of subjects and styles, everything from ‘Dear Diary’ posts to poetry. One thing remained constant, however, the freedom I felt in writing those pages. When I knew nobody would ever see the words, they flowed easily, swiftly, sometimes gushing out of me as if being expelled through my fingers. The experience was completely cathartic.

Writing in my public blog has been difficult lately. I seem to be becoming even more private and reserved after three years of doing this rather than the opposite. I do not know if that has to do with things I have watched my friends go through, having revealed a bit too much of their private lives online or a lack of inspiration in my life or just inertia about the whole process but I have felt less at ease writing on my blog these days.

I have a friend who just recently discovered my blog and is reading back through the posts and sending me comments on them now and again. That has had me reading back through the archives and trying to determine why I wrote the things I did, in the manner in which I did. More importantly, it has generated a spark of desire to write here again, which has been missing for quite a while. Maybe I will write the same types of posts as before, possibly not, but I am hoping the words will start to flow here again too.