Becoming a Cardinals Fan

I often wonder how baseball fans become baseball fans – not of the game in general (that I fully understand!) – but die hard fans of a specific team. Geography? Inheritance? Genetically predetermined alliance? Woke up one day and felt like being a fan of something?

How does a person turn into a crazed maniac, willing to jump, scream, holler and cry over a particular team. I’ve never understood, because its never happened to me.

I always wonder this especially when the fan doesn’t live anywhere near the team. My soon-to-be brother-in-law is a die hard Cards fan. He lives in Australia for heaven’s sake. How does that happen?!

In my own case, I’ve been living in some sort of baseball limbo for the past 5 years.

I grew up with a grandmother who was an extreme Cubs fan. But my parents are loyal White Sox fans. That meant I was a White Sox fan (notice I’m leaving out the word loyal here). We went to games as a family and religiously watched the Sox play on TV. But I never seemed to catch the Sox buzz the way the rest of my family did.

Then in 2006 we moved to the St. Louis area. Family members asked if we were going to be Cardinals fans now. I always said, “No, I don’t think so.” Who just moves to a different city and becomes a fan of its baseball team? The idea seemed very disingenuous.

But my loyalty to the White Sox had never grown strong enough and it just didn’t stick without my family around.

I was an un-fan.

A plain baseball fan. Sans team loyalty.

We went to Cards games, of course. Because baseball is baseball and its fabulous even if you are homeless in your allegiances. I even rooted for the home team, but not with the heart of a real fan.

People ask us about the Cards when we’re back home in Sox/Cubs territory. Whether they’re winning or losing – I’ve never claimed to be a fan. I don’t do that fair weather fan bullshit. Not having a team to love is a bummer, but being a fake fan is inexcusable.

And then. Last night. In the bottom of the 9th inning in Game 6 of the World Series, I began to understand.

This is how fans are made.

By the 10th, my heart was racing and I was on the edge of the couch.

In the 11th, by the time Freese cracked the ball into center field, I knew exactly what I would be telling our children when they ask why we are Cardinals fans.

Congratulations Cardinal Nation – you’ve converted another one.

For better or worse, till death do us part, I now pronounce myself a Cardinals fan.

And I’ll always remember why.

Perspective

Life has a way of giving you what you need. Like when your shopping for bedding.

I’ve been…I don’t know what…lately. A pain in my own ass? I’m not sure that’s a sufficient statement. But I’ve been in my own head, caught up in everything I have to do and in general inflicting shitty feelings on myself. It all stems from one thing:

I am behind.

Like, hella behind. Turns out that if you have your own business and you take a 2 week vacation then become stupid-sick for another week, nothing gets done with your work. It just waits for you. And it multiplies. Which means other people are waiting on you. And that, my friends I do not deal well with.

My clients are waiting for their finished product, lots of people are wondering when the hell I’m going to finish writing the Ireland blog posts, my sheets would like to know when they are going to get changed and me…well…I’d just like to take a shower that lasts longer than 2.5 minutes. Oh and that husband of mine, has anyone seen him?

I don’t deal with this like a rational person. I kick my own ass for it. I obsess over every little thing that is getting put off. I see none of the finished and all of the next-in-line. I feel guilty if I stop being productive long enough to eat dinner in peace.

I know, its ridiculous.

So anyway, when I was searching the internet for the perfect bedding (because my bedroom remodel is among the things not getting done) I found this and it was exactly what I needed…

“I continued to think about the “Future Me” and what I would think of the present me. And Future Me had a bit of advice. He said that we are living in a home, eating applesauce, wearing diapers and all I have are my memories. Don’t screw them up. Spend time with your friends and family, because those are my favorite memories. Stop spending so much time on the little stuff, you can barely remember that anyway. Travel more, you will love Africa. Take a few chances, but not too many that you look like a moron (and you are approaching that level so be careful). Enjoy your successes and indulgences, you will see that guilt is a waste of time. Do things for others without the need for acknowledgment or reciprocation (you will get both in spades anyway). Be happy for others who are more fortunate than you, help those that aren’t, respect both equally. Do things you normally wouldn’t do every so often, those are some fun memories. It is okay to cook and do the dishes, but make sure you say thank you when someone does for you. When you get here (the future) you don’t want to have settled.

We could all benefit from calling our Future Me’s every once in a while. We need that reality check of how most of this won’t matter even a few months from now, much less years. We need to live a little more for the moment.

That doesn’t mean go crazy. It doesn’t mean bounce your last check. It doesn’t mean shun stability and responsibility. It doesn’t mean pack up your shit and move to Nepal. It means to do things you will be happy to look back on. That may mean taking the stable job for some, or going with the start-up for others or even leaving it all behind and going to Nepal for a few. Life isn’t black and white. There is no need for you to be stable or reckless…you can be somewhere in-between. You don’t have to married by 28. You don’t need to have kids before you are 35. You don’t need to have your career all set by the time you are 40. Life is different for everyone and very few of us live up to the expectations we set for ourselves or other set for us (and those that do probably feel unfilled in some way). Take life as it comes, change it as you go, and stop worrying about where you are now…just enjoy that you are here and moving forward. It takes some people a few years, others a life time. We all get there.

You are a fluid and ever-changing person who is at times scared, happy, sad, bored, worried and excited. Perfect…that’s how you are supposed to be. Think about the future, think about what you want to look back on, and then stop thinking about the future so much. Re-live the good times in the past. Learn from the bad ones and move on…they are not you anymore. Forget the really bad ones. They serve no purpose anymore. Realize that life is both what you make of it, but more importantly how you want to approach it. You can get bogged down with your own shit or you cannot. The choice is yours.”

–by Andrew Gates

Perspective can be hard to find. Glad I found it. On a home interiors blog, no less.

And for a bit of bonus perspective…

Whenever I get overloaded with work I repeat the phrase “Just be thankful to be working” over and over again. A lot of people have no jobs. So I make it a mission to never take for granted that I have two jobs. But what I also need to remember is that I’m lucky to have the job. The one I know I was meant to do, the one I love even when it is making my life a big, hot mess.

“Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking, and don’t settle. As with all matters of the heart, you’ll know when you find it.” – Steve Jobs

What? You thought I was going to be the only person on the planet not to quote Steve Jobs today?

If you’ll excuse me now, I’m going to go work my ass for exactly 3 more hours. Then I’m stopping. And I’m putting away my to-do list. I’ll be caught up enough. My house is clean enough. The Ireland blogs will get written in time. Our friends are coming over for a party on Friday and my family is coming to visit on Saturday. This is one of the most colorful, beautiful falls I’ve ever seen. The Future Me would prefer it if I’d just go make some memories.

I live with a Stay at Home Mom

I expected that when Zac began working full-time things would change for us. For example, I figured I’d have to start cooking dinner sometimes, since I’m no longer the last one home. This is true.

I figured I’d have to be the one to load the dishwasher and clean up the kitchen on my lunch hour, since I’m the only one home for lunch now. This is true.

(Trust me when I say I do not mind either of those things!)

I figured we would become morning people…the kind who wake up without an alarm clock, share eggs and toast and banter over the morning paper. Fail. We don’t even get a morning paper.

What I didn’t figure was how else things would change when Zac went from splitting his time between classes, an internship and 2 jobs – a schedule that kept him surrounded by adults all day – to going to work at a pediatric clinic. Pediatric is the key word here. Pediatric. Kiddos. Beebees. Rugrats. Little people. All the live long day.

So without further ado, ways our lives have changed:

1. When I sneeze and or sniffle Zac says, “Do you need a Kleenex?” I say, “No, thanks though.” Zac says, “Are you sure? I’ve got a Kleenex riiiiight here!”

2. When the rainy weather requires a light jacket, Zac holds it open for me. At first I thought this was chivalry, then I saw him reach for the zipper.

3. When I bake or cook something new and delicious Zac exclaims “Good job, Buddy!!”

4. When I intentionally talk silly, for example “Are we home yet? Cus I gots tah pee!” Zac doesn’t miss a beat with his reply…”You have to pee.”

5. My husband, the one you probably think leans more toward the quiet side than the chatty side, can and will talk 100 mph without breathing for extended periods of time. Then he will sigh loudly and say, “Sorry. I haven’t talked to an adult all day.”

So it’s clear. While the changes I expected to see have in fact changed there was one change I didn’t anticipate. It would appear that I now live with a stay at home mom.

These are things I noticed last week, laughed about to myself, teased Zac about. But it wasn’t until this past Monday that I realized something. It’s not just him…

While paying our bill at a Mexican restaurant I snagged one of those starlite mints from the bowl. I looked up at Zac and he was tapping his hands together to Baby Sign “more.” I thought “For crying out load now we baby sign to each other.”

But I’m a good wife and I grabbed like 10 more mints and put them in my purse. Again, he Baby Signs “more”. Again, I pile them into my purse. About the third time this happens, Zac’s eyes are wide, looking at me like I’m the crazy one because I’m signing “all gone!” We stepped out of the restaurant and I said, “How many freakin’ mints do you need??”

“What????” He says. “Why were you taking so many??”

“You kept Baby Signing ‘more.’ I thought you wanted more mints!”

“Noooo! I wanted you to look at the cashier’s finger nails. She had really crazy looking finger nails.”

Alas, its not just Zac. His new job has made us both crazy.

I’ve also learned that it is not possible for only one person in a marriage to learn sign language – baby or otherwise. (Although I think he told me they are actually the same signs…but I was too focused on trying to teach my parent’s dog the sign for “No” at the time so I don’t recall.)

Heaven help us when we learn the swear words.

Yeah, you’re right, I already know those.

It’s all good though, my job has rubbed off on him too. Driving home Memorial Day weekend, before I could even comment Zac said, “Look at the light on that field! Can you believe the light is that warm this early in the evening?!”

I said, “Good job, Buddy!!”

Blog disclaimers:
I exaggerate everything. Except the part about the mints. Let me know if you need one.
I support Stay at Home Moms. I am not making fun of them.

Getting Out of Town!

It’s among my favorite things to do: get out of town.

I blame it on my parents, who are and always have been, serious get-out-of-towners.

I will go nowhere just to go somewhere. Ya get where I’m coming from?

It’s my lunch hour, and currently there are dark and stormy looking clouds looming outside my window. We’ve had no few than 100 days of rain in a row. Okay, fine but it really was like 15 days of rain at least. Maybe 8. A lot of rain though. The big muddy river, like clockwork, has flooded. And like every May that I’ve experience in this area, a heat wave is on the heels of the rain, ready to dry up the flooding. It may be cloudy now, but come tomorrow, the mercury will be rising and the sun will shine.

This combination, paired with my get-outta-town urge can only mean one thing.

It is time to camp.

Last May, and the May before that…we swore we’d never do it again. We’d never again camp during the heat wave that follows the spring flooding. It’s too miserable, too soggy, too humid, too stinkin’ hot.

This time last year, at a campground, under the full sun of the May heat wave, I actually attempted to go swimming under a water pump. Heat impairs your judgement. My husband was there, our good friends were there, we all thought it was a viable solution to certain death-by-heat. When that didn’t work, we drug our wilted, smelly souls to a winery. A winery with a teeny, tiny basement. The kind they stopped building 100 years ago. The kind made of massive pieces of stone and not a hint of drywall. The kind that don’t require air conditioning to be 40 degrees cooler than the main level.

The spring flood had filled the basement just days before. Some of the chairs were still stacked on table tops. Big box fans were still blowing in each corner of the room. The floor was still muddy. And out the little basement window, the waters were still working their way back out of town, back into the banks of the Mississippi.

And there we sat, we poor, miserable, over-heated campers. Just us, thankfully, since our appearance left a little to be desired. And we drank the wine. And we drank more wine. And we continued sitting, drinking, laughing, basking in our brilliant idea to sit in this tiny basement while the world melted around us, until the owners politely asked us to go. Not because we’d reached any limit…simply because night had fallen and the place was closed. And we were still there. In the cool air.

So once again, despite our cries of “Never again!” the camping gear stands ready, the cooler is loaded with beer, wine and lots and lots of drinking water. And we’re ready to head out.

Ready to soak up the sun, bitch about the humidity, act like we’re suffering and have no choice but to sleep outdoors in air heavy enough to cut with a knife. Ready to have the simple, fabulous fun that can only come once a year.

The Mighty Mississippi has her traditions, and we have ours.

Let the merriment begin!

The plight of my own photos

I spend an insane amount of time with my mind wrapped up in photography related things. I think about new lenses, new locations, new poses, new clients. I work on improving my photo website, my photo blog, my photo processing work flow. I balance, I budget, I report…three things I’m not fond of but at least they’re photo related. I post process. And I post process. And I post process. And I love every freaking minute of it.

But there’s one little photo related thing that gets put off. Constantly. I’ve said before that I don’t commit myself to things via this blog because if I do, you can rest assured that the whole world will hold me to my word. Sometimes you just don’t want to be held to your word, ya know?

That’s why I’ve never mentioned washing my dishes or folding my laundry on the blog. Heaven forbid I got an email from someone in California wanting to know if I’d really folded my underwear. I’d feel like a failure. Because you can be darn sure I don’t fold anything. Especially not my underwear.

Anywho. This post is not about the unfolded state of my under pants. Its about the one photo related thing that I slack on and push-off. The one thing (other than my water bill) that causes me to yell, “Crap! I know what I was going to do today!”

And that one little thing, my friends, would be my own damned photos.

You’d think someone who spends so much time working to provide strangers with awesome photos would be a little more in tune with her own photo needs. Nope.

That crazy awesome wedding we had? Think we’ve put together an album for that? Nope.

The amazing showers and parties folks hosted for us prior to the wedding? All those photos I blogged? Think those are in an appropriate album? Or even printed for that matter? Nope.

Those vivid, sunny photos from our week spent soaking up the sun in Jamaica? Printed, I managed that much. Printed and stuffed in an envelope floating around in a pile of unread magazines.

It’s shameful. Like really, really shameful. I’m embarrassed.

In my defense however, I’m pretty good about framing photos. I have no fewer than 100 photos on display in my office at work. And we’ve framed a good number of wedding and honeymoon photos and displayed them around the house. But I gots no albums.

And starting tonight, that changes. I’ll work on other people’s photos to be sure. But when I call it a night I will sit down, in my massively massive pile of photos and I will make an album.

I’ll start with the honeymoon since those are already printed.

I have Monday off and I was going to clean house in preparation for the big Graduation party we’re having next Saturday for Zac. (Now I feel rude for talking about a party I didn’t invite you to. Fine, you’re all invited. My house – noon on Saturday – byob.) Instead, I think I’ll call it “My Own Photos Day” and let Zac spend Thursday cleaning for his own party. Monday will be dedicated to album making.

And when you all show up for the party on Saturday, so help me, you better ask to see my photo albums.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go place a rush order on approximately a million prints so that I’ll have them for Monday. FedEx better not let me down.

And someone better hold me to my word. I want emails Monday morning instructing me to step away from photoshop and go make myself an album!

An observation & A notice

An observation…

The grass in our backyard is now 80% green. A big leap from just this past weekend. This is important to my wellbeing and mental health.

The neighbors across the street, they seem to have reached the 95% mark already. This is probably because they spend a huge amount of hours doing whatever it is people do in their yards. It’s fine all the same, as I can stare at their grass from my window.

A notice…

Street sweepers frighten me.

I don’t recall any traumatic street sweeper events from my childhood so I’ve no explanation except that they are huge, very very loud and those giant, overgrown brillo pad looking things are gnarly.

So don’t ever get me one. Like for my birthday or something. Don’t ever get me a street sweeper.

The luck of being Irish and other ramblings about culture

Let’s talk about being Irish.

I’m barely Irish by way of my mother’s father’s mother’s family being Irish. But it counts for something I figure I contribute my great ability to mope, brood and otherwise dwell on things to what little Irish blood I have.

Zac has the distinct privilege of laying claim to more Irish than I do. There’s Irish blood on his father’s mother’s side. Is anyone following this?

Anyway. It’s an interesting thing, claiming to be Irish or not. As a generation or two back  nobody was leaping up to declare their Irish roots. Irish meant poor and quite possibly mentally unstable. I read somewhere that the only thing you inherited in being Irish was disinheritance. But now it seems our American mixing and matching and cross breeding has relieved us of most of those apparent unfavorable traits – be you Irish, Italian or Polish – we’re all  free to claim which ever parts of our heritage interest us the most. (Please understand I said ‘apparent’ unfavorable traits. I find them all lovely myself. That or unfounded and non-existent to begin with.)

As Americans were all a bunch of mutts anyway and privileged in the fact that we are, well, American. Yet many of us, my self included, love to place something before the American. Irish-American. Italian-American. Korean-American. Lebanese-American. We might not still look it. We likely don’t still speak the native language. But it’s still fun. It’s still fun to see if you relate to another countries cultural ideas, to their food, their music no matter how far removed you might be.

Culture is cool like that. You can snatch it up and claim it as your own and as long as you can say, “Hey, my great-great-great-step Uncle was French!” well then, by God, you’ve got a right to eat a Croissant for breakfast every morning and act just a bit aloof.

It’s also a great way of explaining and/or justifying odd habits and less endearing traits. I am Italian. Therefore I will yell at you. Done and done.

Anyway – this isn’t where this blog was going but sometimes it’s not in my control –  our own blood and heritage aside, sometimes a certain culture, sound, taste or landscape catches our fancy and it’s just fun.

With St. Patrick’s Day drawing near, it’s fun to be Irish, even if only for a day. But like I mentioned in the beginning, Zac and I combined are about 1/100th Irish and therefore we are Irish. And not just on St. Patrick’s Day either. Irish culture has held our collective attention for some time now. Though I’ll admit, Zac practically sat on me and held me down to force me to listen to traditional Irish music when it first caught his attention.

It sounded like a garbled mess of notes and tunes and the lyrics were lilting and jumping and moving so fast I didn’t know what the hell they were singin’ bout anyway!

Now a year or two later, I know the words to just as many Traditional Irish pub songs as well…probably the Irish. That’s strange right?

And me being me – meaning I have an unending need to know everything about everything (not to imply that I do, only that I want to) – I’ve taken to learning Irish history.

Who were the Celts? What where they doing in Ireland? Why do Celtic crosses have that ring around the center? Who is Micheal Collins?  Or more recently, why were people blowing each other up in Northern Ireland just years ago, only to find peace in the past few years?

And the Gaelic language has caught my attention to. I thought I might learn a bit of it, maybe just beginning with the Gaelic names for Irish counties and cities. Well, that, I promise you, as been a futile effort and after a solid month I can now pronounce about 4 Gaelic words and only with extreme concentration.

Perhaps the most enjoyable part of Irish culture is Irish folklore, stories, tales, myths and legends. They’re all sparkly and foggy at the same time, just like the Irish landscape.

And so while I learn the jumping lyrics of Traditional Irish tunes and ponder the existence of fairies and the Good People, while I read a bit more Yeats and consider the merits of using lamb blood in my cooking, I’ve also got my eye on the value of the dollar, I’ve memorized my giant map of the Emerald Isle and I’m trying to embrace the rain falling outside my window since I know the rain falls in Ireland more often than not.

And it isn’t only because the Irish culture has my attention.

It’s because Ireland is my new goal.

I don’t work well without goals, you see. I have to have a good, solid reason to come to work everyday and loving my job isn’t enough. On top of that, I’ve built me this little photography business and its happy I am that I did. But having two jobs is having two jobs, happy as a camper or not. As Spring photography season approaches I know I’m about to work that much harder.

I need to know what those hard-earned dollars are for. And if they’re going to the bank rather than the shoe store, there better be a good reason.

I wasn’t going to mention our Ireland plans on this blog for many reasons. For one, I recognize that   a) it’s a long way away and many people will think I’m off my rocker for giving it so much time and attention this far off    b) unless you’re a freak like me, reading about other people’s travel plans is less than interesting.

But I figure, this is me and this is my blog. I’m the kind of person that spends an entire year planning a trip not because I need to (because believe you me, I could plan an epic journey in days) but because I want to. Dorky as that may be. So what’s the point in pretending or blogging otherwise.

I came around to blogging about this because for one thing its on my mind frequently and isn’t that the point of my blog? But also because knowing that my ideas and intentions are public holds me to them.

That’s why I created a blog from my photography business well before it even resembled a business. Because if I said it, I’d have to make it true. That’s why I always blog about my goals to be more active or make various changes in my life. If I blog it, then it is so.

That said…

Ladies and Gentleman, we are going to Ireland.

There, I said it really loud and I said it on my blog, on the internet.
(Get it, like Donna Summer?)

And the plans go as follows:
– Save every penny possible, including those found on the street. So far we have $12.
– Walk and hike. A lot. So that there’s nothing, our fitness level especially, stopping us from hiking those gorgeous green hills and mountains. (Not that I’m about to become a mountain hiker. Ha!)
– Travel in early June 2011 leaving a full year to save pennies and rack up the vacay time.
– Spend 15 days traveling Ireland consuming as much Guinness, Smithwicks, Jameson’s and traditional music as possible, staying strictly in B&B accomodations in an effort to meet as many Irish people as possible.
– See, hear, taste and just in general experience whatever it is Ireland has to offer us.

So there it is, written in blogging stone. We’re going to Ireland. And I’m not silly enough to think there nothing stopping us. Things come up, budgets get altered, savings get spent. So there’s always that chance that we won’t get there as soon as we’d like. But that admitted, I’m only focusing on the going.

And if you’d like to know a little secret, well then I’ll tell you one. There’s another reason I know we’ll make it to Ireland come hell or high water.

It’s on my baby list.

I’ve mentioned before, we don’t have a baby-making timeline but rather a must-do before making babies list. The list mainly includes International travel. (Not because we don’t want to travel in the country we live in – we do very much – but that we want to do with our future children. They can pick which parts of the outside world interest them later.)

And in the making of this list – it will surprise most of you to know I’ve never actually written it down I just keep it in my head – Ireland landed on the top just above Italy.

There are about 4 places on the list all together. So we’ve got no time to waste if we’re to make babies in the near future. Travel we must. Save we must. Plan we must.

If I come across anything really interesting in my efforts to learn about Ireland, I’ll share them here. But I promise to only share the really interesting stuff.

Like really good Irish songs, which I’ve linked you up to just below. The first is a newer original song and a personal fave, the second is a very old traditional Irish song done by a newer band…another big personal fave…listen to words and try not to weep, I dare you. Next is a traditional song by a more old school Irish band, its pretty traditional so you might need to hang onto something to get through the whole song with your sanity in place. And the last is an original that I think you’ll like (whoever you are).

I know you’re at work and you aren’t even supposed to be reading my blog let along listening to my recommended Irish tunes but go ahead, give it a try. If the boss complains you can always just play the song louder, they’re cheery Irish songs, not fighting Irish songs, so the weight is in your favor. Enjoy : )

If I Ever Leave This World Alive

Green Fields of France

Rocky Road to Dublin

A Pair of Brown Eyes

If you’re leaving now and you haven’t listened to at least the first two songs, I’m pissed. You best be coming back to have a listen.

Sorry. That was my Italian side. My Irish side would have been much more hospitable than that.

I can't stop trying on wedding gowns

I’ve been married for almost 2 months and I still love trying on wedding gowns.

They’re just so pretty!

And they have frills.
Lace, buttons and lace covered buttons.
Ruffles, ruching and ruched ruffles.

And some of them are big and soft and princessy!
And some are skin tight, allowing for minimal breathing but maximum curve appeal.

I love them all and I can’t stop trying them on.

Thank God I have a reason. I’m not just another former bride in denial. I’m also a wedding dress model : )

Of the ameature sort of course.
And only on a temporary basis.
And just for the St. Louis Gateway Bridal Show.
But still.
It’s a handy excuse.

I went by the hosting bridal shop, Elegant Brides, last night to browse the racks and make my picks for the show.

Of course, I picked this one first:

It’s kind of the love of my life. And I’ll wear it whenever I have the chance. Include family gatherings, various cookouts and Halloween.

Then I picked these babies:

This one I’m actually wearing in bright white with silver beading. I think in looks like a chandelier…

Oh sweet beauty. This one I LOVE! I would have worn this one for my own wedding…

Love this one too!! So different! And I’m wearing it in a darker ivory. You can’t tell in the photo but it sparkles like you wouldn’t believe! It deserves a rear view too…

It’s a lot easier to choose a wedding gown when you won’t be wearing it for your own wedding! Or for an entire day! It got a little tricky since the dresses won’t be altered, they have to fit just right off the rack. But it was tons and tons of fun to be back in the bridal shop surrounded by all that wedding couture!

I’ll let you know if I trip on the runway.