Showing posts with label chicago. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chicago. Show all posts

Saturday, August 9, 2025

An Old Lady Guide to Music Festivals: 3 Best Practices

I know that many of you are reading the title, shaking your head, and thinking, "Why in the world would I go to a music festival?" 

And, I get that. I am a true music fan. Always have been, and obviously at this point, safe to assume I always will be. But, I understand why people would question spending a lot of money to stand in a field somewhere amongst thousands, and in some cases over 100K, sweaty people in the dead of the hot summer, just to listen to music? It's a good question.

Yes, you will encounter an abundance of drunk, often middle-aged idiots, partially clothed teens, drug-adled losers, and an assortment of other odd eggs. The people watching alone is truly next-level. Are these people you would choose to spend time with? Certainly not, in most cases. 


Another reality: It will also most likely be hot as balls...or worse, boobs!  And, for sure, you'll walk a lot more than you would probably like...especially in that heat. I typically log around 20K steps per day during a typical music fest. 

Of course, this is all dependent on the type of musical festival you are going to. There is Lollapalooza, one of the biggest music festivals in the world, held here in Chicago. This is the Olympics of music fests and not for rookies, unless you are well-prepared. 

There are six stages, but the distance between the two main stages is daunting, nearly a mile, or just under a 20-minute walk. That is, if you didn't have to navigate through a gauntlet of 100,000 other people to get there, which happened to me this year at Lolla. I got caught like salmon swimming upstream against a flood of sweaty, panicked young women leaving the Role Model set and trying to make the Gracie Abrams set at the opposite stage. It was terrifying. 

While not all music festivals are this big, you still need to do your homework. Know the bands you want to see, and where and when they are playing, so you can wisely and strategically chart your course. Backtracking is your enemy. 

That said, you must be prepared, so I'm here to help. You're welcome.

Tip One: Dress appropriately

Dress accordingly. If you are anywhere in my age range, the most important thing is to wear comfortable shoes. And, not sandals unless you like picking straw, sticks, and gravel from between your toes constantly, as festivals often take place in the middle of fields of any kind. 

That seems like a no-brainer, and yet you would not believe the number of people, typically women, who show up in cowboy boots. Nothing like your feet marinating in your own sweat all day, then add a few blisters. Or the high heel wearers. These idiots are easy to identify by the end of the night by their "Night of the Living Dead" zombie walk, along with the leather pants wearers.

Breathable fabrics are also a plus. Again, you will see a lot of tragic fashion choices at music festivals that will make you question whether anyone actually looks in a mirror before leaving their house. For many years, the girls were eager to show off their boobs, often bedazzled with glitter, just in case you missed them on first glance. Bras were nearly nonexistent for a while.

This year, the "fest" fashion trend was wearing shorts that show off the lower butt cheeks. I wasn't aware that was a thing, but not surprising, as I don't interact with large groups of female tweens, teens, and Z'ers. You have seen people wearing pants so low that their underwear shows? Well, this is the opposite. I guess like the "side boob," this fashion fail is a "this too shall pass" proposition. Just saying: not all asses are public-ready. 


It's also important to bring the essentials in your clear backpack that measures no more than 12 inches square. What to bring? Sunscreen, an empty, clear, reusable water bottle, earplugs, a hat, sunglasses, lip balm, tissues (for when portos run out), cash/ID, and a Turkish towel that can function as a wrap, a place to sit or as rain gear (that one was a welcome surprise). 

I usually also smuggle in some contraband...like granola bars, 😉 which I can do because of my advanced age. Another privledge. Food is stupid expensive and often terrible, so limiting the amount you have to buy, when possible, is best.

Tip Two: Don't drink...a lot.

I love my wine and margaritas, so this isn't a drinking-is-bad sermon. That said, for me every expensive, overpriced drink might trigger another trip to the bathroom, and bathroom trips can be tricky; not finding the bathroom but sucessfully finding your way back to your spot. 

Below is an aerial drone view of Lolla. Now imagine having to pee in the middle of that set, make your way through crowd to find bathrooms and then somehow find your way back to the same spot. Or not, I have lost people.  Bottom line: The less bathroom trips, the better. 


If you're a drinker, you're having multiple drinks, so many bathroom trips, and repeat, triggering multiple adventures that take you away from hearing music. I usually will have one strategically timed drink. 

In addition, with all the heat and walking, staying properly hydrated isn't easy, so you'll need constant and copious amounts of water just to survive. You sweat most of the water out, but drinking alcohol dehydrates you. 

I love going to festivals with my best music buddy, Stephanie, who is not a drinker. I never have to leave seeing a band because she needs a refill, and she's as cheap as I am so doesn't want to spend the money or waste the time buying food or shopping. She is also there for the music.

I am aware that many people see concerts as an opportunity to party and socialize, but that often makes it less enjoyable to everyone around you.. And, while I don't want to be a bitch, I am there to listen to music, not listen to drunk people who, instead of listening to the music, are just loudly talking through it. Yes, I'm grouchy because I'm old (see title). It's another privledge. 


Note: While having to pee at music festivals can be anxiety-inducing, the good news is modern porta-potties have come a long way I have a kitten-sized bladder, so this is important. This year at Lolla, there were all flushable, so no more holding my breath as long as possible. Amazing.

Tip Three: Have a good exit strategy

Yes, I know this sounds like this Progressive Insurance "Dr. Rick" commercial, but it's vital. Leaving Lolla at the end of the night, along with over 100K other people, is a thing of nightmares. Riding public transportation with a bunch of smelly, often drunk, teenagers is not pleasant, but neither is a $100+ ride share. All the options are piss-poor. 

So before every concert or music fest, I carefully weigh my exit options. Anyone who has been to a concert with me knows: I always come with a pre-baked strategy of when and how I am getting home. I first do my research on setlist.fm.com to determine what the band's typical set list looks like, and most importantly, how many songs are in the encore. 


My plan is typically to leave mid-encore; you can hear most of the rest as you walk out anyway. This is key, because getting that 5-minute headstart on the rest of the Tom, Dick, and Harries will get you home so much faster. At the end of any music event, spending extra time navigating through crowds or sitting in traffic is just a real bowl of bummer, so follow my lead to avoid it. 

I do think that, at any age, a music festival can be a great time and a wonderful way to open your ears and minds to not just new bands but entirely new genres of music. Bluegrass? Wasn't aware I even liked it until I heard Billy Strings and Michael Cleveland, a blind bluegrass fiddler with several Grammies, at a festival in Louisville, Kentucky. 

If you are a music lover, like I am, the ability to see many bands in one place in one day is very compelling. Start with smaller festivals and pick accommodations that enable you to walk to the venue, when possible. Do your homework beforehand to investigate bands you don't know who will be there. Some of my favorite bands I discovered at festivals. 

I hope everyone is having a great summer.

Rock on.

Barb


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Saturday, February 8, 2025

St. Lucia’s Beauty vs. My Stomach: A Battle for the Ages

Holy shit! It's already February! As predicted in my last blog, the end of the year literally blew by and now we're already underway in 2025. Not sure why that part of the year always feels accelerated, then we get to January and it seems like that month had a full six weeks, but blessedly, February is short. 

Some of you are aware I spent a good part of January in St. Lucia, working and playing so no one is feeling particularly bad for me. I certainly get that. It was a beautiful respite from sub-zero weather in Chicago, for sure, and I highly recommend it as a temporary cure for any type of Seasonal sadness.



I had planned this trip months ago, and when I told a friend who is a frequent traveler we were going there, she visibly winced. What? I do plenty of research (it's half the fun) before embarking on a new destination, so I was very confused about her response.

She went on to say while the island itself is breathtaking, the drive from the airport to where most stay on the island is brutal. Now, I have traveled extensively, and have encountered bad roads, potholes, wandering livestock, you name it! 

Just ask my two girlfriends who came to Costa Rica with me a few years ago where we literally had to cross a river in our rental car to get where we were going. It's the shortcut we discovered from previous trips, called the Monkey Trail. It saves a good half hour and is certainly more interesting than the main road.

 That's me in the red Audi crossing a river while my friend stupidly follows me. 



Bottom line: I don't scare easily. And, let's face it: part of the adventures of travel is overcoming the unexpected. And, while I do suffer from motion sickness, it wouldn't prevent me from traveling somewhere. After all, there are plenty of medicines you can take to overcome that.

Let's go!

So armed with a patch (but a holistic, useless one), we landed in St. Lucia and I took my Dramamine and was ready to go. 

It always feels so amazing landing in the Caribbean during the winter. Your skin craves the warm, humid sea air as you inhale all the interesting island smells. Certainly beats Chicago in the winter.

We got in our taxi, a small minivan, and got underway. The driver asked if we wanted AC or to have the windows down, and still high on the vacation happiness, I stupidly said, "Windows down!" 

Everything went well for a bit. It smells so different in the islands; an odd mix of sea air and burning trash. Below is the stunning view from the rather mountainous ascent from the airport.



About a half hour in, I started feeling unwell. Pretty quickly, I stopped talking. I could feel the inevitable clamminess descending upon me. 

My daughter Laura is a true introvert with a well-established resting bitch face so in this situation, I am the designated "small talker" and I love it.  I have said before I could engage a wall or other inanimate objects in a conversation if needed.  I'm naturally curious about everything so I really shine in these scenarios, but not this time as I was solely focused on watching the road and staving off my impending nausea. 

Laura very uncomfortably tried to make up for my now-mute status by attempting to make small talk with the driver, but it's really not her strong suit. The silence was fine, I was in full focus-mode.

After what seemed like hours with my eyes intently glued to the road--all while Laura played Suduko on her phone--our driver asked if we wanted to stop for sandwiches. I honestly could think of nothing worse, but as this would require the minivan to stop, and me getting out, I quickly said yes.

We got out and walked over to a little roadside shack with a stone-carved oven, which in any other circumstances, I would have found charming. They were cranking out little loaves of hot, fresh bread, filled with various things. I asked the owner what the fillings were, but struggled to understand her response so weakly just held up two fingers after Laura ordered hers. 

Laura did confirm later that she was concerned after seeing me. I always get a spray tan before going to the Caribbean and am terrible about putting the stupid lunch-lady hairnet on correctly, so she always points out that I have a ring of pale white around my hairline post-spray tan. She said there were little beads of sweat along that line and my pallor was oddly pale, despite the spray tan. Things did not appear to be going well. 

"What did you order?" I rather fearfully asked. "Salami," she responded. I had to fight the urge to run into traffic to prevent having to return to the minivan, now filled with new scents of sweaty roadside salami and those odd outside scents that were suddenly turning my stomach. 

I didn't say much after that, other than to warn my daughter that if she even thought for one second about opening that sandwich in the car, it would be a big mistake. 

I made it for another 15 minutes before asking our driver to pull over while I parted with the remnants of the egg sandwich I had enjoyed many hours prior as well as all the other contents of my stomach, while our driver stood by with a box of handi-wipes and other minivans filled with other tourists sped by, beeping their horns. 

I returned to the car, requested the AC be put on, and asked if we were getting close. The response was no. With an empty stomach, however, I felt confident things would improve. Alas, I was wrong. At one point, we were climbing up a very steep hill, and once again, I felt the urge and requested he pull over. Unfortunately, there was literally just a cliff so he could not. I had to open the window, thrust my upper body out of the window, and vomit all over the side of the minivan. 

I'm not sure exactly how I survived that drive. We had to stop at the grocery to stock up for the week on the way in and I barely even remember that. 

I do recall telling Laura that I was not going to spend the next two weeks thinking about reliving that nightmare. So the very next day, I booked us on a helicopter to take us back to the airport, a 15-minute scenic flight versus another two hours of either vomit-fueled or Drammine-overdosed hell. As cheap as I am, I didn't even blink at paying $200 to fly then drive back to that airport. Best money I've ever spent!


I'm happy to report that the rest of our trip was lovely and largely uneventful. We got to know the taxi drivers quite well during our time in St. Lucia and they all would ask, "When will you come back?' to which I responded:

"Just as soon as you straighten out that damn road from the airport." 

Happy New Year

This blog got long so I won't keep you, but I hope everyone is surviving what looks like a long four years ahead. I won't even broach the topic of politics because it makes me cranky and mad.  At this age, I'm pretty much in that rage state at all times anyway, thanks to perimenopause, but I'll try and stay focused on the positive. It won't be easy, but I will commit to trying.

I will promise to write more blogs this year. I got a little lazy last year, but I'm committing to being better about it this year. How's that for a New Year's resolution? 

Until next time, my friends.








Saturday, October 26, 2024

Evolving into a Hipper Barb After Closet Cleanout

It's been mentioned several times recently that it's been a minute since my last blog post. It's true and I have little excuse for that other than the fact that it's been an incredibly beautiful summer here in Chicago. 

While fires were burning and temps sweltering in other parts of the country, Chicago was blessed with an incredible summer. I'm sure we will pay the price in January, but summer is our time to shine and I contend no city matches Chicago in summer.



"But it's October, Barb."

Yes, I am aware but the weather is still great so I am taking advantage of it until I can't. In addition, as I have said it before: blogging is something I do for enjoyment so if there is fun to be had elsewhere outside, it's probably not happening. I also have the maturity level of a 20 something so making myself do anything I don't want to do is...well problematic. 

But I'm back! 

New Season, New Style

When I moved to Chicago, I was so overwhelmed with the logistics of it all that I never took the time to properly go through my clothes so everything was boxed up and brought.  Sure, it would have been an ideal time to shed some never-worn items, but see above 👆about making myself do things that are not fun...It could wait.

So, nine years later, I decided it was time to do something about it. I decided to hire a stylist to come and assist me in going through my closet and purging any items that are outdated, worn or no longer fit.  I needed someone, besides my daughter, to shoot it straight and provide a much-needed reality check on my wardrobe.


Above is the outfit I picked out to wear to my 40th class reunion.

I researched a few, found one who was pretty close, relatively affordable, so I reached out via email. 

I have described my wardrobe as "schlubby chic" and I think that still holds true. I haven't worked in an office since the late 90s so my professional attire is sadly lacking. My typical work outfit is sweats and a hoodie, but as a grown-up, I was realizing that I possibly needed a style update.

I wear a lot of casual leisurewear and I own more hoodies than most teenaged boys. Pulling my sweats out in the fall is one of my favorite seasonal rituals. So comfortable, warm, inviting and never judgemental about weight loss. They are the All Stars of my wardrobe, if I'm being honest. 

At dinner that night, I told Laura about the plan. She is typically my in-house fashion consultant so she is more aware that I needed help. She has been telling me for years that I needed to pare down.

A week later, I finally got back to the stylist, Lora, to schedule a day for her to come and dive in. As she was looking at her calendar, she said, "Do you have a daughter named Laura?" I told her I did, but was super confused as to why she was asking.

Yep, you guessed it. Laura indeed thought it was an excellent idea, such a good one, in fact, that she decided to do the same and independently found the same stylist! Small world.

Initially I was annoyed; she totally had snuck in and stole my thunder. Then as the days went on, Laura started dropping little hints like "Lora (the stylist) doesn't like flannels.." What??? An internal panic set in.

I also saw the 12 bags of clothes that the stylist had already ousted from Laura's closet so knew this woman was going to mean business.

Hmmm, so Lora doesn't like flannels, what else might she dislike? I'm guessing she probably is also not a fan of concert tees, the second most common and beloved clothing items in my closet. Considering I want to be buried with those, I had to make sure she was never going to get her hands on those! 

Must hide all concert tees. Check. ✅

Then I started thinking of my favorite hoodies. My favorite is from Purgatory Mountain, the ski area we grew up skiing in Colorado. It's faded, logo is barely visible, and it's decades-old. It's pretty awful looking and also my absolute fav. I knew enough of this stylist to realize it was not safe. 

Favorite hoodies also safely hidden. Check. ✅

The mental wheels came off the bus with this shocker: Laura casually mentioned one day that the stylist told her that scarves were out of fashion, I literally gasped. What? How do mature women hide our sagging "turkey" necks without proper scarfing? 

I recently had the great fortune of spending time with my girlfriends at my 40th high school reunion in St. Louis. I shared this rather disturbing fashion news about scarves with them during a lunch date, and they all collectively gasped with their hands instinctively covering their necks. WHAT???? 

So, you can see where this is going...Scarves now also safely stowed away. ✅ 

Did I question the logic of hiding my clothes from the woman I was paying to advise me on fashion? Sure, I did. But, my love of these items exceeded any logic on the matter.

Then Laura would say things like, "she's probably going to hurt your feelings."

So, now with full-blown anxiety and clothes safely stashed throughout my house, the stylist arrived. I put on my nicest sweatpants and hoodie, which she deemed acceptable, calling it "casual, but elevated casual." 

I heard that a lot. She was kind though and let me keep a few things, most of which she described this way: "I don't hate this." Cool. That meant, it could stay.

I can work with that. 

Lora immediately tackled my closet, then after a couple of hours, she came in and asked where my dresses were. I froze. Oh no, I had not vetted that closet! It was too late though. That was where she discovered my secondary stash of shoes too.

I'm sure you all want to know what I learned as a result of this rather humbling experience. Well, for one, I learned that I am apparently I am a shoe hoarder. I had no idea. I guess the first step in recovery is admitting you have a problem. 

There were signs. 

I have a lovely Guatemalan housekeeper who barely speaks English although she has saved nearly every houseplant I own. She discovered my second closet with my hidden shoe stash a few years ago and came in with two pairs in her hands, shaking her head and saying, "Dis...is no good, Bar-barrr-a." Enough said. 


What's particularly hilarious is that now that I walk everywhere, I wear the same 3-4 pairs of shoes every day. Tragically, a few of the pairs that I wear daily were at the bottom of that pile! I told her that she would have to pry my All Birds out of my cold dead hands before I would ever part with them. I think she caught my vibe. There were a few other pairs I fought for, but overall, it does feel great to have less. 

Less shoes, less clothes in general. My closet is now incredibly organized and I get dressed in a snap because I have so few options now! 


The next step is Lora comes back and will help me create outfits with what's left of my wardrobe. I will keep you all posted as I evolve into a much more sophisticated, hip Barb. 

Good grief, this got long so perhaps I will wrap this up!

I hope this blog finds you all happy and well. I hope you all enjoying the "Tripartite" (Halloween/Thanksgiving/Christmas) season. We all know you blink this time of year and it's the holidays so let me be the first to say Happy Holidays! 

Avoid malls and Home Goods.  Shop online. You heard it here first.

Be well and until next time,

Barb


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Sunday, January 7, 2024

Does Being an Urban Dweller Make You More Liberal?

Hi all and Happy 2024! Wow, those holidays sure went by quickly, as usual. Hope everyone enjoyed the time, even though I feel we all got screwed over by both holidays falling on Mondays. It seemed like we went from having a full two weeks of holiday time to one. I have submitted my official complaint; I'll keep you all posted on where that goes. 


Leaning lefter

Cities in the U.S. are typically dominated by people who are more liberal in terms of their politics. I've always leaned slightly left, although I wouldn't say I'm liberal in all of my beliefs. 

On the dating apps, I declare myself "moderate" as to not scare off the fiscally conservative guys. It serves the dual purpose of also enabling me to occasionally ensnare the MAGA idiots who have things like "no libtards" on their profiles. I like to match with them just so I can have the opportunity to tell them what morons they are. Just a side hobby really, but I digress. 

Back to the story: I think the main difference is that before moving to a big city, I had opinions on issues, such as homelessness, crime (gun control), immigration, the environment, etc., but that was before living in a city where you actually see these issues playing out on a daily basis.

I lived my entire life living in subdivisions in quiet, upper middleclass suburbs. I raised my own children in much the same environment. Crimes in these towns were DUIs, reckless driving and theft at Target. It was the perfect place to raise kids in a bubble of safety but does it reflect real life and the real world? Hardly. 

The homeless

Before moving here, I thought of the homeless population as dangerous, most likely mentally ill, and probably on drugs. Avoid eye contact, don't engage and keep moving has always been my go-to approach to the homeless. Probably sounds awful, but I never even thought of them as people, but more of a potential hazard to avoid.

I would never go the 7/11 a block down the street because there was a homeless man who often would sit on the curb in front and scream at people, which terrified me. One day, I was mentioning my avoidance of 7/11 to a neighbor friend of mine, Vesna. She looked at me oddly and said, "Oh, that's just David. He's not crazy, he has Tourette's Syndrome. I sometimes bring him PB&J sandwiches." What?

It turns out that David was a neighborhood favorite and had been around for a decade. Apparently, he was well known for walking through the neighborhood playing his trumpet. 

I live in a gayborhood, chockful of tree-hugging liberals. During the Polar Vortex a few years ago, the community lost its collective mind with worry over David's wellbeing (he refused to go to any shelter). It was a source of great debate for days on the neighborhood Facebook page. People en masse brought him blankets, food, and warm clothes. 

Sadly, he passed a few years ago, and neighbors organized and gathered on his favorite bench, dedicated in his honor, and had a ceremony to say goodbye. RIP David. 


Gwen, another very popular disadvantaged resident, passes out flyers for Streetwise on the main drag. Everyone here knows and loves Gwen. When someone stole her bike a few years ago, which was her only mode of transportation, the neighborhood rallied around her, collected money, and bought her a new one.  

Homeless people have names and stories. Once you have made eye contact, you are forced to see them as a human and not a problem. 

Yes, it's changed how I view homelessness. Does this mean I've made the official transition to a radical liberal?

Crime in the big city

Friends seriously questioned my sanity when I told them I was moving here. Yes, I knew Chicago, or ChiRaq as it's sometimes called, has had his fair share of crime. but never for a minute did it make me reconsider moving here. 

I have always loved the sounds and chaotic energy of cities. I don't live in fear. I am honestly more concerned with getting hit by a car as a pedestrian than anything else in terms of my own personal safety. 

When you are walking around in a city, your head is always on a swivel. You walk quickly and with purpose and stay aware of everything and everyone around you. But I would have to be naive or an idiot to not assume at some point I won't be affected by crime. 

New Year's Eve, right outside my condo, a man was shot in the head in a road rage incident. The shooter was an off-duty fireman. Neither Laura or I were home at the time, but I was alerted via my Citizen app. The silver lining: Alfie loved playing with the Crime Scene tape. 


A former boyfriend was shot at after refusing to surrender his car to a carjacker while sitting in his car in his ex-wife's driveway; four shots tore through his car, barely missing him. I've known plenty of others who have been directly impacted by crime. 

Despite fairly strict gun laws in Illinois and the fact that you can't legally purchase a firearm in the city of Chicago, there are lots of guns on the street. Last year Chicago PD removed over 10,000 illegal guns from the streets, and despite that we had just shy of 2,500 shootings in the city last year.  I won't even start on the school shootings that happen on a daily basis in this country.

So do I believe there should be stricter gun control in the U.S.? Yes. Does that mean I'm a leftist? 

One of the funnier Citizen alerts I've ever gotten. 

Immigration

In 1985 Chicago was designated as a sanctuary city. What that means is that as a city, we will not ask about immigration status, disclose that information to federal authorities, or deny city services based on immigration status.  What that actually looks like in reality is quite different than you might think.

Chicago currently has 1.7 million immigrants or roughly 18% of the total population. Without immigrants, the city doesn't work. Thanks to the governor of Texas, Twatwaffle Greg Abbott, an additional 20,000 immigrants have been bussed in since late 2022, with no advance notice, into the city, quickly overwhelming the shelter system. 

Many are now forced to live outside in tents in front of police stations. The city is scrambling to build giant tent cities to house them, but many of these people are from warm climates and get off these busses in flip flops with no coats. 

There's huge need for small clothing as most are coming from South or Central America and they are very small in stature. There's Guatemalan bakery next door, and I can attest, I'm 5'2" and would be considered model height there. Anyway, they urgently need warm coats, boots, gloves, etc. Laura and I both donated a lot of our winter clothes but it's a drop in a bucket. 

Regardless of what you think about our nation's immigration policies, when you cross paths with these people, you start seeing the issue from an entirely new perspective. These are not criminals but desperate people trying to find a better life. They are moms and children. They are cold, and it hasn't even gotten cold here yet.

Again, today I walked past a young mom and her two kids, one infant and another toddler. She has separated from the pack and is taking her chances alone on the street in my neighborhood for the past month. 

I gave her money again today but also pleaded with her to find a shelter, despite the fact that a language barrier prevents me from really communicating with her. I know someone is working through her church to help find her a spot somewhere. 

I get in bed at night this time of year and relish in its warmth. Then I think about that woman and her kids and I feel terrible.

Yes, I think we need to be better and more compassionate towards these immigrants. 

I guess I'm woke now.

So to bring this back full circle: Yes. I think I am more liberal now. I also think I am a kinder, more empathetic, open-minded and caring person, and much of that is due to being an urban dweller. Mystery solved.

New Year, new outlook

I hope the new year brings you all good health and happiness. Winter weather means more blogs. How's that for another silver lining? I promise they won't be as heavy as today's post was, but thanks for listening. 

Stay woke, folks.

Barb



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Monday, September 4, 2023

The Ebb and Flow of a Mother's Nest

I would like to start off this blog by making an exciting announcement. Overnight I hit over 20,000 views of my blog! This is particularly shocking considering I've been playing all summer and haven't really been doing a whole lot of writing.  I only write when there's nothing I can do outside, and this summer has been particularly amazing so while I've played a lot of tennis and seen a lot of concerts, I haven't been particularly prolific in terms of my blogging. 

A few interesting things have happened. My blog is read by people from countries all over the world, but the bulk of my readers are obviously in the US.  At some point over the last six months, someone in Singapore found a link to my blog and it's been quite widely shared. According to Google Analytics, over the last six months, I have almost as many readers in Singapore as I do in the US...and I don't know anyone there. I had to pull up a map to even figure out exactly where it is!


Bottom line is apparently people in Singapore think I'm hilarious. I have absolutely no idea how anyone there has ever stumbled across my blog. It wasn't through social media, and I've never put a dime into promoting my blog through any means. It's quite curious, but let me just take a minute to thank my readers in Singapore. I truly appreciate it and keep reading!

It just shows you the power of social sharing with others. I hope you all keep sharing my blog. It encourages me to keep it up, and creating a big following will also be key to me landing that lucrative book advance and movie deal I have in the works. 😁

The Empty Nest Season

It's that time of year again. Your social media feeds are stacked with images of the smiling faces of kids returning to school. What you often don't see is the even happier moms. There's a reassuring ritual to sending kids back to school. It means an end to summer chaos and back to structured parenting; everything is now scheduled. School, homework, practice, meals, etc. Most moms are often quite happy to send their kids back to school.

Sending them off to college, however, is a whole different thing. Several of my close friends sent their one-and-only kids off to college this year, leaving their nest suddenly empty. My brother sent the last of his three daughters off to college this year.

Having gone through the process, I know how hard it is. You work so hard to get them to this point, you should be overjoyed; after all this is what successful parenting looks like.  As moms, we devote so much of ourselves to being good mothers that once they are gone, what is our purpose? It's also a reality that they do not come home the same kid as the one you waved to as you drove away from their dorm in tears. 

When my son went off to college, I couldn't wait for him to leave. He had spent most of his senior year being a complete a-hole. Apparently, it's life's way of preparing you for their absence. Well, it worked but as the days were counting down, he suddenly was not so sure he was ready. 

The check for his tuition had already cleared so he was going, one way or another. One day with near tears in his eyes, he said, "Mom, not every kid goes to college. Some just get married and start families." I honestly don't remember my response, but it was probably something super-sensitive like, "Shut up and go finish packing." 

The backstory was he was dating a very pretty blond she-devil who had convinced him he should stay home and marry her, once she finished high school. So going in he was not fully on-board with the plan.  Regardless, I dropped him off with a few tears and prayed he would last.

The first few weeks he continued to struggle, feeling like he didn't fit in and wanting to come home every weekend to visit the she-devil. I tried not to worry and assumed it would pass. Two weeks into classes, I woke up and checked his social media posts to assess how things were going. On his Facebook page, he wrote the following: 

"Officially a dropout."

I laid there in bed for several minutes, contemplating whether I should be concerned about my racing heartbeat and wondering what percentage of his tuition might be refundable. Once my pulse returned to semi-normal, I called him. 

"Is there anything you want to tell me?" 

Ben: "No."

"Really? You don't want to tell me about dropping out of school?"

Ben: "Mom, I joined the Miami University Skydiving Club and we're called the drop-outs!"

I probably should have worried about the prospect of him jumping out of a plane, but my only response was extreme relief. 

As a footnote, I will also add that my son who I struggled to get to college is now 30 and STILL IN COLLEGE! This year he kicked off his 11th year of higher education. While he's close to finishing his PhD and already has one Master's degree, he's already planning on a post-doc so clearly has no plans to ever actually finish college. 

When Laura left a few years later, it was a whole new ballgame. She was my last kid and since Ben left, it had just been the two of us, and we were super close. We got along well, and I was sad to see her go. I was truly going to be all alone at home. 

My young boyfriend at the time, who you'll remember from this blog, helped me pack her up and drove my car down while I quietly cried the whole trip from the backseat. Fortunately, she adjusted well so that part was easier but coming home to a quiet, empty house was tough. 

After working so hard at parenting solo through the teen years and getting them both ready to move onto this next exciting chapter, it was time for me.

For me it was the beginning of a new odyssey. I sold the family house in Ohio, and the month I turned 50 moved to Chicago to start a new life for myself. I have lived in 10 states so moving is something I have done a lot of, but this was the first time that I decided where I wanted to move. I decided what place I would buy and how it would be decorated. Yes, it was empty but the nest was all mine! 

Until it wasn't. During the pandemic, Laura's job changed and became remote, so she rejoined the nest. Honestly it was nice to have company, and fortunately I bought a duplex with a separate garden unit so she has her own space. Then she moved out, and it was nice to have my place to myself for a bit.

Then a month ago, Laura moved back in temporarily. She is in the process of moving to Salt Lake but with me until then. I'm liking having her back, and having a free dog sitter, but she also brought another resident: her cat Alfie. 

I thought I was through with cats to be honest. The first week after they moved in, I was on a Zoom work call, and one of my coworkers said, "I didn't know you had a cat" just as Alfie knocks over a picture frame, which crashes to the ground. When I turn around and see the cat, hanging from one paw from my curtains. The next day, he came sauntering in with this little gift in his mouth. 


Anyone recognize that? That's one of the pulls for my blinds that no longer works. Alfie is a busy guy and as far as I can tell, has literally no idea he's a cat. Bowie in equal parts loves and fears him. The way they play with each other, it's clear that neither of them thinks Alfie is a cat. 


Alfie has certainly added some fun and hijinks to the household, although there are a few rugs and blinds that will never be the same. 

This blog is getting long soI'll close by telling all you new empty-nesters out there who just sent their last child to college, the empty nest eventually will feel normal. And, when they do come home, he or she will be different person, but for the better. They might actually surprise you and show some appreciation for all you have done for them. Or not, but I'm sure they think it. 😉

Enjoy what's left of warm weather and keep reading!

Ciao for now,

Barb


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