Hello Chicago!

Trust me.  The picture above is not an exaggeration… it is that cold.  In fact, I think my nose was still a little chilly.

Actually, John and I also considered opening with this picture.

Also accurate, but my lack of hat might be deceiving, so I instead led with my accidental Kenny impersonation.  However the second picture does resemble an upside-down octopus or maybe one of those science-fair globes that lights up when you touch it, which is quite nice.

On the move…

Since adopting Todd, our movements are very pack-like.  Here we are above, flying to Chicago.  If John goes, we all go.  We like it best that way.

Now, we are tucked into a condo that is literally across the street from my brother (Matt), sister-in-law (Megan) and niece (Sophie’s) house.  Can you believe the good fortune?  Matt & Megan had neighboring friends who needed to sublet at the exact time we were going to be living in Chicago for John’s work.  Thank you unseen weaver of amazing webs.

Inching towards a dream.

I remember watching the Grammy’s a few years back, when John Mayer won for something that escapes me.  In his speech, he mentioned (to roughly paraphrase) that he’s usually able to observe what is happening to him without getting overly consumed, however the current moment of receiving the Grammy was kicking his arse.  I related this week.

I’ve learned about myself that I am really good at getting big things moving.  I can motivate action towards a common goal, and once everything is moving along, I enjoy switching gears to the day-to-day tasks involved with keeping the gears oiled.  But, there is this moment in between those two places, where I am leaning over the edge of my creation, staring down at the abyss of what’s to come, where I get a little scared.

A food fix.

Do you remember the canned french-cut green beans of the 80′s?  I do.  I used to love them with a big ‘ole hunk of margarine.  How times have changed…

Lately, I’ve been digging things that remind me of being little.  For example, Homemade 24-Hour Chicken Stock, the chameleon of comfort foods, warmed up with a little sea salt reminds me of the smell of Campbell’s Chicken with Stars, a frequent childhood lunch.  Yesterday, John, not knowing I had some in my thermos, asked me why the car smelled like McDonald’s.  And honestly, it did smell a bit like french fries.

Change isn’t easy.

Prior to culinary school, when I used to spend my days driving the lush, tree-lined streets of beautiful northern Baltimore County towards the windowless production offices that in no way reflected our beloved Random 1, a water-cooler conversation with a work friend led to the realization that I can handle big changes in life, as long as the small things stay the same.  For example, I’m equipped to handle the fear of not knowing what freelance job will fill the empty space on my calendar, as long as my chap-stick is on my nightstand when I reach for it in the morning.