I haven't decided if I'm going backwards in my life or am just in a holding pattern until this economy straightens out. And my quandary is completely related to what I'm doing for a living. Sure, it's a temporary job but there are certain duties that remind me of my past and have me wondering if I've actually gotten anywhere.

In 1985, a year and a half after finishing college, I took a job at the Chicago Tribune. Sounds a little prestigious but I'll be the first to tell you it wasn't. The job I held just after college had a much better ring to it...maybe because I made it up. Right after I graduated from Cornell College in Iowa, my roommate and I moved to Tempe, Arizona. I had $40 cash, an Amoco gas card and two fairly aggravated parents to my name.  Since I had 4 siblings ahead of me, I knew what it was like to move back home and sport a blue suit to go to work for the rest of your life.  So, I decided to take door number 2 and head out West to a place nobody I knew had ever been. 

Arizona was fun. It was an extension of my college days. My roommate's brother had moved down there from Iowa a few months before and said we should come. We pulled up with our clothes on our back to a big house with a pool in the back. So far, so good. Our new roommates were older than us and a mixed group of transplants from around the country. They did all types of work to make ends meet and we were welcome to stay on the hide-a-bed until we got our feet on the ground. It was a stranger environment than what we just left, but after spending most of our lives in terrible winters and short springs,  we loved the climate change...and the pool.  In a matter of weeks, we found jobs, got our own apartment with a pool and talked 8 of our college friends into moving down there. Life was good.

After quitting my first job in Arizona, I found another that I knew would be better pay and I'd enjoy more. I was an "Executive Beverage Distributor" at Butch O'Leary's in Mesa. That's the title I gave myself because I thought it sounded impressive. When I told my parents, my mother was quick to point out that I was a "cocktail waitress serving drinks to executives". I swear nothing EVER gets past that woman. In any event, after spending 8 months working 5 nights a week at a job that entailed vampire-like behavior of staying up all night and finally retreating at sunrise, I decided it was time to put my college degree to work. I woke up one day and realized I didn't want to be a 40 year old Executive Beverage Distributor and within 2 weeks I was packed, said farewell to the fun, and moved back into my parent's house where a blue suit awaited me. 

I had a good connection at the Chicago Tribune so the interview process went well and I was reporting to work soon after returning home in September of 1985.  Like my current job, I had to punch a clock, was selling advertising and wasn't making much money. Hence, I can't figure out if I've actually made ANY progress in the last 24 years. The duties were a little different but the concept was the same. People would call into 222-2222 and I would write ads that would appear in the classified section of the newspaper. We had to identify ourselves when answering the phone and after a few days, my manager pointed out there was another Eileen on the floor who had been there for 15+ years and her customers were getting confused when calls were transferred to me. So,  I was asked to change my name.  I thought it was an odd request but after pondering for a few minutes, I decided on a name and began answering the phone "Tribune Classifieds, this is Alexis". It was 1985 afterall, and Dynasty was in its hey-day.

During my 1.5 years as Alexis, I would help thousands of people sell their cars and houses or rent their apartments. I was an hourly employee but got a small commission for ad space sold. Ironically, as I deal with funeral homes in today's job, my favorite ads to write were the death notices. I would typeset what the undertakers rattled off about the "beloved husband of" or "loving sister of". But, my favorites were death notices that started off with the person's name, age and then used the word "suddenly". I was ok with that for the younger people and it peaked my curiosity of what happened to them.  However,  I think there should've been an age limit when using the word "suddenly" to describe a death.  I can't remember how many notices read "so and so, age 94, suddenly...". Really? You mean to tell me that everyone was surprised when Grandpa Simon expired at 94? How long did they think he was going to live?  Personally, I think anything after 76 is gravy so if it were up to me, I wouldn't allow the word "suddenly" to be used in a death notice for anyone older than 76. I mean, it's a risk at that point anyway. Your eyes are going bad, legs are getting weak, memory is failing so the likelihood of having some type of accident is much higher.  If I were an undertaker, I would choose the word "happily" for anyone dying between age 76-90 because that's more fitting. And, anyone after 90 I would just throw in a "finally" because at that point everyone probably feels that way, including the deceased. 

So fast forward to 2009 and I'm taking phone orders to purchase Catholic calendars and dealing with churches and undertakers all over the country. I'm an hourly employee and I punch in and out. I don't get commission like the full-time employees but did receive a "Visa" debit card Human Resources distributed as an appreciation to the employees. The value of the card was more than I make an hour. And neither denomination is a lot.

The past couple weeks have been really busy. We're almost to the end of the year and the churches and funeral homes want their calendars. The transition from paper to paperless has not been seamless so the level of frustration is growing.  A panic is starting to set in by the customers and they are fearful that the 2010 spiral calendars won't be distributed to parishioners by Christmas. And, frankly I don't know if they will either but my job is to calm them down and assure them the calendars will certainly  arrive before they sing Auld Lang Syne. I've been doing this long enough that customers are now asking for me by name.  And some are not happy because the calendars haven't been shipped yet or they don't like the way their ad looks. The job doesn't pay me enough to be as stressed out as I am some days. But my boss is a very good friend and he is depending on me to help him through this crunch. Plus, I'm too dedicated to just blow this off as if I don't care. It's a great cause that I believe in so I will do whatever it takes to make sure this is a successful year. But, as Thanksgiving approaches and there are still orders hanging out there, the angry calls are going to increase ten-fold. I may need to call in back-up to take some of the stress off me.  Maybe it's time to bring Alexis back.

Today's EiPod: "Calendar Girl",  Neil Sedaka

Work. It's a four letter word. So is blog. And now that I'm at work, I don't have enough time to blog. I try, but other four letter words get in the way. For example, now that I have a little pocket change I look for the word "sale" so I can buy some new work clothes. I also like to go out and meet friends for a "bump" after work at a new hot spot or an old stand by.  So, it turns out I'm not home as much as I used to be which makes it difficult to find a peaceful time to blog.  Which is a quandary because my work has provided me with much to blog about. 

Since I started this job a month ago,  there are many four letter words that pop into my head throughout the day. Those are the dirty ones like "shit" or "damn" and sometimes even an "f-bomb".  I have to admit, shit is one of my favorite words in the English language. It's so versatile. It can be used in frustration, anger or disbelief. Sometimes that's the only word that comes out of my mouth when I'm laughing so hard. And if you throw a "holy" in front of it you can really get your point across. Ironically, my current employment happens to be in a holy place that I probably shouldn't be using words like shit as much as I am.  

I'm working for a Catholic not for profit organization. I always pictured myself to be much older when I'd be working in a place where there was a crucifix on every wall. Back in 1987, I had an opportunity to work for the General Counsel of the Archdiocese of Chicago. I was just a couple years out of college and getting back into my religion after taking time off to explore other "higher" beings. I went downtown to look at the office space and after perusing the area realized my boss had placed me 2 doors down from Cardinal Joe and directly across from the Chapel. My exact words to him were "I can't say "shit" here can I?" He gently replied "no".  So, I turned down the job and went to work in the commercial finance industry for the next 22 years. In that environment I could say whatever four letter words I wanted because we were a for profit organization lending money to rich people so they could get richer. And after a while, the most important four letter word seemed to be "cash" and how much of it we were going to make after the rich people paid back our loans.  Everyone seemed to be happy the way things were going for those 22 years. Until last fall when the credit world crumbled and none of the rich or poor people could pay back their loans.  In case you didn't notice, rich,  poor and loan are also four letter words. 

So now I've entered a whole new world in not for profit. I've done a fair amount of volunteering for these types of organizations but now that I'm a temporary employee I feel like I should take my job a bit more seriously.  Since I'm getting paid in cash and holy cards, I'm trying to be as productive and professional as I can. I truly am happy to be back in the swing of getting up and reporting to work everyday. It's how I'm wired and I know that simply from not having anywhere to be for the last 8 months. I did not however, expect the frustration level to be as high as it is doing the Lord's work. And I certainly didn't think I'd be swearing under my breath as much as I am. 

The job I was assigned to do seems pretty simple. I'm taking orders for parish calendars. They're the same spiral calendars that my grandparents had in their house and my parents have in their house. At the bottom of the calendar is the church name with the Mass times and next to it is typically an ad for a funeral home. I never quite understood why churches always want to align themselves with death. Why don't they ask the local Greek diner to advertise? I know I'd much rather check out an ad for where I can devour an omelette after Mass instead of staring at an ad that will lovingly and gently handle my remains. But, I was not charged with sales or marketing for this job. My task at hand is to get these churches to go from paper to paperless with their ad information. It's clergy meets computers. 

Computers can be frightening and I get that.  It's a big change taking a completely counterproductive process and streamlining it for maximum efficiency and cost savings. The calendars are free to the churches and 100% of the proceeds from the ads go to the small, mission churches located in remote areas around the country. So my first week or so, I was very sympathetic when listening to church personnel tell me they didn't know how to use the computer very well.  After a couple weeks I became a bit empathetic listening to more tales of woe but I was starting to say "shit" under my breath a lot. But now, I'm in my 4th week and fully entrenched in this crap (a four letter word) and I just think most of their stories are pathetic. I mean, I spend  anywhere from 3 minutes to 20 minutes listening to these people belly-ache about how tough this is and why do they have to do "my job".  Hey, guess what, this isn't MY JOB and your calendars are FREE! And the best part is, all of the callers that like to tell me how terrible this new system is always end with a "God Bless You". Ok, wait a minute. You just chewed me out because you're too lazy (another four letter word) to take 10 minutes to typeset your ad and you just said "God Bless You" to me before slamming down the phone? I'm afraid by next week I'm going to be so tainted by this experience if a priest tells me it's too hard to type his church ad on the computer I might just reply "no shit but you still have to do it Padre!"

I am working harder than I have in a long time. It's not that it's really challenging work, it's just very tedious and there are no breaks in the day. I only have this job until the end of November and I don't really want to be released before my expiration date. I think while I'm there I'll try to focus on a different four letter word so I don't get fired for swearing at a priest. Maybe "pray" would be a good place to start. 

Today's EiPod: "Dirty Work",  Steely Dan

I told myself I was going to do 2 things in September. I was going to get a job and I was going to take up running. I may have set the bar a little high but I have a reputation of being focused so I really needed to put both feet forward to accomplish these two goals.  And one of them required both feet not only going forward but faster.  To be honest,  I was really hoping the job thing worked out so I could use that as an excuse for not signing up for any crazy Chicago runs that are always going on. Clearly if I went back to being a busy executive I wouldn't have the time to train for a race since I'd be climbing a steep learning curve in the business world. On the other hand, I've been walking a lot all summer and figured I put on close to 400 miles on my shoes so running might not be that tough of a transition.  Shoot,  Forrest Gump started out walking and suddenly he was running and running and running and before he knew it, he ran across the country. Talk about focus!  Although, he was also a bit of a simpleton and had a lot of time to run because he would never have the opportunity to become a busy executive like me. Wow, the fact that I just compared myself to him is making me question who the real simpleton is here.  

Anyway, I've been networking a fair amount and planned on using Facebook as a tool. Now I can say it did drum up a bit of attention but for the most part, I've reconnected with college friends and have spent a lot of time in ridiculous and hilarious conversations that were not going to lead me to a job. But, I was still very determined to go back to work so I kept spreading the word.  And as September was approaching, it was becoming more and more clear the running career was going to come first. Before I knew it, August 31 rolled around and there I was at Fleet Feet buying the new equipment...running shoes. The very thorough salesman video taped my running so he could properly fit my feet to the right shoes for my new venture. And shoes aren't cheap, either. So now I still don't have a job and I'm dropping $95 on new shoes for a sport I don't even know if I'll like. Something is wrong with this picture. Hmm, I wonder what Forrest Gump's IQ is.

The first day of September there I was on the lakefront trying out my new shoes.  The shoe salesman recommended reading Runner's World to get beginner training information which I thought was a brilliant idea. I turned 47 a couple weeks ago and there's a high likelihood I could hurt myself  if I don't train properly.  Although I think it's likely I'll hurt myself anyway. But, I got out there and ran.  And now I officially call myself a "runner". I don't think it matters how far or long I go, I'm still a runner. I believe if  you say it enough you own it.  And after the first 2 runs, I realized I really need to step up the networking because I'd rather start calling myself "employed".  

Thankfully, good news broke on the job front during my first week as a runner. It's a temporary position at a not-for-profit that will take me through November. But, it counts and now I get to call myself "employed". Coming off of 22 years in the corporate world I'm not sure what I'm getting into but I know I'm interested because it's a job, it pays and it's still the month of September.  

So, the good news is my mission is accomplished. I'm now an employed runner.  The bad news is, I'm a bit concerned how much Forrest Gump and I may have in common.

Today's EiPod: "Walk a Mile in My Shoes",  Joe South

 

I have to start this out by stating I am not a racist. Never have been and can only hope I never will be. So, now that I put that out there...

Having free time during the day has exposed me to a lot of different things. For the past 22 years I was at my desk job using my stapler, then my stapler remover, then re-stapling the staple I just removed, calling my friends and using The Google to look up interesting factoids. Ok, that's not entirely true. I did work when I had a job. And most days I worked hard. So the fact that I am now roaming the streets during daylight hours has opened my ears to a whole new experience. 

I start my day with a walk on the lakefront. I'll be out there anywhere from an hour to 2 hours heading from Museum Park and walking north. And, I never wear headphones. I think the sounds of the city are fascinating and meant to be heard so I never understood why people want to block that noise with boom boom music. Plus, if you aren't wearing headphones you are open to lost tourists looking for directions to the Shed Aquarium or the nearest Corner Bakery. And, I must be an approachable person because at least 3 times a week I'm helping people find their way.

On my walk yesterday I not only gave directions, but also got an earful of language from 3 grown men heading south on their bikes. From about a block away I could hear them talking not to each other but AT each other.  The language was a little fuzzy but as they rode closer, the words became more clear. I'm not sure of the subject matter but it seemed like they were talking about installing a sound system. Now,  think I could probably hold my own in a conversation about aligning the colored wires with the colors in the back of the stereo. And I know I could do that without swearing once. The conversation coming out of these guys was really fast and very passionate. I couldn't understand everything they said but what I picked up went something like this "that lil' bitch put the mu-fukn' red one into the wrong mu-fukn' hole 'n shit an now ain't no sound comin' out...shit".  But, lucky for me, I was recently exposed to this dialect when I watched "The Real Housewives of Atlanta" last week. When those classy ladies get on a roll, they talk as fast and swear equally as much. I have to hand it to Bravo because they added subtitles for the dialogue on the show so the audience could follow along. It sure would be nice if there was a similar machine we could hook up to those bikes. Perhaps if I could read what the problem was I may be able to help. And then maybe they wouldn't feel the need to yell so loudly and swear so much. 

Later in the day I hopped on the Green Line to meet a friend for lunch. I haven't had much of an occasion to get on the trains during the day because, as stated above, I used to work and play with my stapler, etc. But I needed to get to lunch on time and the Green Line coming from the Southside was how I could reach my destination. 

I jumped on at Roosevelt Road and no sooner had I sat down when I heard almost the same conversation as the guys on the bikes. I took a quick look and saw a a couple of different guys screaming about something and using same words "mu-fukn' n' shit and lil' bitch".  It was uncanny. Those are the only words I could make out in the 9 minute ride I had on the train. And I have to wonder if we don't understand their English, do they understand ours? I mean the recording on the train that tells riders what stop is next is in the King's English so how do these guys know when to get off? Or do they just ride until they're tired of riding? I think maybe the CTA should follow Bravo's lead and add subtitles on the trains so everyone knows when they're stop is coming up. They could keep the English audio and add a scrollbar to interpret. So, the audio would remain "next stop, Clinton; doors open on the right at Clinton".  And, the scrollbar would read "this mu-fukn' Clinton n' shit so if this you, get off the train ya lil' bitch". 

Or, maybe I should start wearing headphones.

Today's EiPod: "In the Ghetto", Elvis Presley

I finally conceded to the masses this week and joined Facebook. Over the last year, friends have been trying to get me to join it because it's so much fun and you can see pictures of your friends and their kids and pets and blah blah blah. Yes, I was a naysayer to put it mildly. Even though I wasn't a subscriber, I'd been receiving e-mails requesting me to be someone's "friend".  My typical reply would be that I thought we were already friends so why do we need a website to solidify it. So, not only was I a naysayer, but I was a bit crotchety when it got right down to it.

The thing is, I have wonderful friends. If I was told I could choose anybody in the whole world to be friends with, I'd pick the same ones I have, no question. So, through the years I've had successful relationships because of what I call Face-to-Face Book. It's important that I spend time with everybody, both one-on-one and in groups. And, if you ask me, I think it's pretty easy to be friends with me. I like to think I have a reasonable set of  criteria for friendship; be kind, have a good sense of humor, and drink well with others. How hard can that be? So, I just didn't see any reason to join Facebook...until now. 

I am networking and in this month's Chicago Magazine there was an article about how people in my age group need to rethink how we network. It discussed how important the on-line sources are; LinkedIn, Facebook and Twitter. I'm on LinkedIn and it's been helpful getting in touch with former colleagues. I know enough about Twitter that you're allowed around 140 characters to get your message across. Well, there are many days I am a woman of few words but when it comes to writing, I can be a bit verbose. The only message I could think of to Tweet and not run over the character limit would read "WILL WORK FOR WINE". Then I thought of the type of job responses I may get and remembered that I prefer work vertically. Well,  that left me with Facebook so I started the journey on Sunday. And, I must say, it's been interesting. 

In the past 2 days I've added 30 friends; some I see regularly and others I haven't seen in 25 years. Lots of old college friends have turned up that I haven't talked to since 1984. We went to a small school in Iowa and many people have landed all over the world chasing their dreams and living a good life.  I found the whole Facebook world fascinating that one person connects with you and they tell two friends and so on and so on.  They even let your friends make recommendations for who should be your friend. And there's some kind of instant chat, a notification message button and e-mail. At one point, they were all were going off at once. And that's because I have a couple of smart-ass friends who knew I was new to this so they were trying to drive me crazy...and it worked. But yesterday alone, I was talking to Hawaii and NYC at the same time plus I had a threesome chat with a husband and wife and not one bit of that was illegal or dirty. 

So, now I'm sold on this whole Facebook concept. It's opened up a whole new world for me and I'm ready for it. It still makes me feel vulnerable but I think once I learn all the tools, it will serve its purpose. Those I've been in touch with know I'm looking for a job so the networking aspect is in play. The pictures are another story altogether. I've been "tagged" on some photos from the early '80s. Not particularly flattering but that's what I looked like back then. And, I get that it's funny to embarrass people by posting pictures on the Internet without their permission for the world to see. I just have to say now that I'm on, I can't wait to dig through my arsenal of pictures to see who I can "tag". But before I do that, I need someone to tell me what that means and how to do it.  This could be a fun game.  

Today's EiPod: "Waiting For My Real Life to Begin", Colin Hay

I took  a mini road trip the other day to a place I'd never been. It was 5 hours up through Wisconsin to Door County. Now, I have to preface this by saying I agreed to take the trip with a friend and her 9 month old to go visit one of her friends and her 2 month old. Yes, I made a conscious decision to do this because I love my friend and her baby and thought it would be really fun. It turned out to be a case of "live and learn". I learned that it's not fair to sit a baby straight up in a chair in the back seat of a car for 5 hours and expect her not to make a sound. I also learned that 9 months is a turning point for a baby and unfamiliar surroundings really aggravate them. And if they're aggravated, they let you know with a long series of whines which could last up to an hour straight. If you're like me and don't have children, you hope to never hear one of those sounds again for the rest of your life. Plus, 9 month olds are active and need to be under constant supervision because they push and pull and eat everything they can get their cute little hands on. So, I determined what we really needed was a playpen. Yes, a big playpen so the baby can safely play and sleep and not have to be watched so mommy and her friend can drink wine in peace. And I'm not talking about those dumb pack n' plays that are the size of a 2 x 2 prison cell. I mean a REAL playpen like I had growing up. Those cages must have had 10 feet of play space and could fit several babies comfortably, or uncomfortably depending on how exhausted the mother was. Back in the day I know my mom put us in there and tossed in a few toys so she could go off and smoke her cigarettes while frying up a whole chicken (that was when cigarettes and fried chicken were good for you). Ok, there's no way for me to know if that's really what my mom did with her playpen freedom because I was a baby. But, after my experience, I can only hope my mom used that opportunity to have a few belts. Anyway, the point is, I see a real need to bring back those big playpens so I'm planning to start a new line of baby goods called  "Barren Spinster".  I'm sure the things will be flying off the shelf. 

Because we had babies with us, I didn't get to experience too much of Door County. But, we did get out to do a few things. We were on the Bay side which is made up of a bunch of little towns on the water with a large Scandinavian influence. Flags are flying proudly, stores are selling viking hats and people are living in Swedish-style cottages. There's a restaurant called Al Johnson's that sells Swedish pancakes and the wait staff parades around in these traditional Swedish outfits.  I think I was about as Swedish as anybody who worked there.  And here's the thing, I've been to Sweden and I never ran into anyone in a restaurant that spoke with a Wisconsin accent. So, it was difficult for me to get into character and really believe I was in Sweden when our waitress greeted us with "oh yeah, and how are ya today?" Plus, this place had live goats grazing on the grass-covered roof. Traffic slows almost to a stop while people stare and take pictures of these poor goats.  Where is PETA? I mean I personally think wearing a warm furry coat made from dead animals is much less offensive than forcing a goat to live on the roof of a fake Swedish restaurant. And, I couldn't figure out how they get off. If they fell they would be splattered all over the parking lot.  Then there would be a bunch of little kids in plastic viking hats screaming their heads off.  Now that I think about it, I may have to add an animal line of playpens to my Barren Spinster collection so these goats can graze safely. 

Today's EiPod: "Grazin' in the Grass", Boney James

I went to Wrigley Field on Tuesday night but it wasn't to see a baseball game. Not that I wouldn't. I'm a White Sox fan but I've been in the friendly confines lots of times and it's always fun. This was a much bigger event for me. It was Elton John and Billy Joel in their Face to Face concert. Yes, the King and Queen of the Piano performing in the outfield to tens of thousands of fans. My nephew told me he had 2 FREE tickets so I asked him what I should wear. He hesitated but after a few minutes decided I had earned the opportunity to hang out with him. Phew.

The concert was 4 hours of awe-inspiring musicianship. Sure, the two of them are older now but who isn't? There were a couple of jumbotrons on either side of the stage so we had a great view of their chubby fingers tearing up the grand pianos. They played together for a bit, each taking the lead on the other's song, then split and Elton did a one hour solo as did Billy. Elton's set was loaded with the old songs that took me back to grade school where it seemed every week I was at a boy-girl basement party where we played albums and danced until the boys would figure out which slow song to play so they could turn the lights out and get the kissing started. Was "Benny and the Jets" really that romantic or just a long song for us little Catholics kids to be awkwardly linked to each other?I think the latter. Billy's "Only The Good Die Young" didn't come out until I was in high school so thankfully we weren't chanting that tune at our parties with the lights out. Not that we had a clue what the lyrics meant. Although, my father did. And it was not allowed to be played in our house. Fortunately, we had headphones.

Outside the concert was an interesting display of the 1st Amendment. I'm ok with the whole Freedom of Speech bit but I take issue when it's hateful. Across the street from Wrigley stood a group of 4 people that I surmised was a mother and her sister, both 40-ish, a daughter in her early 20s, and a son who looked about 14.  They were holding graphic signs stating who God hates, because I'm sure He told them.  "God hates Obama", "God hates Fags", "God hates Jews". The other sign they held up stated  "Jews took our land". My nephew and I figured out the "fag" and "jew" slangs were directed at the stars of the show. But when he asked me what land they were talking about, for the life of me I couldn't figure out what land the Jews took from those people holding the signs. I mean, I know a lot of Jewish people live in New York and even have places in the Hamptons, including Billy Joel and his ex-wives. But I just never read anywhere that the Hamptons used to be a trailer park before they started building sprawling manses. I'll have to research that one. 

Today's EiPod: "Honky Cat", Elton John

My youngest brother Joe got in to Michigan on Friday morning to finally join his wife, 4 kids and the rest of our family. They're from Alaska so this is always a big treat for us every year. And it's an even bigger treat for them.  Alaska has some beautiful summer weather with really long days but they just don't have the beaches or lake like we have here. So, the first day the kids head down to the lake is like watching 4 slices of Wonderbread walking on the beach. They need to practice safe tanning so layering on #30 at least 4 or 5 times during the day is not a bad thing. I hate to have them look like burnt toast. And I speak from experience.  I have to use lots of sun protection because my parents were negligent when I was a child and I was sunburned several times and am now paying for it as an adult. Ok, I'm just kidding about the negligent part. They didn't make sunscreen when I was a kid. And, I did use baby oil in my pre-teens because I thought I could only burn so much and then I'd tan like my sisters. It didn't work. And it was a stupid idea. And, it hurt. A lot.

In the 8 days our family was together, there was only one injury to report and it truly was an accident. Unfortunately, at the expense of the kids,  we all learned a valuable lesson. When skipping rocks, the target area should always be in the direction of the lake, not your younger cousin's eyeball. It was nothing a trip to the hospital couldn't take care of. Plus, it was a 5 year old boy who got to wear a patch on his eye. I don't know how many people can say they had a pirate protecting their beach for 3 days so I think we were lucky,  especially since the convicts were still on the loose in the area. 

On Saturday my pastor, Fr. Edward, come in from Chicago to say mass for our family at my parent's house.  The kids were very well behaved and I'm sure it had something to do with fewer distractions than in a church and the fact that all the adults were staring at them so they wouldn't get out of line. We had to give the 3 year old a break though. He was really good until we took the mass outside. Instead of following us to the make-shift alter in the backyard, he exited toward St. Hammock. And even that worked out ok.  A lot of churches have a cry room where kids can be themselves and not disturb the congregation. My parent's cry room just happens to be hanging from a tree. 

I came home on Sunday and reserved Monday to decompress. A dear friend had sent me a book in the mail called "The Shack" and it was my goal to finish it.  It's a spiritual journey with lots of messages about forgiveness, letting go of resentments and not judging others. It's something each of my family members have done to each other at one time or another but it seems like we keep moving forward and not letting the past cripple us. If you haven't read the book, I would recommend it. I know I'll read it again. 

I'm sure it sounds like we're not a typical dysfunctional family. But, we are.  I think we just put it on hold this year. 

Today's EiPod: "Better Days",  The Goo Goo Dolls

(these lyrics are brilliant)

4 days later and the convicts are still on the loose. "Pistol Packin' Patty", the deputy and arresting officer for the first offender in Grand Beach, told us they only have one of the perps on their radar and he left our village and headed south. Seems like the 3rd escapee was smart enough to have a plan and probably won't be seen again until John Walsh picks up the story on "America's Most Wanted".  I do feel bad for the guy that was caught. He's probably been tortured several times by a cigarette smoking detective in a bad suit trying to get information about his former inmates. I feel even worse for the one that's still in the area. He's been spotted near a mexican restaurant and a grocery store. I'm not a detective but these clues tell me he's not only hungry but is probably in desperate need of some bug spray.  It's very woodsy around here and with the record rainfall we've had  this summer I'm certain he's contracted lyme disease by now.  And if that wasn't enough, my mom's bridge game was cancelled on Monday night because of the fear in the village.  So once he is apprehended, I'm confident the Grand Beach Ladies Bridge Club will have a few choice words for him. I don't care how dangerous you think you are, you should NEVER mess with a ladies bridge club.

Our family has managed to soldier through the days without letting the felons disturb our routine. It's been lots of beach time sprinkled with trips to the outlet mall. I like to try to get a little time with each of the kids to create a special bond so at least one of them will take care of me when I'm old and drooling. I've got 14 of them and I've changed all of their diapers so I'm hoping they'll do the same for me if I need it.  

The shopping experience is different depending on the age group. I took 4 girls ranging from 10-13 and they couldn't wait to get to Bath and Body Works. I watched as they sprayed and rubbed and sniffed everything in the store.  I let them each pick out their own 5 for $5 lotions and sprays which made them shake with excitement. I too, was shaking when I started to get a whiff of the purchases. I imagined once we got home how the musty, summer lakefront smell of their rental cottage would soon be replaced by the fresh scent of a brothel.  

Another trip to the mall was with a 20 year old niece where we made a quick stop at Claire's Boutique. She was looking for earrings and when I asked if it was to replace the stud on ther newly pierced nostril, she said it was not. She informed her older, square aunt that she needed to replace her belly button ring. For cry eye, how many holes can a body take before it springs a leak? And, just an hour before our outing, we were at the beach where she revealed a 1 week old tattoo that says "Amore". She's 1/2 Italian so I should be happy she chose the translation of  the word love to scar her body. Besides,  had she gone with her Irish heritage, I think the Gaelic word for love is "Guinness" and that's just not something I want to see permanently inked on one of my family members. 

The evenings have been chock full of bbqs, kids going nuts and lots of boom boom music. I do not understand ONE word of the music these kids are playing these days which I know makes me sound old.  Listening to a 10 or 11 year old sing about "losing your panties" and "making you feel good all night" kind of makes me uncomfortable. But they don't really understand what they're singing so I don't want to draw attention to it. I threw my iPod in at one point to show them that we adults could be hip, too.  I quickly realized that children never like to see their parents as human beings so once we got up to dance and sing to our music, the kids left the room completely embarrassed. It wasn't exactly like torturing an escaped convict but by the looks on their faces, it was pretty close. And now I know exactly what to do when I need some alone time with my siblings. 

Today's EiPod: "Rapper's Delight", Sugar Hill Gang

Catholics vs. Convicts-Take 2. 

I borrowed that term from a 1988 football game between the University of Notre Dame and the University of Miami. Seems the Miami football team was plagued with "bad-boy" scandals and the Fighting Irish thought it would be cute to make up t-shirts that said "Catholics vs. Convicts". Today in Grand Beach, Michigan we had a re-match. Although this time, the "convict" part wasn't a joke.

My parents have a home in the sleepy little town of Grand Beach, Michigan,  just over the Indiana border. They are on the 3rd fairway of small, municipal 9-hole golf course (which we refer to as Grand Beach National) and a few minutes to a beautiful Lake Michigan beach. Everyone owns at least one golf cart and that is the preferred method of transportation in town. There is a clubhouse for golfers and for neighborhood kids to buy ice cream.  It's not unusual to see multitudes of children walking the streets unsupervised because everybody knows each other and frankly, it's safe. The population of the town consists of mainly West Side Irish and South Side Irish. Almost everyone is Catholic and ALL are Notre Dame fans. And if you're not, you just don't talk about it. Most of the families are related to each other and have been there for generations so you have to be careful about gossiping because you never know how many branches are in a family tree. My family however,  is new in town. We set up camp 20 years ago and have no relatives in town except the 28 of my immediate family members who descend upon the place every year for a week in July. And this is our week.

I awoke at my folks home to the sound of helicopters. I had a voicemail from a friend last night telling me of an escape at the Michigan City Prison but I didn't think much of it. And besides, being in such a small beach community, not only does our cell service stink but I didn't even know there was a prison nearby so thought I may have misunderstood the message. I found out this morning that not only is there a prison but apparently at roll call there were 3 people missing and they found their way to Grand Beach. 

At 8 am when I surfaced from my room ready to pick up my sister-in law Carol for our 5 mile walk, the news was released that one of the convicts had been captured in our town.  He made his way up near the summer home of Da Mayor of Chicago, Richard Daley. Fortunately, my tax dollars are paying for Da Mayor's security guard and one guy was held at gunpoint until our local Police Chief, Dan Schroeder, could get his team on the scene to make the arrest. I have to tell you right now that this was a BIG day for the Grand Beach Police Department which I believe has a staff of 3. The biggest crimes that go on in town are violations for too many people riding on a golf cart and having a bonfire on the beach without a permit. Arresting a felon is surely to earn Officer Dan and his team a hero's parade. On golf carts of course. 

As the morning progressed, more and more state troopers arrived in town. The FBI and S.W.A.T. teams set up camp near my parent's home and the helicopters kept swarming the area. Since Grand Beach is such a casual beach town, it would be very easy to get into someone's home and do a complete makeover on yourself without anyone noticing.  As Carol and I started on our walk,  a woman in her housecoat peaked her head out of her cottage to warn us that the convicts might be looking for hostages. I'm not sure if we'd be worth more together or separately but since Carol left her kids sleeping at their rental cottage with the door unlocked, we thought our exercise routine should be postponed for now. 

It looked like this was going to go on all day and as most people were on lock-down, we had 11 kids who had a lot of energy they needed to release. So, instead of torturing them with an all-day Bago tournament, we took them to the beach. It may have been risky but I think we all felt safe once we made it to the water because the coast guard was circling the area. And, even better, the Chicago news media was everywhere. Some of the stations came down to the beach and filmed our little kids and interviewed some of my family.  I'm hoping the camera man missed me on his take. Not because I was in my bathing suit but because I was sitting UNDER an umbrella WITH a hat on. Talk about belt and suspenders. I can't take the sun but please, do I need to have all that protection? Yes, I can be a dork at times.

I left my beach post about 3:00 this afternoon because I had to get back to Chicago. At that hour, there was still plenty of action going on in town.  I have to admit I felt bad leaving my mom and dad alone in the house with a rapist and murderer still on the loose. My mom didn't seem too worried. Tonight she has bridge at the clubhouse with all the Grand Beach ladies. She's a wicked bridge player and few things, including an escaped convict, will keep her from a card game. I wished her luck and told her to make sure to check everyone out carefully tonight. It's not unusual for woman to have some stray facial hair but if she spots anyone playing bridge with a full beard wearing a skirt, I recommended she fold and go home quickly. 

Today's EiPod: "Jailbreak", Thin Lizzy

I thought I was going to let Michael rest in peace but I have found myself with another connection to him. And, this one is powerful. So much so, that I think I understand how he found himself in the predicament of a $40,000/month prescription pill habit. 

I have been suffering with back pain for a couple years and have ignored medical treatment. It's not because I'm heroic, it's because I have an HMO with a $25 co-pay and I don't like to part with money that easily. I like my doctor but I have the internet and for $24.99 I have unlimited access to all kinds of medical help. WebMD is one of my favorites. I can self-diagnose any illness and follow the regime it dictates for the cure.  Of course, I cannot prescribe myself medications but I can follow exercises and diet changes to get me on the mend. After the pain escalated this Spring, I had to break down and pry open my wallet to go see the doctor. 

In the past 6 weeks I have seen my internist ($25), had an MRI ($25), gone to 4 weeks of physical therapy ($25/visit x 9 visits=$225) and had an appointment with an orthopedic physician ($25). When the orthopedic doctor asked how I wanted to be treated, I said "aggressively" as I've been fooling around with this for too long. I left with a referral for a pain specialist to administer an epidural steriod injection and 3 prescriptions to fill: Tizanidine, Tramadol and Meloxicam. I met this man for 8 minutes and he prescribed me 3 drugs I can't even pronounce.  Two pills will make me feel better and one will help me sleep. This can get very confusing so I will make sure to read the labels carefully. But that is only 3 pills and it cost me $30. I can only imagine how confusing it was for Michael Jackson to try to keep $40,000 worth of pills straight. No wonder he was laid out in a gold coffin the other day. 

So, there are few lessons to learn here. First, listen to your body and if you don't see results from the WebMD methodology within a month, suck it up and go see a real doctor.  Second, never get yourself into a situation where you have too many pills to keep track of. It's dangerous and could lead to death. Finally, if it does lead to death, make sure your family does not lay you to rest at the Burr Oak Cemetery. From what I've read, that would not be your FINAL resting place. 

Today's EiPod: "The Candyman",  Sammy Davis, Jr.

Well, I was completely sated. Michael's funeral was a tribute, a memorial and a bit of a circus all in one. Not working, I was able to plant myself in front of the TV and watch the 2 hour presentation of "Michael Jackson, This is Your Life". Well, the good part of  his life anyway. The gold casket, the pallbearer brothers, somber family and 17,000 complete strangers who won a lottery ticket to get in to see the show. It was brilliant marketing and I'm quite sure the family will be able to pay down his debts now that he's gone. 

The pictures at the service depicted just how famous,  talented and darling he really was.  That is, until his father told him his nose was too big. Then the plastic surgeons got a hold of him and what started out as a cute, poor black child from Gary, Indiana ended up a looking like a pretty, poor white woman from Los Angeles. And his family continues to proclaim ignorance of any drug problem? I'm just saying if I came home one day with so much as a tan (which is a dream of any pasty Irish gal), my 6 siblings would be conducting an intervention. 

The service had some touching moments. Brooke Shields did a nice tribute and seemed to be a real friend to Michael at one time in his life. I thought the musical numbers were all done in good taste and a sign of his great talent. I was a bit unclear why Magic Johnson played a part in the service. The fact that he still goes by the name of Magic and is married to a woman named Cookie is another blog entirely but, I just didn't understand his role. And he made what I thought was a racist joke about he and Michael eating fried chicken. Although, maybe if you are the race making the joke against your own race, it's not really considered racist. I'll have to research that. But,  just imagine the sounds in the Staples Center if Brooke told a similar story about the time she and Michael ate watermelon together. 

And, it wouldn't be an event without the Reverend Al Sharpton. He took the podium and preached about Michael's goodness and wonderful parenting. He raved about his generosity and kindness.  And he went on to talk about how he broke down the color barriers in pop music. I'm not sure I would have gone that far. It was the late '70s before Michael made his big splash and we had already seen many, many talented black musicians by then. Smokey Robinson, James Brown and Jackie Wilson to name a few. No, we hadn't quite seen anything like him before but I'm not sure that had anything to do with the color of his skin. Maybe Al was confused. Michael did the moon walk.  He didn't walk on the moon. There is a difference.

On my way home to watch the service, I walked passed the Ebony-Jet building on South Michigan Avenue.  The front window has a blown-up version of the Ebony Magazine where Michael did his last interview a few years ago. There was a make-shift memorial in front and watched a crying woman drop off a bunch of flowers.  It was touching I have to admit. But, now it's over and I need a new muse. I hope Diana Ross re-surfaces soon. 

Today's EiPod: "Ease on Down the Road",  Michael Jackson and Diana Ross

Today is my sister Anne's birthday. She's the first person I called when I heard the news about Michael Jackson's passing.  She and I are 13 months apart and between the typical sisterly bickering, we were close growing up. We spent a lot of time singing and dancing around the house when we were younger. Anne was gifted with a strong singing voice and typically did the harmonizing to cover my mediocre vocals. She was also the consummate cheerleader and when we danced, it wouldn't be unusual for her to turn one of her moves into some rah rah, stiff-armed jump with a really loud landing that would shake the light fixtures.  I focused more on the MJ spins (which I never quite got) because you see, I never made the cheerleading squad. I tried out in 6th, 7th and 8th grades and never got the nod from the judges that I was good enough to support the St. Joe's Knights from the gym floor. I don't think they really understood me. I'm a bit shy and prefer to keep my enthusiasm inside. Looking back, I suppose the judges made the right decision. Introverts make lousy cheerleaders. My sister, on the other hand, wears her emotions on her sleeve so she always made the squad.  Consequently, I supported her on her efforts to be the best cheerleader ever and she supported and laughed at me while I tried to master MJ's 360 degree spin. 

I only found out recently that my whole childhood obsession with Michael and his brothers disturbed my sister. She phoned my parents after we talked about his death and told them she could never understand why all the other girls had a crush on Donny Osmond and I was fixated on a negro (I had to clean that word up from the one she chose). This better explains my Christmas present from her in 1974. 

Since we're from a big family, we picked names for gifts and put a $10 limit on them. It was a Secret Santa deal so in order to get your message out, you had to tell everyone, including our parents, what you wanted for Christmas.  I made it perfectly clear to every family member I wanted a Jackson 5 album. I was young so there wasn't shame in my choice but pure enthusiasm at the thought of throwing their music on the turntable Christmas day. 

To make it easier on our parents, we picked one Saturday to do our shopping.  They dropped all of us kids off at the mall and we picked partners to shop with.  Anne paired up with our oldest brother Frank. Off they went to the record store in search of my present. On Christmas morning when I saw the present from my Secret Santa under the tree, I could tell by the wrapping I was getting an album. I couldn't wait to open it! I just knew I'd have the headphones on within hours singing and dancing to the Jackson 5. As I tore open the wrapping paper, I realized something had gone terribly wrong. Instead of staring at those 5 afros, I found myself looking at some long-hairs on this crazy, blurry album cover.  It was a record from a band called "Deep Purple".  If I was allowed to swear, I would've asked "what the hell is this"? But, I just sat there with my mouth open while my sister explained that Frank told her I didn't really WANT the Jackson 5 album but what I REALLY wanted was the "Deep Purple Machine Head" album that included the song "Smoke on the Water".  So, instead of me dancing and singing around the house to my African American friends, I had to watch my brother Frank pull out his electric guitar and play along to the Deep Purple songs I had never heard of nor really liked. And it wasn't like I could dance along because none of those songs even had a beat. 

So, since I didn't fly to LA for the memorial service, I'm going to use some of my unemployment check to buy 2 copies of the "Michael Jackson Memorial Tribute CD and DVD set".  I can't wait to see Anne and Frank's faces when they open up their Christmas presents this year. 

Today's EiPod: "Smoke on the Water", Deep Purple

I didn't get a ticket to Staples Center. I also didn't apply for one.  Not that I wasn't a fan of Michael Jackson because I was. I even got to see The Jacksons perform in Chicago in 1974. But, I just didn't think spending my entire unemployment check on a flight to L.A. would be a wise move. Plus, the traffic in California gets on my very last nerve. So, I decided to celebrate his life in the comfort of my own home. From my living room I can watch L.A. go deeper in debt to memorialize the uber talented,  slightly perverted King of Pill Popping who made noises that could only come out of a grown man if his family jewels were being squeezed by a vice grip. And, I'll get a better view of stars like Emmanuel Lewis and Macaulay Culkin who should be seated somewhere in the first 30 rows. 

There's been a lot of time and energy speculating what will happen to the estate, Neverland and custody of the kids. Larry King has spent days on end trying to suck every ounce of information from brother Jermaine. Liz Taylor is not only grief stricken but likely scrambling for a new drug dealer. These news stories will go on for years to ensure we won't be allowed to forget MJ. However, in a few days, life will go on and we'll get back to seeing Barack Obama's wide smile and the news will go back to reporting on the sad state of the economy and the War in Iraq. Well, that is until Bubbles dies. 

Today's EiPod: "Enjoy Yourself", The Jacksons