This is only temporary

Every so often, I’ll have a week where it seems as if my coworkers hate me. Later that same week, my husband will start eyeing me in that way that convinces me he’s desperate to divorce me. My friends won’t call — a sure sign that they absolutely cannot stand me. And it isn’t just people turning against me — it’s dinner, scorched in the oven; the latch on the window that snaps off in my hand as I hurry to let the smoke from the oven escape. It’s the spot on my favorite pants, rendering them unwearable.

Little is cute, and oh so likable

Never have I been so reluctant to return a book to the library than Yossy Arefi’s Snacking Cakes: Simple Treats for Anytime Cravings. Most of the recipes are mixed in a single bowl, and use simple ingredients. I baked my way through that book, making the cute little cakes. I started with chocolate, then graduated onto oatmeal chocolate chip, lime-coconut, and finally plum-cardamom. Each cake reminded me of my time as an exchange student in Germany when I was in high school.

Everyone’s best friend, ‘Harvey,’ takes the Sun City Stage

Elwood Dowd, the kind-hearted, eccentric protagonist of the play, “Harvey,” enjoys talking to strangers, although, he says, they don’t stay strangers for long.

“Soon, the faces of all the other people, they turn toward mine and they smile,” says Elwood. “And they’re saying, ‘We don’t know your name, mister, but you’re a very nice fella.’”

Each morning begins with a ritual

Our ritual each morning is this: he pads barefooted to the kitchen. He is a fast waker-upper; I am not. Even though my eyes are still closed, I follow along by listening to the sounds he makes. I hear the shoosh of the water from the tap going into the tea kettle, and the click of him turning on the stove. He tends to favor the burner at the back of the stove to the right, while I am partial to the front burner on the left. With the water set to boil in a bright turquoise-colored kettle that I bought one day when I was feeling sad and drab, he crosses over to the far end of the living room where I hear him lower himself to the ground where he does pushups on a mat.

Facing another summer as an adult

Summer hasn’t even started, officially. But school is out, and as I’m writing this, my teen daughter is waking up on her first day of summer break. Her alarm clock went off at 6 a.m., a leftover relic of our automated life that cruises along during the school year. Instead of hitting snooze, she gets to hit “off.” In less than 24 hours, the clock has suddenly lost its authority.

Sun City Resident Creates Sharemystories App

Sun City resident Jim Hanekamp has designed a new app called Sharemystories, focused on preserving memories using photos, written word, and audioclips in a timeline format.

Hanekamp, 66, grew up outside of Chicago in a large family. During the pandemic, the six adult siblings, separated by geography, enjoyed regular Zoom calls to reminisce about family vacations and forgotten family lore.

Hope takes root

It was a gorgeous day at the garden center. A gentle breeze danced through the heavily perfumed air, playfully mixing and mingling with the sweet and savory scents of the flowers and herbs. The earthy scent of grass clippings and warm soil felt like a tender embrace, comfortable and calm.

Going Up? The harrowing ascent to the Yellow Brick Road

For a good five minutes, I was convinced I was going to have to listen to the Elton John concert while stuck in an elevator.

At, least, it felt like five minutes: the time it took for the elevator to arrive to take us up to our seats in the nosebleed section, where our seats were located at Ohio State University’s Schottenstein Center in Columbus, Ohio. We were there to see Elton John perform live for his Farewell Tour.

We were relieved, my friends and I, to see there was an elevator operator, who had an air of authority perched on a stool in front of the panel of elevator buttons.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” said a woman to the elevator operator. “Up, please.”

A pencil-thin line between stranger and friend

In the summer of 1992, I was packing up for my first semester of college. I was 17, about to move to another state, to live in a dorm where I knew no one.

That’s when my Dad gave me a gift, wrapped in the comics from the Sunday paper. The Sunday funnies were always the first choice for wrapping paper in my house, and Dad would take extra care to wrap it so that his favorite comic strip — featuring Charlie Brown and Snoopy — were prominently displayed on top. You would never fold the flap over Snoopy, or place tape over Charlie Brown. No, the Peanuts gang always got top billing as gift wrap.

There’s no entrance exam for parenthood

Before we had children, my husband and I decided to adopt a cat.

We were in our early 20s, starting our jobs that we hoped would turn into careers, living in a sunny one-bedroom apartment. We had to download forms off the internet, fill them out, and take them to an office where a woman looked at us sternly from across her desk. She asked us if we had a vet.

A vet? No, we don’t have a vet. We don’t even have a pet. Yet.

There’s always room for one more

Last week, a group of dear college friends came to my house for fondue. Every few months, for the past 20-some years, we track each other down and have dinner together. Each time we gather, a new chapter is added to our ongoing stories: We’ve shrieked over engagement rings, attended each other’s weddings, compared swollen ankles during pregnancies. We’ve rocked each other’s babies and handed down clothing. We’ve helped each other move out of apartments and into houses. We’ve held each other at funerals and during divorces.

Pandemnesia

It could be argued that, between the fact that my husband is a band director at a large high school and that all four of our children have either gone through or are going through the music department at the same high school, I have attended dozens —-maybe hundreds? —- of concerts.

I enjoy the concerts, but you could say that over the course of a couple decades, the novelty of attending these live performances has worn a bit thin.

Confessions of a library lover

My childhood library stood directly across the street from the church where my father was a minister. When I wasn’t helping Dad in the church folding bulletins, or sharpening the pencils in the pews, I was across the street, exploring our local library. I spent hours there. Each time I entered the front doors and heard the soft trickle of water coming from the fountain in the lobby, I felt as though I’d walked into a space just as sacred as the sanctuary across the street.

Online word game spells out L-O-V-E for transatlantic couple

Rose DeMay wasn’t looking for romance. But an online word game laid the groundwork for an unlikely friendship with a gentleman in Australia which, over time, developed into a second chance at love.

Today, she wears a shiny new engagement ring given to her by Don Pritchard, who hails from Nambour, part of the Sunshine Coast Region in Queensland, Australia. At the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve, while visiting her in Huntley, Don asked Rose to marry him.

When cleaning is all the rage

It never fails: I’ll walk into a room to see my husband hunched over, vigorously cleaning something: scrubbing grease splatters on the stove, attacking some muddy footprints on the entryway rug, or coaxing out the ginormous dust bunnies that collect in that little space between the oven and the refrigerator, peppered with stray popcorn seeds, or, if you’re lucky, some pocket change. He becomes so completely absorbed in the task at hand, that I’ll slowly, carefully approach him from the side. Align myself squarely in his peripheral vision. Avoid making sudden moves.

“Are you … mad?” I’ll ask him.

Missing my forest retreat

When we bought a little teardrop camper in 2019, we had no idea how much we’d love it. And, much to our surprise, our winter camping outings became even more cherished than in the summer: something about the near-vacant campsites, the icy glare of the moonlight reflected in the snow. With fewer humans around, we became more intensely aware of the hooting of an owl, or the skitter of deer as they ran to a stand of trees.

My word of the year

As much as I love the idea of New Year’s Resolutions, I rarely make them.

Many folks choose a word of the year, and I’m one of those people. I choose a word rather than making a goal that I know, at a cellular level, that I can’t reach. Behind me, I leave a trail of unrealized New Year’s resolutions.

Imposter syndrome

Ever feel like a phony?

I have been feeling like an imposter for the last few days. I pride myself in being a minimalist, talk about simplifying life, and blog about wanting less…yet, if you were to come to my house today, you’d see that a corner of my bedroom has overflowing stash-and-dash boxes filled with who-knows-what miscellany, and I have laundry in various stages of dirty, clean, sorted, unsorted, folded, and yet-to-be folded throughout my house. There’s a suspicious-looking potato lurking in the very back of my fridge. I’m overdue to go through my closet and drawers to get rid of clothes I don’t want/need anymore.

Franzen, based in Hanover Park, prides himself on being a versatile artist — he is an illustrator who also paints and works in metal, wood, and glass.

Three years ago, he discovered another medium for his art: pumpkins.

Throw out your microwave

I want you to throw out your microwave. I know that’s not a popular opinion. It’s the beginning of soup season, for pete’s sake. The Bureau of U.S. Labor and Statistics reports that more than 90% of American households have a microwave oven. But when I wrote a blog post titled Three Things I Don’t Need (Since I Bought a Small House), I explained why I got rid of mine shortly after we moved into a home of less than 1,000 sq. feet.

Finding My 15 Minutes of Sunday

Early in the morning, I wrapped an oversized fleece plaid blanket around my shoulders just as the light of dawn was taking hold. I was in my favorite chair on my screen porch, looking out to my backyard.

That’s when I saw him: a grey-and-rust colored coyote, walking slowly through my backyard! He stopped for long pauses to sniff the air and look around. He didn’t seem to notice me. He was in no hurry. He looked to be out on a Lazy Sunday stroll.

Let’s taco bout my small house

Last week, my daughter, a high school freshman, invited five of her friends over to our house to get together before their first homecoming dance. Each friend brought something to share: drinks, chips, fruit, and cookies. So. Many. Cookies!

As each high schooler arrived, the voices went up a few decibels. The energy and excitement before the dance seemed to become more palpable by the minute.

Living in the (fun-sized) lap of luxury

Several Halloweens ago, I emptied a bag of candy into a bowl to distribute to trick-or-treaters. My young son, standing beside me, looked perplexed as he read the packaging containing the miniature candy bars.

“Fun size? Why do they call those fun size, mom? Those candy bars are just way smaller! What’s fun about smaller?”

Old MacDonald, do no harm, see I, feed I… oh no

Sun City resident Jess Chipkin never thought she’d follow a complete stranger out to a parking lot to enlighten her about the cruelties of factory farming, but that’s exactly what she did one afternoon in 2015.

Chipkin had just learned about gestation crates: small, confined spaces where pigs being raised for pork are kept during their four-month pregnancies.

“These crates are so small that [the sow] can’t even stretch her limbs, let alone turn around or walk. If we did that to dogs, it would be animal cruelty and someone would be going to prison for it.”

‘Love Letters’ Signals Poignant Return to the Sun City Stage

Summer shows for the Sun City Theatre Company have historically been laugh-out-loud comedies, rich with colorful characters and hilarious hijinks.

But in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, Sun City Theatre returns to the stage with a more austere production that features heart, warmth, and captivating storytelling.

Home at last

On January 6, Jenny Reynoso, 18, was operating on practically no sleep. She’d been up most of the night praying the rosary, unable to eat because of a nervous stomach. As a distraction, she and her brother, Johnny, 14, played video games while they waited by the phone. When the phone finally rang at 1 p.m., Jenny dropped the video game controller she was holding and lunged for the phone.

On the other end of the line, Jenny’s mother, Maria, spoke in breathless excitement. “Guess what?” she told her kids. “Your Dad is coming home!”

Oh, brother!

Just after 8 p.m. on a December night in 2019, Robin Rinaldi-Esta composed a private Facebook message, took a deep breath, and pressed “send.”

“I wrote, ‘I think you are my brother. You look exactly like my Dad,’” remembers Rinaldi-Esta.

COVID-free…at last

After more than two months of fighting the COVID-19 virus, an Elgin family of four is thankful to be reunited after three of them contracted COVID-19.

Olivia Morales, 22, looks back on March 2020 with bemusement. “When everything was in lockdown and none of us were sick, we thought we were bored,” she said. “But that was nothing compared to this. We would rather be bored than have anyone experience anything like this.”

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Carol Pavlik