City Girl Confessions: Knocking Out The Scary Bits

abundance agriculture fresh healthy
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

City Girl Confessions is my recurring column in The Glencoe Anchor.

It’s the most wonderful time of year…for me. I am positively delighted by Halloween and all of its orange-and-black spooky splendor. I’ve been this way since I was a kid, poring over costume ideas and scouting haunted houses while immersing myself in scary books and movies. A witch’s hat has permanent residence on my shelf.
Continue reading “City Girl Confessions: Knocking Out The Scary Bits”

City Girl Confessions: A Moment to Savor

blue commuter bike
Photo by Paul Theodor Oja on Pexels.com

City Girl Confessions is my recurring column featured in The Glencoe Anchor.

This morning, I walked out of my house excited to meet up with a friend. Just one problem- a large carpenter’s van was blocking my car in the driveway (I had forgotten that one of our kitchen cabinets needed repairing). Hmm…what to do? Then another thought…I have a bicycle. Why not take a ride to meet up with my friend?

So I threw on my helmet and started pedaling. It was a lovely summer morning: about 72 degrees, cornflower blue sky, a nice breeze. When I hit the brakes at a STOP sign, a monarch butterfly fluttered past and I had to stop myself from chuckling. The picturesque moment felt straight out of a movie. 

But I didn’t chuckle. Instead, I savored. I drew in my breath and felt the wind on my face. I thought of outdoor reading, the smell of sunscreen, and the colors of the sky at dusk. I thought about weekend getaways, drippy ice cream cones, and bare feet racing over the grass. I pondered fireworks, Glencoe Art festivals, French Markets, sidewalk sales, Pride Month, parades, and many al fresco dinners. There’s been an awful lot of fun that has filled up these past Summer months.

For all those reasons, August is my reserved time to savor. I know that the first day of school is just around the corner. I realize that more structured schedules are on the horizon. I accept all of this. It’s for those reasons that I say, go ahead, have ice cream before dinner. Take an extra long bike ride that might stretch past your kids’ bedtime. Invite someone over for a drink or impromptu popsicle party. Turn on a sprinkler. Turn off the iPads. Look for shooting stars. Open your windows. Say yes more than no. Get outside everyday, even for just a short walk. Pet a dog. Look for birds. Talk to your neighbors. 

Riding my bike that morning reminded me of something: the absolute bliss of simplicity. Do you remember riding a bike for the first time? The feelings of independence or the excitement of choosing your destination? It’s euphoric (also decent exercise). Hopping on two wheels brought me back to my childhood, where any neighborhood adventure was possible. Why don’t I do this more often? Why don’t I get back to basics not because my car is unavailable but because it just feels good?

I’ll confess, back in my city-living-days, I rode a bike to escape the endless concrete. I sought the clarity of being out in nature, savoring all of its elements. If density was driving me mad, I could always get on a trail or a path and find my way.

Those memories, and this month, are reminding me to savor what is right now- the calm before the storm. The last of the very best season. That when the world feels stressful and upsetting, we can hit the reset button. And savor the moment. 

City Girl Confessions: A Slice of Americana in the Driveway

IMG_4735City Girl Confessions is my recurring column in The Glencoe Anchor.

I have distinct memories of childhood centered around a basketball hoop. We had one in our driveway for nearly 20 years and it was the nucleus of entertainment. It was where I learned to dribble a ball, outshoot my brother in a game of ‘HORSE,’ and it was where I went to de-stress and cure boredom.

Basketball was blissful competition for me and my siblings and we wasted away the summer hours playing the sport. We were sweaty, happy, and giddy. We didn’t want the fun to end, didn’t want to think about dinner, bath time, or anything logical that would take away the fun of the moment.

When I moved to Glencoe, there was a wish list for what features my home would have, but near the top of that list was a driveway that could accommodate a basketball hoop. I bought one a few months ago for my son’s birthday but cold weather and relentless rain did not permit installation until now. The waiting not only enhanced the excitement for this new childhood chapter, but it made the reveal all that more meaningful. 

While my son was at school, a team rallied together to plot the correct hoop installation, the proper height, and to pore over every detail with careful attention. Despite rain showers earlier that morning, the weather eased into a very comfortable seventy-five degree day. The sun literally shone on our efforts. 

My husband snuck home early from work and the whole family waited eagerly at the bus stop for my son. When he arrived, he didn’t seem too surprised that we were all there, more so just pleased with the very nice day in front of him. 

My husband and I exchanged nervous, giddy glances at one another as we walked down the street. Suddenly, I was reliving every moment of the past seven years: our move to this town with a newborn baby, our urban-to-suburban adjustments, our bewilderment at just how quiet everything was. Here we were, on the cusp of what we had hoped for, a dream that was just about to come true.

Our feet reached the end of the driveway. I turned toward my son. “Do you notice anything different about the house?”

Long seconds passed. Then he whooped with joy, tossing his backpack and paper airplane to us as he raced toward the hoop, eager to grab a basketball and get to work.  It was a gold medal parenting moment, one that I won’t soon forget. 

The late afternoon was spent dribbling, shooting, and chasing basketballs all over the driveway. We were sweaty, happy, and giddy. We didn’t want the fun to end, didn’t want to think about dinner, bath time, or anything logical that would take away the fun of the moment. It was a perfect slice of Americana; a recognition that everything old was new again.