Kansas City: A "Three Brewery" Tour

Please note the Spike Photobomb

Sing along with me as I work to share the tale of the Labor Day weekend road trip to Kansas City to the tune of the Gilligan's Island Theme Song. In case you need a refresher, click here. If it is stuck in your head until mid-January, 2016 please forgive me.

Just sit right back

And you'll here a tale

A tale of a (beer-filled) trip,

That started from (drive in CO)

Aboard this (Rav-4)

The mate was a mighty (drivin' woman)

The Skipper brave and sure,

(Just two passengers) set (out) that day,

For a three (brewery) tour,

A three (brewery) tour.

Just like Gilligan and his friends, it was supposed to be a three brewery tour. Of course, the picture of the beer that came home with us, you can see our adventure took a detour. Let's start from the beginning. Danny and I had long talked about taking a road trip to Kansas City, and the fact that my White Sox were playing the Royals that weekend felt as though the stars aligned telling us to go. So I purchased the tickets, booked a room in Independence, Missouri, and started exploring things to do in Kansas City on Trip Advisor. As an aside, a resolution for 2016 is to contribute to Trip Advisor as I have become an avid consumer; if nothing else it sure is a fascinating sociological experience. I digress. Anyway, Trip Advisor listed three breweries in Kansas City, so those were added to our list of places to visit.

(The driving was windy)

The (Rav) was tossed,

If not for the courage of the fearless (ha!) crew

The (corn would get us)

The (corn would get us)

The (Rav arrived in Independence)

Of this uncharted area

With (Laurie)

And (Danny too)

No Millionaire (though that would be nice)

(Or) his wife

(Definitely no) movie star 

The professor was missed and (so was) Marry Ann

Here in (Kansas City).

We arrived in Kansas City on Saturday evening with just enough time to change and head to Kauffman Stadium, arriving for the bottom of the first inning. I am fairly certain a beer was consumed at the game, but the real ridiculousness started on Sunday morning. Being Labor Day weekend we had to cram a lot in to Sunday as many things were going closed on Labor Day (i.e. the Wizard of Oz Winery). More on that momentarily. 

The original itinerary went something like this: BBQ for lunch (because when in Rome...); National World War I Museum and Memorial; Negro Leagues Baseball Museum; Boulevard Brewing Company; 75th Street Brewery; Kansas City Bier Company; Truman Presidential Library. When I spell it out, I think we accomplished about half of those things. Here's a more accurate (read: actual) itinerary, and you'll see why we were as ridiculous as Gilligan and his fellow castaways:

• The place we were told (by a local) to go for BBQ was closed on Sunday, which led us to turn to Yelp, which suggested Fiorella's Jack Stack BBQ. Excellent food AND happened to be located across the way from Union Station. So their traveling exhibit from the National Football Hall of Fame replaced the WWI Museum.
• Next while driving to the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum (fascinating and well done) we stumbled upon Double Shift Brewing Company and Border Brewing Company. During this stop I was able to watch the Sox SWEEP the Royals (!!!) Those two breweries replaced Boulevard Brewing as that one is easy to get in Colorado. Then we drove to 75th Street Brewery and Kansas City Bier Company. Now this is when things got silly, and truth be told it was my fault. Just call me Gilligan...

While in the bathroom at Kansas City Bier Company I saw an advertisement for an upcoming event that included a brewery called Flying Monkey Brewery. Again the idea of "when in Rome" felt applicable. Well I became a little possessed and determined that Danny was going to try this beer. Apparently they do not have a tap room, they only distribute, which of course meant I had to find it at a liquor store. After dinner we (read I) was on a mission that I thought would be simple. There was a nice looking liquor store not too far from the KC Bier Company, so we stopped there, and they were sold out. Still the first two beers (starting from the left) came from that store. The second one from the left is actually from Nebraska (the horror!). After that the liquor stores were going down hill in quality - the last one of which was probably not the safest place to be, and included a proprietor who thought I was asking about Rum. I shook my head and gave up (for the night).

The next morning we started home, but not without stopping at the Truman Library. I even met a Truman impersonator! The Library was fascinating as it included all kinds of documentation around the decision to use the Atomic Bomb in WWII. After having visited Hiroshima, I found particularly interesting. One will never know if it was the right decision, but having the background helped understand the decision a bit better.

Driving through Kansas we had seen signs for the Eisenhower Library, and decided to stop there on our return trip. Of course just before crossing into Kansas (from Missouri) we did another liquor store search. This one yielded the middle bottle of beer, but still no Flying Monkey to be found. So our trek /quest continued. Now would be the time to mention that I try to get a shot glass for a dear friend on my travels, but decided that she probably already had a shot glass from Kansas City. So I wanted to get her a bottle of wine from the Wizard of Oz Winery in Wamego instead. Much to my dismay, the town of Wamego, literally the whole town, had shut down for the holiday. While there, we regrouped and did yet another liquor store search. This led us to a liquor store called, "The Library" in Manhattan Kansas (home to Kansas State University). I called and much to my delight they carried the beer! So to Manhattan we went. This liquor store produced the three beers to the right, as well as Kansas City Royals wine for Beth. Apparently the wine was sub-par, but the cork was fantastic!

If either of us had had a "library card" that would have yielded a discount. This exchange alone may have been enough to make the whole escapade worthwhile as the Flying Monkey beer was only so-so. I felt the same way about Eisenhower's Presidential Library as he was a very reluctant President. Much of the exhibits were dedicated to his time as a General in WWII. While I am not diminishing those accomplishments, it was just an interesting in comparison to other museums I have visited. Although I do have President Eisenhower to thank for the interstate highway system, which I use quite frequently.

Eisenhower's Electric Car

So this is the tale of our (road trip)

(We were there for not such a long time)

(We sure made the best of thing)

(Not such an uphill climb)

I hope this proves a couple things: first, the beer escapades are not all Danny's fault, and I do get mine. The history lover in me really enjoyed this trip, and I am grateful that Danny goes without protest. We have an unspoken agreement: I don't complain about beer, he doesn't complain about meeting my various cultural needs.

Next trip though, I want to find that millionaire! Please join me in 2016 as I hope to re-engage in my blogging adventures/tales of ridiculousness. Never a dull moment here in the Pechie household, except perhaps on NYE where the two sickies will be lucky to make it to 10:00 PM (Mountain Time).

God's Sense of Humor OR Tales and Lessons from a Grown Picky Eater

Fear, Joy, Disgust, and Sadness from
Disney Pixar's Inside Out

I am at that stage of life where a number of my friends have kids. One of the byproducts of this fact is that my Facebook feed is filled by all sorts of parental anecdotes and/or lessons. One such article that caught my attention was an article that appeared in the Huffington Post entitled, "6 Words that Will End Picky Eating." Before I tell you the six words, let me share my story.

I am living proof that God has a sense of humor. S/he made me an introvert who shies away from any sort of attention while also making me a terribly picky eater in a family of people who were foodies before there even was such a concept. I am also the grandchild of people who lived through the Great Depression, so food was not something to be wasted. In fact my Grandpop, who was also a butcher, once wrote me an email dedicated entirely to soup. At the end he asked if I was hungry, but fortunately I did not have to explain that none of them were particularly appealing to me. On the soup front, I have come to appreciate a solid cream based option (i.e. the lemon rice soup of Northwest Indiana that I fill other people's Facebook feeds talking about, Lobster Bisque, etc. while I am not a fan of broth soups, which is what my Grandpop was writing me about that day).

Back to the six words, "You don't have to eat it." While this was apparently life changing for this particular mother, it was not at terribly helpful for me. The way I see it, this makes the assumption that there is a conscious battle between parent and child about what will be consumed. Perhaps at times I was just trying to be a defiant little sh*t; I was known to do that more than once (sorry Mom/Dad - thanks for still loving me). Honestly though, more often than not, it was a texture/consistency issue for me. Let's be clear, I WANTED to like "normal" food such as hamburger, eggs, carrots, peas, milkshakes. For whatever reason I could not do it. The food felt strange in my mouth. In my junior year of college I had pretty major nasal surgery, which I consider a great turning point. My palate has expanded quite a bit as I have gotten older, yet I often cannot seem to shake the "picky eater" moniker. Again, we're back to the normal food thing - I have given up on the egg or pea thing ever happening, but I have been known to eat a hamburger. And steak - my Grandpop was thrilled when I ate steak. Even though I put blue cheese on it, which he considered to be a sin, I was eating steak!

Back to the article, "Somehow I [the author] stumbled across Ellyn Satter's groundbreaking 2000 book Child of Mine: Feeding With Love and Good Sense, and it was literally a life-changing read. Satter, a registered dietitian nutritionist and family therapist, promotes a "division of responsibility" for meals: the parent decides when to eat, what to serve, and where to serve it, and the child decides whether and how much to eat. There is always something on the table you know the kid will eat, like rice or fruit or bread, so all new, experimental foods are paired with familiar foods." 

Thankfully my parents seemed to subscribe to this theory way before the book existed. They made sure I did not starve, but they also recognized that I was never going to be what is irritatingly (some call it affectionately) known as a "good eater" nor was I going to be a member of the "clean plate club." Yet, they worked very hard to adapt to my needs. There was one night where my Mom tried so very hard to get me to drink the milk from my cereal. I sat at the table for what felt like hours (probably 7-10 minutes) pouring more and more cereal in to the bowl without adding any more milk with the hope that it would all go away. After the milk turned a color that must have resembled a rainbow assorted vomit, she mercifully let me be excused. 

I also remember conversations when I became a teenager about what I was going to do when I started dating. Sure I was nervous when I would go out with a new guy about what I would order on the menu, but I managed to get through it. I also became a bit more adventurous, especially when going to meet the new family - I did not want to embarrass myself (again there's that whole not drawing attention to myself thing). I still feel bad that my now mother-in-law made me a special dessert the first time I met the family because Danny mentioned I was unsure about carrot cake. As an aside, she was very understanding about my inability to eat anything really cold at that point because of my esophageal spasms. Again, there's God with that sense of humor. I was diagnosed at 27 with pronounced (acid) reflux that finally required surgery. Yes, I was the woman in her 20s who had regular appointments in the gastroenterology department.

So what in the world am I saying? Besides the obvious fact that my body and I have a weird relationship with food. More than that, I feel that I need to be able to talk about being a picky eater, instead of being super sensitive, bordering on being ashamed of it (as I have long been). Did you see the Disney Pixar movie, Inside Out? If you haven't, please do. From the moment I knew that it was a story of an 11 year old girl, Riley who moves from Minnesota to San Francisco, I wanted to see it! I don't want to be a spoiler, but what I took away from it, which my Mom helped me articulate, is that you have to let people (of all ages) feel what they need to feel. The same goes for having a child who is a picky eater. It is easy for this non-parent to say, but if you have a picky eater in your life I would encourage you to, first, take them to an ear, nose, and throat doctor. So much of what we taste is based on our ability to smell; and as someone who cannot that had a profound effect on my ability to taste. Next, please work with them on it. Being a meanie-poopie head (very technical term) about it will more than likely not help the situation. Finally, keep (re) introducing things. As my parents said more than once, but I did not believe them at the time, I enjoy things now that I would not have dreamed that I would like as a kid. 

Again, eggs, never going to happen; so let's give up on that one. Nor am I the person to take to an incredibly fancy restaurant as it may be lost on me. Still, I can make a mean bowl of cereal. In fact, I would be called a cereal connoisseur, if there is such a thing...

The Spike Series: Meet my Sister, Ceres

Two Peas in a  Momentary Pod

Hi, people, Spike here! First things first, I want to use my Constitutional right to air my grievances. My woman has not posted anything in many days, which means telling you all the story of my road trip back in JULY has not happened yet. Then she goes and compounds that by making her first post of 2015 about my new sister, Ceres. I don't know why I am shocked though, Ceres is taking a lot of my stuff, so why should my blog series be any different. Oh well, The Man says I have been a champ about everything else so I will try to be good about this too... Everyone I want you to meet Ceres.

Proof she gets fed

My people adopted Ceres from the Colorado Pug Rescue, which is the same organization that brought Laurie and me together. The Man and my Laurie were not really actively looking for another dog, but after reading about her story on Facebook she touched their hearts. Ceres, aka Siren or Baby Girl, is believed to have been part of a puppy mill and was either hit by a car or thrown from a car. Either way no one came to get her from the shelter where she was taken, and so the Pug Rescue helped her get better, just like they did for me! Ceres has had surgery on her hips, some teeth were pulled, and she has been spayed. Everyone keeps saying she is extremely well-adjusted for everything that has happened, and are also amazed at the fact that she does not need any on-going medication. She one ups me there as I still require twice-daily eye cream.

She came to us with the name Siren (because she does this occasional whine/howl thing that kind of sounds like a siren), but her foster parents had taken to calling her baby girl. Either way she did not recognize her name, so The Man proposed changing it to Ceres. Laurie wanted to keep it as Siren, so they took it to Facebook; well as you can already tell, she lost. 

Why Ceres? 

A picture of Ceres taken by the Dawnspacecraft 12 February 2015. 

When The Man first proposed the name, Laurie thought he was saying Siri (the Apple Woman) because she is not a science NERD like him. Then he explained that Ceres (minor-planet designation 1 Ceres) /ˈsɪəriːz/is a dwarf planet located in the asteroid belt, which lies between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter. Considering how tiny she is (about 14 pounds soaking wet), the name seemed to fit. Plus, I reiterate, Laurie lost.

So how are things going in our house? Honestly, they are going well. We had a couple minor setbacks - it was really cold the other day AND the WHITE STUFF came back so she and I both struggled with it. Then there was the matter of "during the day" sleeping arrangements. My people bought Ceres an enclosure, a soft kennel type thing, that she Houdini-ed out of in about three seconds; so they tried me in it. I was not loving that option, which means we are experimenting with us each having our own bed in the powder room. Fingers crossed, but that seems to be going okay - although Ceres and I seem to entertain ourselves with musical beds because she STEALS MY BED! Still, I move out of her way, share my toys as needed, and even share snuggles with my Laurie, which is kind of a really big deal...

Although the snuggles and the day-time bed sharing does bring up an even larger concern - sleeping arrangements in the big bed at night. Laurie has this theory that I grow bigger in the bed, kind of like those magic growing capsules that turn into a shape in water. So you can imagine that two pugs and two people has brought about conversations of getting a king size bed. Until that happens, I have taken to throwing myself against Laurie to the point that she almost falls out of the bed because Ceres has taken the prime real estate (in between my, I mean our people). Still the picture below, taken this morning, would indicate we may be figuring things out. More to come from the soon to be called, "Spike and Ceres Series," but I still get one more post to myself when Laurie finally lets my tell the story of my really long road trip!

 

Football Friday from On Her Game - To the Bears' GM, Phil Emery: Here’s a Dictionary

https://flic.kr/p/2KXNV

This post for Football Friday for On Her Game is a reflection of how worked up I was following yet another painful Bears game.   

As I sit here stewing over another atrocious Bears game, I find myself wondering why I continue to hold on to my allegiances. I live in my own house in Denver, with the mortgage to prove it, am married to a man with terrible allegiances (Colts and the Manning led Broncos), yet I still root for my Bears with a passion. By personal standards, I came late to the football party (around age eight), and I would always cheer for whomever my Dad was rooting for during a particular game. When we move to the Chicago-land area, he became a Bears fan, and so did I. Nearly 25 years later, I am still at it.

I recently came across a fantastic joke in the latest edition of Reader’s Digest:

 “Three fans were bemoaning the sorry state of their football team.

‘I blame the general manager,’ said the first fan.
‘If he signed better players, we’d be a great team.’

‘I blame the players,’ said the second fan. ‘If they made more of an effort,
we’d score more points.’

‘I blame my parents,’ said the third. ‘If I’d been born in Seattle,
I’d be supporting a decent team.’”

Now, to be clear, I don’t blame my Dad for teaching me to root for the Bears. He also taught me to be a White Sox fan rather than the Cubs, and I know I have a better life because of it. Plus I am an adult, who is now informed enough to make her own decisions on who I want to cheer for during a given game. That will not stop me, however, from blaming both the GM Phil Emery and the Bears players for their continual missteps on the field.

Let’s start with Phil Emery. This is the GM who followed Jerry Angelo, a man who drove Bears fan, namely me absolutely bonkers with mistake after mistake, most notably in the draft. Shall I regale you with tales of running back or quarterback woes? For the sake of my own sanity, I am going to skip the list. Let’s suffice it to say, a majority of them can no longer be found on any roster in the league. So in steps Emery, who appeared to make an immediate positive impact, until he did not; unless you want to count a negative impact? I believe in my heart Emery and I parted ways philosophically when he refused to resign Brian Urlacher. The man who led the defense that resurrected the “Monsters of the Midway,” and took the Bears to the Super Bowl; a championship they would have won if the offense had even a mediocre quarterback. No, Sexy Rexy (Rex Grossman) does not even meet the bar of mediocrity in my mind.

I got off the topic at hand, which is Emery. Instead of signing Urlacher, he decided to spend a majority of the Bears available salary cap monies on the offensive side of the ball. I am not disagreeing with the thought, with the exception that the pendulum swung wildly to the other side. There is no balance! At this point, the personnel on the offensive side of the ball have the potential to be one of the best in the league. Note that POTENTIAL is the operative word in that statement; whereas the defense, marred by injuries and suspect talent, is without a leader or an identity. No, Lance Briggs does not count as a leader, and I will spare myself the personal anguish of thinking about safety Chris Conte. Most every game I scream at the TV, put me in coach, I can play better than him! Yes, at 5’2”, 1—, female, and slow, I still contend I can be a better pro-safety than Chris Conte.

Back to my man Urlacher, a consensus future Hall of Fame linebacker, whom I still miss terribly, who had this to say on Jay Cutler, “Financially, he is one of the elite guys in the NFL ... he just hasn't produced like an elite quarterback. You look at the [Tom] Bradys, the [Peyton] Mannings, the [Aaron] Rodgers, the [Drew] Brees, those guys win every year, even with no one around them. Rodgers has no offensive line. He wins. Brady has no receivers. He wins.”

Fear not my fellow Bears fan; Phil is here to reassure us that Jay Cutler is an ELITE quarterback in salary and talent, “Emery: "Jay Cutler is a winning quarterback in this league and no matter how you analyze the history of quarterbacks in the NFL, if you have a winning record you are an elite player at that position.”

This would be the point in the article where I would call, bull sh*t.

I want to see the Bears’ front office, led right now by Phil Emery to consider how they are delegating their resources. There needs to be an acknowledgement that signing Cutler to a lucrative contract came at the expense of the defensive side of the ball. And until the Bears start consistently winning, or at least playing up to the offensive potential, I am going to send Emery a dictionary so that he can consult it for the definition of the word ‘elite.’ 

For those of you keeping track at home, Dictionary.com defines it this way:

noun
1. (often used with a plural verb) the choice or best of anything considered collectively, as of a group or class of persons.

2. (used with a plural verb) persons of the highest class: Only the elite were there.

adjective

1. representing the most choice or select; best: an elite group of authors.

The recent play of Jay Cutler does not warrant the support from his General Manager, but there is little doubt that his paycheck certainly does.

I Wear his Shirts; I Hear her Voice

Throughout my undergraduate education at Indiana University (HOOSIERS!), I took a few rock 'n' roll history courses. During the first day of one of those classes the professor asked us to raise our hands in order to identify what part of the music we each listened to, as we tend to fall in to one of two groups: the beat/instrumental or the lyrics. I am in the latter category, which is part of why I enjoy some country music. I take flack for it, but I do enjoy songs that tell stories or have something to say. For the record, talk of tractors, drinking on planes, or alcohol in general do not qualify. 

Anyway, to my point of "outing myself as something of a country music fan," I really like a song by Lee Brice called, "I Drive Your Truck." It is about a guy whose brother was killed in combat. Rather than going to visit his brother's grave, he feels close to him by driving his truck. 

Ever since I lost my Grandpop earlier this year, I have found myself thinking a lot about the process of grieving. Not just the loss of my paternal grandfather, but also my maternal grandmother as these are two losses that have had a profound impact on my life. Just like the guy in the song, I do not feel close to either of them at their graves, but rather in other ways.

My maternal grandmother (my Mom-Mom) passed away when I was in high school. When I think of her I think of buttons, the beach, Disney World, a really comfortable chair with an ottoman, and this one very distinct conversation. I have this larger than life chair and ottoman that I refuse to part with even though it does not really fit in my house anymore, I think in large part because it reminds me of sitting in her apartment in Baltimore in that chair with my feet propped up. There was also that conversation. I was just starting to reach the age where it was fun and cool to really chat with your grandparents, and I was telling her about this English teacher that I had in high school who was really giving me fits (Highland alums - think Junior Year with Mrs. Berg). This teacher really made me feel less than; and my Mom-Mom's response, "you don't have to take that from her!" It was the sassiest thing I had ever heard Dorothy Poist say, and it has stuck with me! 

I have this bulldozer in my life, a person who drives me absolutely crazy, and I have recently realized that I can apply what Mom-Mom said to me then, "I don't have to take that from her!" And you know what, I am not going to anymore. 

Grandpop, my paternal grandfather, was the only grandfather I grew up with as my Pop-Pop (maternal grandfather) passed away when I was around 4 1/2. His loss has been very difficult for our family, but we keep him close in many ways including wearing his flannel shirts. He had a quality collection of flannel shirts, and everyone went home with one. I also have a scratchy wool sweater that I wear at times when I really miss him. Yes, it's real love if you are willing to wear an itchy wool sweater that gives off a Mr. Rogers vibe. 

I am still caught off guard at times by my feelings of grief. I will be minding my own business, and a thought will float in to my mind, and I will just be overcome with emotion. I have been thinking about him a lot during the baseball playoffs. He would have been especially impressed by the play of many of the outfielders as he always appreciated a good throw to the plate. I also taught Danny to keep score at a game, just like Grandpop taught me. 

I have also been thinking a lot about my going to my grandparents' house in November for Thanksgiving. He won't be there to greet me with a "HiYa!" and a kiss on the cheek. My Grandmom will be there, however, and I cannot wait to give her a big hug. She is so tiny, I am always afraid I will break her, but I know she understands my need to hold her tight.

Please hold on tight to those you love, we only have a finite amount of time together, and it's never enough. Until I am reconnected with my Mom-Mom and Pop-Pop, along with my Grandpop, I am going to continue to wear his shirts, and hear her voice. 

Football Friday from On Her Game - The Strange Case of Dr. Jay and Mr. Cutler

https://flic.kr/p/5h9gAo

This post for Football Friday for On Her Game is my attempt to recap the craziness that ensued on Sunday night. The jury is still out on my fantasy team, but just like the Bears I am going to try to improve each week, starting by playing the right players as they don't do me any good if I leave them on my virtual bench!  

For this Bears’ fan there was a lot more trepidation than anticipation leading up to last night’s match-up against the 49ers. I always seem to forget how difficult it is to predict game outcomes in general, but especially in the first few weeks of any NFL season as there is very limited basis for fan speculation/media hype. Rather, you are looking at one week of regular season highlights/game tape combined with scrutiny of the moves made in the off-season with some wishful thinking thrown in for good measure.

I let all that get the best of me thinking about this game. I had no idea what to expect from the Bears who did not have a particularly strong showing in an overtime loss to the Bills. Yes, THE BILLS! Then the Bears had to come off that loss and travel to San Francisco to face a team that many predict (hype!) will make a strong playoff push, in their stadium opener, in Primetime, with the strong possibility that Marshall and Jeffrey were not going to play. All a realistic Bears’ fan could hope for was not to get blown out in front of a National TV audience. See there is that hype again. Unfortunately in the first half it appeared that the Bears were going to do their level best to live up to those bleak expectations. The defense appeared to be playing in a state of paranoia or in the Bears case a fear of their often suspect secondary, specifically the safety help coming over the top (or not as the case may be). They were trying so hard to rush Kaepernick that they were being eaten alive by the screen pass. Still they managed to keep the offense in the game despite a cheerless offensive performance in the first half, the evil “Dr. Jay,” if you will. That is until something clicked or maybe it was someone (Quinton Dial) pounding on Cutler’s sternum right at the end of the first half. Jay reported post-game that it felt like his stomach met his back. Again, say what you want about Cutler, but don’t tell me he isn’t tough. Whatever it was, Cutler and the rest of the Bears were of a different caliber in the second half. Brandon Marshall and Alshon Jeffrey also each turned in a gutsy performance as they were clearly playing hard despite their injury limitations. Of course Marshall stole the spotlight with three touchdowns, including a one-handed grab that is sure to make SportsCenter Top 10 Plays of the Week.

Before going out with a shoulder injury, free safety Chris Conte made a superman like interception on Kaepernick, which was one of four turnovers caused by the defense along with four sacks, and only allowing 129 yards rushing. These stats are made that much more exciting given that two of those turnovers were from rookie Kyle Fuller who should see more playing time with the unfortunate loss of Peanut Tillman for the season (triceps).

Now for my own version of hype: what if the Bears could play like this for a whole game? What if the right Jay, the “Mr. Cutler persona,” the tough, composed guy who does not try to win the game with one (often errant) throw, were to show himself with true consistency? He has an incredible fourth quarter rating, but it really would be okay if he spread that out across the whole game.

Right now the Bears are tied with all three of the other teams in the NFC North with a record of 1-1. It is too early to make speculations, but that is not going to stop me. What if the Bills are better than people anticipated? If that’s the case, maybe the Bears are too. They have a tough schedule ahead, but last night was certainly a second half for the offense to build upon and about three quarters for a defensive that demonstrated this is not the miserable Bears D of 2013.

Also, thank you Bears for doing right by my Mom and winning on her birthday. She deserved it – she’s the best.

Thoughts on STUFF OR Going from a 'Forest'er to a Leaf

This post is quite overdue as Danny and I purchased the Leaf back at the end of March, but we were just reunited with it last week after about six weeks (I was rear-ended) - so I am using that as my catalyst to write down my thoughts on the subject of "stuff" in general and perhaps our cars in particular.

In my 32 years plus, I have come to understand that I have a weird relationship with things in general, but that eccentricity particularly manifests itself when it comes to clothing, cars, and watch out if I have deemed something to be at all sentimental. 

I had a short-lived fascination with the show, Tiny House Nation, which is capitalizing on the small house movement that appears to be sweeping across the country. I say short-lived because the show quickly began to feel redundant in that there are not very many different ways to show a family moving from a large house to a tiny house (typically under 400 square feet), and the inevitable purging of stuff that is required to make such a lifestyle shift. Plus, I found that I was beating up on myself because I do not think I could ever do it, and quite frankly I do not need a television show to be the reason I feel down on myself. I can do that all on my own, thank you; plus it goes against my pursuit for 100 Days of Happiness. 

If you know me at all, or have read my blog, I think you know that once my brain starts down a path, God only knows where this thought process would land - as Danny has said, my mind is like a wide receiver running a route: zig zag, crossing pattern, over the middle, etc. So once I started thinking about moving in to a tiny house, and what all that would entail, I started to think about my feelings toward things overall. First this led me to my wardrobe - I have a fear of clothing. There I said it. Or perhaps it is that I have a fear of shopping for clothing. On more than one occasion I have come close to hyperventilating when I walk in to a mall or any store that sells clothing. I see all these fun pieces, but have no idea how in the world to make an ensemble. Then if I get something put together, I have trouble paying for it. Not that I don't make money, but rather I severely struggle with spending the money for this purpose. I do not know what an appropriate budget is for clothing in relation to my household income level. And then if I do pull the trigger, I invariably end up with buyer's remorse feeling as though I was consumptive, spending too much on myself, etc. Plus I just want to look cute and put together - because I figure that perhaps it will help me fake it until I can find the requirements make it. *Big Sigh*

Now, imagine what it is like to go car shopping with me! Let me repeat: I have a weird relationship with cars. Perhaps it is because I have had a string of strange things happen to my cars. Stick with me here: My first car (Chevy S-10 Pick-up Truck) was totaled while parked in front of my parents' house (as I slept through the whole thing). Its replacement was a Saturn S2 that had a tree fall on it, also while it was parked in front of my parents' house; somehow the car was fine. Shortly thereafter, however, the air conditioning compressor went out as I was driving to Michigan, which stranded me in Fort Wayne, Indiana. I paid to fix it only to drive it into a decorative rock (in Michigan, because apparently their rocks are pretty heavy), which did many dollars worth of damage. About a year after I got the car back I traded it in for my beloved Scion XA because I never did feel safe in the Saturn after getting stranded because of the air conditioning compressor. I provide this caveat because I understand that the rock incident was totally my fault, the car did nothing wrong. Anyway, after five years with my Scion, the car that brought me to Colorado, and one year before it was paid off, it drowned. No really, the car was flooded in front of my office. The fact that I was particularly traumatized after the flooding, combined with the fact that I wanted to feel safer driving in Colorado winters led me to purchase my first ever SUV and first brand new car - a Subaru Forester. I really liked the Forester, but I always seemed to suffer from buyer's remorse especially since the whole process of purchasing the car was particularly disastrous. Has anyone ever had a really good experience buying a car?

Are you still with me? If so, thank you. Last year we also had to replace Danny's car at which time we purchased a Toyota Prius. Besides the fact I called my Dad on the verge of a meltdown at the mere thought of buying  a house AND a car in the same month, I have done just fine with that purchase. In fact, I have developed an attachment to the Prius akin to my Scion. Anyway, from time to time I would ask Danny whether we should consider trading in the Forester as it never felt like the right car for us, except on really crummy driving days, in which case I loved that thing! So I contacted a friend to get an appraisal on the value of the Forester. Based on the estimated value, it was finally the time to consider something else. About three days later, Danny and I end up at the Nissan dealership near our house as I come from a family of Sentra owners. So I wanted to consider a Sentra. Danny wanted to test drive the fully electric Nissan Leaf. Both of us loved it, much to our surprise. When the numbers came out to be pretty much equal, it felt like a real opportunity to utilize electric technology. Not to mention I thought it was funny to go from a 'Forest'er to a Leaf - get it? Yes, I am a dork. 

I think you can officially call us 21st Century hippies - with an electric car and a hybrid. Just don't laugh too hard until you see our monthly gas bills...

So what in the world am I talking about? I think at times I feel pressure to have less things, to live a more simplified life. While this is a good goal, and one I am certainly trying to embrace: it needs to be done in a more personal way. There are just some things that I am not ready to get rid of or purchase right now. Still, I don't think that means I will not feel differently later. Just like many other things,  this is an ongoing process. I am absolutely embracing the idea of spending money on experiences rather than things, especially when I travel. Yet, sometimes I like to have a memento to invoke the memories from that experience. They way I see it, this has to be all about a balance, and perhaps that is why I really resonated with an article from Real Simple, "What I Learned from Purging Most of my Stuff (and Why I Wish I Hadn't)." Sometimes, things do matter. 

Now if someone can just teach me how to build a wardrobe, I would be eternally grateful.