Naperville Now

Just Hold the Cat (Updated)

2012-01-24T20:09:00.003-06:00

The key to keeping a new job is to not make the same mistake twice.

Lesson One: don't let go of a really pissed-off cat.

Trust me on this.

Charlie wasn't available to do his usual brilliant photo styling for this post, so I apologize for the blurry above. I wanted you to get an idea of what can happen if you lose your grip.

Kitty survived our veterinary ministrations with a clean bill of health, no small thing for a feral cat. As you know, feral is Latin for a cat with anger issues. He prefers to bring down boar and wildebeest for dinner rather than submit to vaccines, a blood draw and a mani/pedi. He is liquid cunning and able to leap off vet techs at Mach 5.

I hadn't realized I had been wounded until my sleeve turned crimson. I don't think I cried excessively.

Lesson Two: don't leave home without Neosporin. And tuck in some latex-free bandages while you're at it. Shin guards from your field hockey days, yanked up your forearms, would be helpful. Followed by a cat-proof coat.

Also, it's a good idea to pay attention to the cat, not the needles, the diagnosis or the artwork in the hall. Because you have one job and one job only, which is to just hold the cat.

(No cats were harmed in the making of this blog post, although I thought about it.)

With profound thanks to graphic genius Mike Haidley,
who created a PERFECT replica of the 4 pounds of
supercharged protoplasm that tried to kill me last week.
Claws are a little small, but you get the idea.
Thanks, Mikey. You rock.

Bespoke

2012-01-22T07:53:00.001-06:00

Saturday morning.

Rocket Man

2012-01-20T07:55:00.000-06:00

Rocketing into space, we have learned, requires a lot of money (from Mom's old Mall Madness game).

Sister tolerated, pretty much optional.

Further needs:

a few monkeys (following the lead of the Russian space program).

Followed by a countdown using numbers that are more or less out of sequence (NASA cutbacks are being felt everywhere.)

Blast off!

Rocket ship is a pretty neat game, Grandpa.

Thanks for letting me able to watch my orbit through these handy windows.

Home

2012-01-15T17:33:00.000-06:00

Pepper, the mother pup found wandering in a Tennessee parking lot just before Christmas, has found her forever home, as we say in the animal rescue biz.

and this car is only half of it.

Meet Megan, a friend of the dog's rescuers and now, Pepper's BFF.

my girl

(They make a very cute couple, don't you think?)

For those coming late to the game, here is the first post about Pepper's arrival in Naperville in search of a home (not to mention a place to spend Christmas). Following a less-than-successful meet-up with a herd of Chicago Chihuahuas, Pepper appeared again here.

A few adoption inquiries came in to Naperville Now. Phone calls and emails were sent. Prayers were offered up.

And then, along came Megan.

i match perfectly

Pepper, who complements Megan's decor, snuggled right into her new life. And then some.

She has toys, her own bed and babes from North Central College to take her on walks while her mistress is at work.

Pretty cushy.

quite literally

There are a few kinks to iron out yet. Afterall, Pepper (now known as Aussie) is barely 1 years old. And while she has been through more than most, this sweet and docile Staffy mix has managed to maintain her puppy ebullience and a certain dignity.

Naperville Now would like to check in with Aussie, from time to time, so down the road, I hope Megan will share a few snapshots and a story or two.

Happy beginnings, ladies. Thanks for sharing your story.

Happy Birthday

2012-01-12T18:27:00.000-06:00

Dear AJ,

The fact that you texted me the other day, grousing about turning 25, set me on my heels a bit. I clearly remember your birth in Atlanta. I just don't do numbers very well. How could you be 25 when I'm 25 (in that parallel universe known as my head)?

Just think of all that you've accomplished at your quarter-century mark: Warhawk of the Week (okay, I may have reached back a little too far with that one), swim team captain, nursing school graduate (with honors), Intensive Care Unit nurse at a St. Louis hospital, cat and dog owner, home owner, affianced, splendidly busy and happy in ways I never dreamed for you.

Go, you.

I can remember the year we moved to Naperville because it was the year you were born. Your sister was just starting morning Kindergarten. Given your Dad's job and the way thing were in corporate America in the 1980s, I figured we'd be outta here in 18 months.

Thanks to all that is holy, we were able to stay in one place, raise our family, plant bulbs in the garden and put down roots in a community that has sustained all of us. (And Naperville Now is an awesome and alliterative blog name, so the Internet had to have had a hand in it.)

And here we still are.

Wish you were, too.

Have an awesome birthday, my girl, with cake and candles and all our love (and a card that the postal guy says may get there Saturday. I hate that when that happens. Glad I had the foresight to send you back after Christmas with birthday gifts, which I know you have saved until tomorrow to open. You did save them, right?)

Love and happy birthday,

Mom

Conflicted Part IV

2012-01-10T15:05:00.001-06:00

"How you holding up?"

"Okay, I guess. It's kind of warm. And blue."

"Winter seems to have kept its pants on."

"I like seeing the recess kids. Their energy -- it makes me feel a little less sad."

"By the way, it looks like your dream almost came true."

"Which dream?"

"The one where the squirrels are relocated in a stiff wind. Their nest has definitely shifted south."

"Clearly they skipped Proper Nest Construction 101."

"December's winds were pretty intense."

"Oh, well. Everyone deserves a home, even if their habits are not as sanitary as they could be."

"The little guys seem to be hanging in there."

"Yes, they do. And they're very quiet. A nice quality in a treehouseguest... I have to ask, are we just about there? I'm missing my leaves."

"About 69 days and 3 hours away. No time at all."

"Doable, if the sun continues to shine. You ready to sleep?"

"I think I'll watch this last inning of kickball."

"Good night."

The Conflicted series began here, continued here and last showed up here. I probably should have said that at the beginning.

Out There

2012-01-09T16:45:00.001-06:00

Stay where I can see your hands, lady.

Not to be going too crazy with the weather posts, but it was warm enough today to squeeze two sets of anal glands outdoors. This is unusual for January because Chicago is in a perpetual state of holy-crap-it's-freezing-out-there until May 15.

On this lovely day, however, my boss and I were outside doing necessary glandular things. (In truth, Lisa McIntyre, DVM, does the gland expressing while I hold the dogs. She is, of course, the brains of the operation. I am the Sherpa, paw holder, admin, owner consoler, feral cat coraller, occasional saline-drawer-into-the-shot-thingy, driver and scheduler.)

After 10 sedentary years, it feels great to be liberated from a computer and the unholy glow of fluorescent light. These days, I am in and out of a car with the Doc, weather be damned, making house calls on cats and dogs.

It's been a lot of fun, I must confess. (And because the boss reads Naperville Now, I am not just blowing smoke up her blood centrifuge.) It not only feels great to be moving physically again, but by and large, pet owners are great. Devoted to their animals. Kind-hearted. Big-hearted. I've met some really great people and creatures through the practice, which operates out of the Doc's car.

Every veterinary practice needs a Journalism major on staff because hey, we have mad skills.

And I've only been bitten twice, so it's all good.

Our Bandit was the Doc's first patient this morning.

Having someone manipulate your rear end is no way to start the week, so apologies, old boy.

I may share a few pet stories down the road (have to look into the HIPPA thing first). Maybe I'll write a book. Or an e-book. Or a movie script.

I think all of this sunlight is making me giddy. And ambitious.

It feels great.

Day Is Done

2012-01-06T19:50:00.001-06:00

We live in Chicago, a town Mother Nature hates. She pours down snow and frigid air during a winter that lasts for month after horrible month. There's a small break in July, and then she resumes her evil ways.

Today, however, was 55 degrees. There was abundant sunshine and gentle breezes. Coats were forgotten. People and pets were outdoors and grinning like mad. Pick-up games broke out across the neighborhood.

It was the kind of day that makes it possible to survive the unholy season of winter.

Charlie was strolling the trails this evening and snapped this send-off. A day gift-wrapped in pinks and yellows and blues.

Back At Ya!

2012-01-05T19:45:00.003-06:00

I think this is a great idea! And one I might have hatched myself had I not

1.) been working two jobs just before Christmas
2.) been trying to breathe through this head cold
3.) been so focused on the laundry, the grandkids, the upcoming wedding, le stuff in general.

I give ole Oswald's credit for marketing Naperville-centric stuff. I think it's great fun to walk into a store to buy emergency TP and end up with great stocking stuffers (and 355 days early, no less.)

AND, may I add, this photograph was taken by an iPhone. My iPhone.

In the interest of keeping my new job (and not making my employer hysterical with my every garbled attempt to type emails with my kumquat-sized index finger), Santa felt it best to keep Naperville Now au courant with the latest technology outside of work so that she could become proficient and wise in the ways of the 21st century. (Very Shaolin monk-ish, no?)

And yes, it's a 4S. Haven't had time to meet Siri, but I did use the camera to shoot the magnet picture.

And my son-in-law is stomping me in Words With Friends, a Scrabble-like app.

And while I waited for my doctor to examine my sinus cavities, I caught up on all my email and a few other things besides.

There is just no end to the fun.

But I still wish I had thought of these magnets. Simplicity is beguiling.

Pepper Update

2012-01-02T17:31:00.000-06:00

Turns out, the chihuahuas were in a state of Pepper-induced panic and hid under the couch.

Pepper just sat on the floor, calm as always. Puzzled. Not worried.

So that means, my friends, we need to find her a home.

Here is her backstory.

Everyone who has met her has fallen in love with her (except the four chihuahuas, that is).

She is living in Naperville and currently on the Humane Society wait list.

I think we can place her, don't you?

I am happy to arrange a meet and wag, so email me at suejohnpeter(at)gmail(dot)com.

Let's do lunch.

Or, at least, snacks.

Beginning

2011-12-31T18:24:00.000-06:00

Meet Pepper.

Of course, she could be Cookie. Or Sugar. Or Abbey Road (my vote).

She was found in an apartment parking lot in Tennessee, a rabies tag on her collar and milk still dripping from her underpinnings.

Initially, she was found by someone who took her to a vet, who gave her a rabies shot and a tag. Pepper clearly was somebody's dog, so the first rescuer took her home to her barn to await a reunion.

Pepper apparently wasn't too keen on her new digs, so she busted out and ended up in that parking lot, where she made a bee line for my friend's son.

Andy and his wife already have two rescue dogs (whose combined energy could power a sizable village) in their apartment.

Tennessee Animal Control was of no help.

The first rescuer was not forthcoming.

It was just days before Christmas and the road trip home to Naperville. No one would/could take on this sweet, intelligent and docile Staffordshire mix.

Tucking Pepper into the backseat with the rest of the herd, Andy and his family headed north, making calls from there to here. Humane Society. Family. Extended family. Home. Heaven.

A Christmas Eve inquiry at church resulted in a preliminary introduction that will take place tomorrow with a Chicago family with four (that's 1-2-3-4) Chihuahuas.

Based on Pepper's gentle interest in Bandit, our 1,000-year-old dog, I think it may turn out to be a successful meet-up.

If not, you'll help this sweet and deserving 1-year-old find a forever home, won't you?

I knew you would. Thank you.

We'll drink a cup of kindness yet. For auld lang syne.

And for Pepper/Cookie/Sugar/Abbey Road.

Love

2011-12-29T17:58:00.000-06:00

Ever come across a photograph that made your heart stop?

My beauties were at a wedding several weeks ago. The music beckoned, and the photographer, Dory Tuohey, caught mother and child at just the right moment -- mid-dance, just as Betsy wrapped her shawl around the baby.

A picture for all time.

Happy New Year, everyone. And thanks for checking in with Naperville Now this year. I have appreciated your kind and thoughtful comments.

Keep dancing.

What Was Santa Thinking?

2011-12-26T23:23:00.000-06:00

Meet Oscar, the latest addition to our daughter's life. His resemblance to The Little Rascals' Petey is quite good, but with better eye makeup.

Oscar is part American Bulldog, part Labrador (as evidenced by webby paws) and 100 percent lap dog. Currently weighing in at 60 pounds, he is still on his way to adulthood, so invest in Purina while you can.

Faithful readers will remember Naperville Now's Name That Cat post in July, when you were introduced to Tip, our daughter's rescue-cat-with-brain-damage.

From all accounts, Oscar's brain seems to be sans bobble. Furthermore, he knows some commands, is house-trained and could pull a pony trap without breaking a sweat.

He also is quite respectful of poor Tip, with whom he's gone nose to nose several times.

Tip is not amused.

My question is this: why do we persist in covering ourselves in pet hair?

Have you ever adopted a pet? Was it a good experience? Bad? A tweener?

Bandit, our 18-year-old Shih-Tzu, has been with us for 15 years, a $10 purchase from the Hinsdale Humane Society.

He was a pretty good deal, I think.

He's certainly a long-lived one, thus squashing the theory that too much pepperoni pizza is a bad thing.

As Ready As I Get

2011-12-22T18:15:00.006-06:00

C is for the crap I didn't get done this year, like decorating, buying gifts, cooking, cards, laundry, flossing and mailing presents. Working two jobs is exhausting. However, I have now carved it down to one just before a nervous breakdown, so C is also for content. Cosmos for everyone. Make mine a double.
H is for honestly, where does the time go? I have been fascinated by the concept of time since third grade, when we studied ancient Egypt and learned about mummies. Finding time, harnessing time, losing time, making good use of time. And while we're at it, read Joel Stein in Time Magazine. He is hysterically funny and I am wildly jealous of his columns.
R is for really great blogs, like the ones listed on the lower right of this page. Treats for the soul, they are. The world is a better place because of them and I am better for having read them. Join me.
I is for the Internet. Naperville Now is very grateful for a place to hang her thoughts, even if she doesn't do it as often as she would like. Wiki says, "As of 16 February 2011 (2011 -02-16)^[update], there were over 156 million public blogs in existence." That, my friends, is a lot of words. Thank you, 46 followers, for reading mine. (Connie signed up twice, so I guess it's really 45.)
S is for Showers of Hope, an organization that supports poor children. My friend Sue is hosting a party tonight for her girlfriends so we can celebrate the season as well as contribute to this worthy cause. Great idea, Sue. Thanks for the invitation to help.
T is for threads -- of friendship, of family and those pesky quilts I aspire to bind in 2012.
M is for the many moms in my life. How great is it to have had more than one?
A is for aspirations. Good to have, good to try out, good to share.
S is for surprise. May our days be filled with the good kind.

photo styling by Charlie

Seriously

2011-12-19T19:00:00.000-06:00

And you thought I was being humble when I said I can't cook.

As you can see (and if you live in Naperville and Lisle, no doubt smell), it is entirely true.

I come by these talents from my mother, who preferred to make reservations for dinner rather than chicken or pot roast.

In fact, she was the first mother on the eastern seaboard to purchase Swanson's Frozen TV Dinners. (Remember the taste of turkey and mashed potatoes in that divided aluminum pan? Yikes, that was awful. But novel, so points for that.)

If I win the lottery, I shall hire a housekeeper to make sense of all these complicated recipes. And then I'll write a book on how not to cook.

Connections

2011-12-17T17:56:00.002-06:00

If you start your shopping eight days before Christmas, the word scramble doesn't begin to cover it.

Add a dusting of the white stuff and it puts a whole new dimension to panic.

Actually, the snow calmed my world down a bit because I had to locate boots and find a coat long enough to cover my PJs while I took these pictures.

(I know, she needs a sweater -- and a home in the garage until spring. Still working on the garden relo project. So far, winter is winning.)

I think I am reining in what I do at Christmas mainly because I am tired. And perfectly content to check out these blogs for really great eye candy:

The Brambleberry Cottage: Liz has opened her blog each Thursday to links to other blogs. Six degrees of Kevin Bacon is nothing compared to this enchanting multi-level daisy chain of great ideas, great interiors and some serious decorating over-achievers. I have only recently discovered the link party aspect of blogging. Liz's button link to Time Travel Thursday is right over there on the right side of this page. See it over there just under the thumbnails of Naperville Now's friends? Personal and creative connections made by possible by the Internet. Amazing. Click and feast your eyes.

Jenny Matlock -- Off On My Tangent: Jenny does the link party on her blog three times a week via Alphabe-Thursday, Story-Time Tuesday, and Saturday-Centus (I am unclear on the meaning of centus. Google was less than helpful, and I don't have enough self-esteem to ask Jenny.) It's a fun way to "meet" other bloggers and see who (and what) is going on out there. And because of link "rules," if you post on Jenny's site, she asks (nicely) that you read at least 10 links. This, my friends, is very easy to do. Many of her readers have left me great comments (which have gone straight to my head.) Thanks, everyone. I needed that. (The Alphabe-Thursday link button is that typewriter over there on the right.)

Faded Charm Cottage: Kathleen hosts White Wednesday on her blog, where people link their blogs and mad creative skills. Lots of fun, lots of links, lots of reasons to ignore your responsibilities and yearn for the time (and talent) to do half of what is made manifest in these pictures.

Symbiotic, satisfying, sustaining. It is enough for me to see what others are doing.

Which leads me to my most favorite outdoor decoration ever. Thanks, Sheri, for letting me post your fabulous sign.

"He HADN'T stopped Christmas from coming! IT CAME!
Somehow or other it came just the same!
Maybe Christmas, he thought, "doesn't come from a store.
Maybe Christmas . . . perhaps . . .
means a little bit more!"

Real Smart

2011-12-13T20:31:00.001-06:00

Smartphones are making me feel very unsmart.

I've had the opportunity to ~~screw up~~ use an iPhone in the past few days, to my unending frustration (and the mirth of the phone's owner).

Naperville Now's phalanges just do not pfly like they used to. And they may function about as well as this fellow's.

Wikipedia

(But I do know the word phalanges, so that has to count for something.)

I have purposely refused to jump on the iPhone bandwagon because, to quote my friend Phil, "I don't want to be hip or cool." I so get that. I am so that.

And of course, I expect these texting gloves will really help this winter.

(What? No texting mittens for the advanced?)

I like my phone. It's old, functional and even has a qwerty keyboard. And that is the limit of its capabilities.

Our kids all have iPhones. And they never click through to the links of hilarious stuff I send them.

"My connection's too slow for that."
"Well, use the computer."
"This IS a computer. In my pocket."
"Fine, if you don't want to see the almost-naked guy in the French candy commercial."
"Resend that link."

Technology moves ever onward and advance we must. Adapt we must. And practice we must.

If you have any fingertip tips, drop me a note. Or txt.

Misspellings forgiven.

Sacrament

2011-12-11T20:35:00.000-06:00

Dear Charlotte,

Our hearts are very full today.

You were baptized just after 9 this morning, and everyone was there to see you.

You wore the same gown your mother wore 29 years ago (a gift from your great-grandmother, Betty) and the same cross necklace, a gift from Auntie Joyce.

So many connections. So many memories. A few tears. (Maybe a few more than a few.)

Auntie Joyce hand smocked the bonnet (crazy detail. hours of work. so precious) for your mother's baptism.

Bonnets are not particularly nap-friendly, so it was tucked away.

You pretty much snoozed through the entire service.

Many friends came to welcome you.

Big brother observed you had forgotten to say "Cheese!" in the many photographs I was taking, so here he is showing you how to do it.

Brothers are really great for stuff like that.

How blessed we are to have shared this day with you.

Sweet dreams, darling girl.

Love,
Grandma

Lights, Camera, Nap

2011-12-04T15:53:00.003-06:00

Raise your hand if you think it's okay if I stop the tree decking with just twinkle and bubble lights this year.

Thanks. I believe I will.

Looks good, right?

(A new book and the couch are calling my name this dreary Sunday. The decorations, not so much.)

I found a few of the old boys for the mantel.

And I unearthed these from my childhood:

When my brothers closed out our apartment in New York many years ago, an enormous truck delivered all the geegaws and doodads and blonde furniture that had been our parents'. Of all the china, glassware and 1940s-era stuff that made the cross-country trip, only the O in NOEL was damaged.

Seems appropriate it was the O. As in, "O! Kansas City? Never heard of it." (New York angels are very sassy.)

I never did find the missing bit.

My brothers, both thousands of years older than I am, took great joy in rearranging the choir each Christmas. LEON was one variation. Another:

As in, "ELNO we won't go!" Afterall, it was the 1960s.

Much, much later came the final anagram, unimaginable when these girls first were made 60+ years ago:

If you're thinking we have too much time on our hands, you would be right. I could have had the entire tree decorated by now.

Instead, we've been busy stirring the first batch of the season:

And what says Christmas more than Chex cereal baked in too much butter and Seasoned Salt?

Care to share your odd Christmas memories? I'd love to hear them. Leave me a comment.

I See Them

2011-11-30T17:44:00.000-06:00

One of the things that I inherited from my mother, besides her love of writing and an indifference to cooking, was a box of genealogical notes on many, many pieces of paper.

A grandfather listed here. A birthplace recorded there. A photograph. A partially completed family tree. Anecdotes. All in her small and careful script. This was the project she'd been working on in her retirement.

Somewhere along the way, this box ended up with me, as did the silver and china. And in one of my bursts of "Let's organize this place!", I purchased a genealogy program that I was quite sure would convert those hundreds of scraps about dead people and sort them onto a new-fangled DOS program called Family Roots.

As is the way of things, those scraps multiplied like rabbits, and I now have several tons of paper of my own. (Lest you think me hopelessly behind the times, I do have Family Tree Maker 2011, a most excellent software program for those who would seek dead people. Can't quite manage to tame the piles of paper, however.)

Through the years, I have been unable to make a lot of headway. My friend Gary has his family going back to the Norman conquest. As for me and mine, we are stuck in 1819 in New York City.

But occasionally, something miraculous does happen to rev up the hunt. This morning I discovered a fantastic website that is a New York newspaper database. And it's searchable! And free! Called Old Fulton New York Post Cards, it has 17.5 million newspaper pages from my old state.

This morning, instead of doing what I should do, I stumbled on this:

The Brooklyn Daily Eagle front page from June 18, 1915: "Brooklyn Boys Who Were Graduated From Pennsylvania."

And who is smack dab in the middle? My grandfather.

Here he is a little less newsprinty:

I knew he went to the University of Pennsylvania to become a dental surgeon, but frankly, this newspaper wasn't among anyone's stash of memorabilia.

I may be the first Littell in 96 years to look at this newspaper.

I'm glad to see you, Pop.

You wouldn't be able to confirm your grandfather was George, veteran of the War of 1812, by any chance?

Because It's Just What We Do

2011-11-27T15:32:00.000-06:00

Outdoor Christmas decorations, like cooking, are highly overrated, especially in Chicago.

The garland we bought from the Boy Scouts showed up on the porch about 10 days ago.

It is now 36 degrees and raining, of course.

Charlie and I have spent the last hour securing and sizing up the garland across the porch. We used "close enough" more than once to characterize our handiwork. And, by golly, it just has to be.

I am typing this post with my nose because I cannot feel my fingers.

Will someone please remind me NOT to buy a garland next year from an adorable 10-year-old in uniform?

Thank you.

What are your outdoor decorating preferences? I'd love to hear what you do, where you do it and with what (and whom).

Believe it or not, I steamed these stupid bows, not that it made a difference.
My fingers are too frozen to do further ribbon fluffing.
Bring on the hot toddies.

Food, Glorious Food

2011-11-21T22:03:00.000-06:00

After preparing us a plate of spaghetti with canned sauce, my friend Kathy said, "Remember, I'm a writer, not a cook."

I have lived by that ever since. It covers every eventuality in the kitchen and serves as the perfect excuse for eating out, something my husband and I do a lot.

While I do make exceptions (Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, exhausted), cooking is just not my thing. It's a time-consuming, messy, math-heavy activity that is never as good as the photographs. And even if I really, really concentrate on a good outcome, it rarely happens.

I'd much rather read a book.

And now, three days shy of Charlie's favorite day of the year (like the Old Man in A Christmas Story, he is a turkey junky), I am schlepping canned goods from one end of the Jewel to the other.

After queuing in the checkout, a senior citizen continually whacked my backside with her cart.

Lady, I cannot move ahead in the checkout line because there is nowhere to move.

I haven't begun to cook and already I'm thinking Chinese restaurant.

My family is particular about food traditions. I bore myself silly cooking the same old things (that's you, green bean casserole). But try to swap out a few dishes and you'd think Santa wasn't coming to town.

When I mentioned the possibility of a new dish this year (keeping in mind our 2 1/2 year old grandson), our daughter told me I was making her nervous.

"What's this new thing you're making?"

"Something Zach might like."

"What is it?"

"Wouldn't you rather be surprised?"

"No way. Tell me."

"Mac and cheese. With Gruyère."

"Oh. Well. That's probably okay. But there must be spinach casserole. And don't forget the crescent rolls like you did last year."

"I don't remember that."

"Exactly."

"How about you figure out the desserts?"

"Why can't you make sherbet parfaits like you did last year?"

I don't remember making parfaits last year. At all. Clearly, it was such an innovation that I dazzled myself into forgetting all about it.

What do you make for Thanksgiving that your family can't live without?

For us, it's Stephen's Spinach Casserole. Below is the recipe, the first -- and only -- time Naperville Now will ever post anything to do with cooking.

Spinach Casserole
2 packages frozen chopped spinach (The stuff in a box. Birds Eye is superior.)
6 oz. cream cheese at room temperature (use the remaining 2 oz. on a bagel)
8 Tablespoons butter, softened (yup, the entire stick)
2 Tablespoons Parmesan cheese (grated, ground, your preference)
1 can artichoke hearts, well-drained (you can buy big; you can buy quartered; it's all the same, just not the marinated in oil kind.)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Prepare spinach according to directions. Transfer to sieve (I own one of these precisely because of this recipe) and press out excess moisture with a fork or spoon.

Mix cream cheese and butter; stir into hot spinach.

Place cut artichokes on bottom of casserole. Cover with spinach mixture. Sprinkle with Parmesan. Bake 30 minutes. Recipe is easily doubled.

Whole Foods. You didn't really think I made this, did you?

Rescue Me Update

2011-11-20T20:19:00.000-06:00

A week ago, a stray cat wandered into my friend's life.

I asked, I pled (pleaded?), I even begged a little. No one was willing to take on the black and white hot mess that followed Carol around the backyard like a dog.

She took her this-is-not-my-cat to the vet for a much-needed tune-up shortly after that post.

He was pronounced quite healthy, despite a few battle scars and a sniffle.

Temperatures dipped into the 20s.

He moved into the house proper.

Carol named him Oliver Twist.

Of course, once you name something, you're sunk.

"But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular,
A name that's peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?"

T. S. Eliot

Welcome to the neighborhood, Oliver.

You have a keen eye for upholstery and the tender-hearted.

Blooming

2011-11-16T15:12:00.000-06:00

This Christmas cactus is the only houseplant I haven't managed to murder.

As soon as it's vaguely warm out, I take him to the patio and overlook him for three months. He is used to neglect as I don't do much for him during the rest of the year either. I guess the vagaries of Chicago's summer and my poor memory suit him to a T.

In October, after a good scrub, he resumes his place in the living room and blooms like mad. As soon as the blossoms fall off, he becomes depressed and goes all droopy until it's time to live outside again.

This sounds quite a bit like me, actually.

I divided this plant earlier this year. His twin, currently being neglected at our daughter's house, is blooming happily.

Have you had luck with houseplants? Have a favorite? Leave me a comment.

Buds

2011-11-14T17:28:00.001-06:00

(Part I of this series began here, with Part II here, should you prefer your stories in a linear fashion.)

"Well, it's done. And so, to sleep."

"You held out a long time, my friend."

"Feeling very stark. The kids playing around us in this mild weather isn't helping."

"Look around. We're in good company now. Every tree's a little diminished, but everyone's coping, for the most part."

"By the way, when did they get here?"

"Last week. You were snoozing during all of the leaf gathering and arguing about which 'fork' they should use to build their winter perch."

Yawns. "I have been sleeping more. Too much gray, too many clouds."

"But you overlooked some other new arrivals."

"Nice twigs. Woven and not flung together like some squirrels I know."

"Hey, now."

"Hey yourself." Yawns. "Keep an eye on all of the coming and going, okay? And wake me in four months."

"We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep."

"You write that?"

"Borrowed from Shakespeare. The Tempest."

"Ugh, don't remind me. I hate winter. And I miss my green."

"It's a good color on you."

"True."

"Until March, then."

"Don't kid yourself. April's more like it."

"Okay, then. See you in leaf time."

"By the way, are squirrels sanitary?"

"Not so much."

"That is disgusting."

"Cost of doing business, I'm afraid. But there'll be plenty of snow, sleet and rain ahead to keep us tidy."

"The good and bad news of precipitation in Chicago. Alas, there's nothing more to be done."

"Except rest. And dream."

"I'll be dreaming about a nice wind storm relocating those squirrels across the street."

"I HEARD THAT!"

"Uh oh. The parkway Maple!"

"Now you've done it."

"Have not."

Rescue Me

2011-11-13T11:36:00.000-06:00

My pal Carol, who lives next to a forest in Naperville, has found a stray cat.

Kitty is in need of a home. Also some antibiotics due to what sounds like a respiratory infection.

He may also need a little help with some tail scratches incurred in the wild.

If you can open your heart and pocketbook to this little guy/guyette, send an email to Carol at witchaywm(at)aol(dot)com. (You get that I have monkeyed with her email so she doesn't get spammed, right?)

Or leave me a comment and I will forward your message to Carol, who regrets she is unable to care for Kitty long-term.

(That cat is pretty cute. Bandit would have a heart attack, so I'm afraid we are out of the running on this.)

11.11.11

2011-11-11T08:19:00.000-06:00

To those who are serving and those who have served, our heartfelt thanks.

Lt. Frank D. Littell
Big Spring, TX -- 1942

Midshipman Al Johnpeter
New York, NY -- 1943

Accept No Substitutes

2011-11-09T18:47:00.001-06:00

After a 3-day, madcap visit to St. Louis to look at (all of the) wedding dresses (that have ever been made), it is time to contemplate this vision in violet.

I am very proud of Betsy for coordinating little Charley's ensemble today. Her Aunt Sis will be very proud when she sees her niece styling just so this Wednesday afternoon.

More details to follow on the 2012 wedding plans, just not tonight.

I can tell you the dress we found for Anna is so lovely, I gasped. Several times, I think. Jumping may have been involved. Also multiple pictures and cell phone calls to Chicago.

How great it is to know you've found the one.

So, my marrieds, have any wedding gown stories to share? Naperville Now is all ears, so leave a comment.

(I just unpacked my 31-year-old dress last month. It has a certain Miss Havisham-like quality to it, I fear. But no worries. Should I need a wedding gown, and who doesn't, I have another. I wore it to a fancy ball and my high school graduation, which is how we do things back east.)

Bandit

2011-11-05T08:06:00.000-05:00

Between Bandit, babysitting the next generation and unwrapping KitKat bars that magically did not leave the house on Halloween, I have fallen behind on Naperville Now. My apologies.

Our 1,000-year-old dog, whose brushes with death have been numerous and terrifying, woke up Thursday unable to walk. His body was skewing right, causing him to fall down like a mad drunk. Added bonus: the imbalance thing caused him to vomit pretty much across every surface of the house.

Dr. McIntyre, The Welcome Waggin' vet who makes housecalls, determined his condition to be not a stroke but vestibular disease. It is ideopathic, manifests suddenly (particularly in older dogs), and is awful to watch.

A magic shot set him nearly to rights and bits of liverwurst throughout the day sustained his rebound. By Friday night, he had managed the two steps out to the yard and back under his own steam. He was even a little peppy, all things considered.

While Bandit looks like a ghost dog (we've had him groomed since this picture was shot), he somehow manages to keep tabs on who has an English muffin or a bowl of chips (and who might be willing to share).

Today, the granddchildren are in our care, and I apologize, old dog, for the disruption and love and chasing they provide. You have never been a fan of little kids but have suffered them with grace. They are reliable sources of food, afterall, and in this life, that is no small thing.

Our Pumpkins

2011-10-30T20:59:00.000-05:00

About 10 years ago, my husband discovered a talent for carving pumpkins.

Actually, I discovered a book of templates and carving do-hickies at Michael's. Charlie began to explore his carving proclivities, and the rest is Halloween history.

Serrated knives -- check.
Pointilist wheels -- check.
Templates -- check.
Junior Mints (to keep up one's strength) -- check.

This is my all-time favorite template. The mouth reads Naperville. Our carver, however, does not like to duplicate himself. Ergo, we can only have this carving every two years in order to stay fresh and inspired.

The only step in the process that I am involved in is drawing the circle around the stem. (It's a lot of responsibility.) Charlie does all the actual carving.

Raise your hand if this makes you queasy.

The results, however, are always worth it.

And now, with the advent of TuneIn.com on the iPhone, one can carve whilst listening to the Eagles play Dallas and take one's time while outlining witch hair. (Football on a phone. That is some kind of magic.)

And tomorrow night, we get to go trick-or-treating with Buzz

and a blue-eyed Lady Bug.

Have fun tomorrow night.

Come check out our pumpkins.

Bring candy.

Clearly

2011-10-27T14:19:00.000-05:00

At last year's Halloween party, the psychics arrived late because they couldn't find the house.

I prefer my psychics all-knowing, all-seeing and packing a GPS at all times.

This year, they got the message because Julia was prompt and ready to offer readings during the second annual, all-witchy house party. (Love me a blue cocktail filled with eyeball ice cubes.)

I'm always a little reluctant to bare my palms to strangers, but bare I did. Here are the psychic's observations, followed by my unspoken responses:

Your lifeline shows you living beyond 80 -- 82, 83, maybe.

Thank you! That is a bodacious lifetime. Time to reign in the chocolate, the red meat, the Chardonnay and the chocolate. Maybe ride Charlie's bike? Run like Connie? Definitely get better gym shoes. Find an inexhaustible Labrador Retriever. Oh, look! Our hostess is bringing out spider brownies. Yum!

I have a sense that you work with computers.

I do. That is freaky. I've been putting images in search engines since 2001. Of course, everyone works with computers.

There is something about farms surrounding you?

My husband's family. They've been southern Illinois farmers since Heinrich left Germany and started plowing up Clinton County before the Civil War. And our daughter teaches riding at a barn. So, yes, we are literally down to earth, now that you mention it.

Lady, you've got your esp on today. I will give you that.

You've lost someone fairly recently. And there have been marriage break-ups?

Yes and yes. My family. His family.

There will be change next year. A big change. Possibly a move.

St. Barth's sounds like a plan.

Do you have any questions for me?

(Other than Lotto numbers?) What about my career? Will I have one? Is it too late?

I see that you had a career, a very strong one. But it was blocked. Blocked by you.

Interesting choice of words.

And then I went in search of a cocktail.

Nearly everyone I spoke with was a little uneasy with the psychic's specificity. It was a bit otherworldly.

Next year, I'm definitely going to ask for Lotto numbers, especially if I've got all those many, many years ahead of me.

Giddy With the Giddy Up

2011-10-24T14:13:00.000-05:00

All I ever wanted at Halloween was candy. Who knew pony rides were even an option?

Zach rode Rhiannon, Chuckie and Windy, above, Saturday night. On each trip, he asked his mom to not walk beside him. When one is 2 1/2, one must do what one can to blend in with kids many inches taller.

His legs may not reach the stirrups, but his heart is most definitely in it to win it.

On a random, non-equine note, this blog turned 2 on Saturday. Not sure how we got here so fast, but I'm glad that you're along for the ride. (Okay, that was sort of an equine note.)

Casting Purls Before Champagne

2011-10-20T21:11:00.000-05:00

My friend Carol, a faithful Naperville Now follower, asked if book club would be interested in learning how to knit. It is an art that she has thrown herself into with such verve, she has enough needle poundage to defend a small country.

During book club, we generally enjoy several tots of champagne, so learning a new skill and mixing it with alcohol sounded just about perfect.

By the end of the night, no one had made this baby bonnet, though Carol did a few weeks ago and presented it to our 8-week-old granddaughter, Charley.

I know, right?

I like this champagne/yarn vignette. It reminds me of Hannah Hart's insanely funny My Drunk Kitchen, wherein she does a brilliant job of cooking badly and drinking splendidly. We managed to do pretty much the same thing, only with sharp needles.

Notice Sharon coordinated her sweater with her yarn.

This is Beth eschewing yarn for floss. (We may be more competitive than I realized.)

My goal was not to embarass myself too much, so I watched 400 knitting videos on You Tube. (A lot of people are confused by left and right. I find that troubling.)

And while I was striving to create a dignified potholder, Carol showed us "how easy it is" to make this scarf:

In as much as I would love to sew with cobweb threads, I think I must stick with the potholder plan.

Freddy, our mascot, pronounced the brut exceptional and the "My Drunk Knitting" players ready for prime time.

Thank you, Carol, for your expert guidance and unfailing good humor. Thank you, Kaki, for hosting. Sorry you were stuck cooking for the troops.

Let's do it again next week. I'll bring the Taittinger.

Sounds a little sewy, doesn't it?

Dog Patch

2011-10-16T15:09:00.002-05:00

I am in the throes of binding a quilt upstairs in the salon. The whole process sets my teeth on edge because my sewing machine hates me. Math also hates me, and there's a lot of math involved in the binding process.

This afternoon, while measuring and chewing my nails, I turned around to glance at the quilt and saw this:

Bear in mind, our dog, Bandit, has been unable to power up (or down) the stairs in over a year, so we carry him up to bed at night and back down each morning. The porch step is problematic. Acorns on the sidewalk trip him up. He's been known to leap into the storm door, believing it open because, well, isn't it?

For a dog who has to sniff my foot to figure out which one of the two adults living in this house I am, Bandit apparently still has a few surprises up his paw.

His burst of athleticism was rewarded with a stroll in the court. Acorns were everywhere, but he managed. The sniffs were plentiful, the sun was just starting to peek through and the temperatures were perfect for someone in a fur coat.

Treats are on the menu tonight. Our boy turns 18 years old this week. We adopted him from the Hinsdale Humane Society 15 years ago. He cost $10.

A few weeks ago, Charlie and I counted up the number of near-death experiences this poor dog has suffered -- mouse poison twice, cracked vertebrae three times, mouth sores, one almost drowning and, two weeks ago, one staircase plunge onto concrete.

He is either the luckiest or the most accursed dog in the land.

Happy birthday, old man. May all your turkey and liverwurst dreams come true.

Conflicted Part II

2011-10-12T14:42:00.000-05:00

And two weeks later....

"See? Told you. Didn't hurt a bit."

"La la la. Not listening."

"Right side, we've talked about this already. It's easy. The wind comes along and our leaves get whisked away into piles AND into art projects involving waxed paper. Everyone wins."

"Listen, sticks, just because all the leaves are falling doesn't mean I have to. Look around. There are plenty of trees still leafy and green. I'm going to hold out as long as I can. Besides, I can tell you're all shivery and need my protection."

"Thoughtful, right side, but I'm doing okay. Really."

"You look painfully thin to me."

"A momentary silhouette. In a scant 6 months, we will be an arborist's dream."

"Six months is a long time."

"So we'll take long naps. And dream about next year. Just like the Cubs."

"Don't get me started on the Cubs."

"I love it when you go all scarlet."

Because It's the Law

2011-10-10T14:51:00.001-05:00

A visit to Johansen's pumpkin farm is a rite of passage for anyone under the age of 10 living in DuPage County. In fact, I believe it is a law that one must plunk down one's cash for the honor of feeding the goats, ~~killing~~ holding baby chicks, imitating roosters and searching for hand sanitizer.

It's just what we do around here. Keeps our minds off what we really want to do at summer's end, which is to keen and wail in the knowledge that winter's inexorable fury is bearing down.

Johansen's has gotten very fancy since we took our children here. Inflatables, a corn maze, bounce houses and miniature horses are new on the farm menu.

Our little guy was momentarily interested in the animals.

But, since goats don't have wheels and tractors do, this got his attention.

His quad great-grandfather farmed in Southern Illinois before the Civil War, which is clearly why he looks at home behind the wheel. (And it would not surprise me a bit to find one of these machines moldering in an outbuilding on the property today. Nothing was ever thrown out.)

Meanwhile, blue eyes enjoyed the shade of the tent and puzzled over that black cylinder being waved in her face.

What do you remember when you were 2 and a half years old?

Even better, what is your earliest memory?

Joyce's Quilts

2011-10-06T23:29:00.002-05:00

My pal Joyce is a textile artist.

Everything she knows about quilting she learned from me.

Actually, that's a big fat lie, but it sounds good, doesn't it?

For many years she has been taking the ole 9-patch quilt process and reimagining it into something so much, much more that I burst into tears when I saw her recent exhibit in St. Louis.

That is how good she is.

Some of these projects I've seen through the years (Joyce will not be rushed), so it was with great anticipation that I saw five of her gorgeous projects hanging in the Regional Arts Commission gallery in University City. It's on Delmar, so drive down there pronto.

These are two of her works being inspected by two women. I made Joyce hang around and eavesdrop on the comments people were making about her work.

She was less than enthusiastic in going all PI on these private conversations. We journalism graduates, however, are not above leaning into a private discussion.

My favorite comment was "Joyce Briscoe. We must remember that name."

Here's the quilt that made me cry. It is the first piece you see entering the gallery.

Connection has been toted all over the country, including my house, changing with Joyce's thoughts, mood, and cares. My pictures in no way begin to show the beauty of this quilt. It must be examined.

She writes:

"...Over the many years it took to hand applique and hand-quilt it, it came to be about connection -- how we separate ourselves from each other and how we sometimes find subtle paths that lead us back together again."

Joyce is also a writer, incorporating very personal stories and quotes into her finished quilts.

These two are glimpses of a larger piece with my Joyce's mother's images incorporated into the story. It is called Mom's Shadow.

Cried at this one, too.
Definitely take tissue when you go. Just saying.

This work, called Remembering, is complex and requires a post in itself to describe and explain the organza envelopes, the words of author Marilynne Robinson, a Japanese grandfather, and the fear of forgetting words.

I get this.

Joyce's passion for story telling is evident, touching and beautiful.

What are you working on these days?

Wrong Turn

2011-10-04T19:24:00.001-05:00

Bandit, our 17-year-old dog, and I were out for our usual, excruciatingly slow stroll this bright afternoon. On our route we saw a gaggle of itty bitty girls on the playground practicing a cheerleading/pom routine. (We never had anyone on a Mighty Mite team, so my understanding of the cheerleading/pom/football paradigm is very limited.)

While Bandit was slowly making the turn toward home, I had time to watch these maybe 6- and 7-year-olds follow a young woman demonstrating a dance routine. The girls were very cute and very bouncy. And they were dancing and singing to the sanitized version of Cee Lo Green's hit "F**k You."

The song goes like this:

I see you driving 'round town
With the girl i love and i'm like,
Forget you!
Oo, oo, ooo
I guess the change in my pocket
Wasn't enough i'm like,
Forget you!
And forget her too!

I'm not a hip hop fan, but I know the song from watching Gwyneth Paltrow sing it on Glee. And I've watched Cee Lo sing it on YouTube. It's catchy. And bouncy. And rhythmic. And I can maybe see where one adult might hear pom routine and another would say, "HELLO, LYRICS?"

Words are important, especially if you are dancing to them. Especially if you are little.

The whole thing was disconcerting, I must confess.

Frankly, my dears, I'd like to know what you think, so leave me a comment.

(I will add that I am quite certain this is a private, non-school sponsored club.)

Reno

2011-10-02T13:24:00.003-05:00

For two people who rarely go anywhere or do anything, Honey and I have been busy. New York, St. Louis, Lisle. If all this gadding about keeps up, I'm going to have to change the name of this blog to Now, in the interest of geographic fidelity.

But because our youngest bought a house in St. Louis (built about the time I was starting high school, so we are talking old here), we drove down to check out this ranch home equipped with aluminum wiring, knotty pine paneling and some of the ugliest wallpaper borders ever created. Because the 94-year-old homeowner swapped out the wiring, we got to take care of the rest.

Whadya think?

(This beguiling fixer-upper is actually just south of Odell, IL, off I-55.)

This is the real house:

Clearly, the what-I-think-may-be-a-Japanese-Maple is trying to swallow the house whole, which dovetails nicely into a Mothra movie and not so much into an episode of Curb Appeal.

This is, of course, the kitchen.
Cleaning supplies? Check.
More cleaning supplies, especially Clorox bleach? Check.
Candy Corn and Bagel Chips waiting on counter for our dinner? Check.
Dog who fell down the basement steps and lived to tell about it? Check. (For those who missed out on Bandit's previous near-death experience in St. Louis, you can read about it here.)

Imagine, if you will, floor-to-ceiling paneling. Very dark, very dusty, and now gone, thanks to the incredible hand strength of two men and a nurse. (Why wait for a crowbar, when you can yank and hurl?)

Here is our girl, going after wallpaper glue:

In AJ's hands, the house will be absolutely darling, just not immediately. We explained that following every home purchase, elation turns to horror. This is textbook. And not a little scary.

But once the dessicated squirrels and dusty window treatments are cleared away and thought and paint are added to the walls, it will get better. I promise, you will not have to wear rubber gloves inside your house forever, only while you are working at the hospital.

Many thanks to Aunt Joyce for showing up with lunch and demonstrating her amazing technical skills by removing the faux ceiling beam in three wacks. When she was done with that project, she effortlessly moved on to paneling screw removal.

Ever remodeled a house? Tell me about your reno shenanigans in the comments section. I'd love to read about your experiences, and I know AJ will be encouraged and inspired.

Name That Pod

2011-09-26T21:06:00.001-05:00

Most bloggers I read manage to churn out posts with alarming frequency, so I apologize for not fitting that profile very well.

But what I will have for you shortly will be worth the wait -- The Book of Mormon as seen from the second row; Kelli O'Hara as seen from a different second row; Philip Johnson's Glass House in New Canaan, CT; and dead relatives. I mean really, what more could one ask of a blog?

Until I am able to sort through 9000 vacation photographs, I will leave you with these while we go play HGTV in St. Louis:

I know, right?

These babies are supposed to burst shortly and cast forth seeds. Or poison zombie foam. Possibly both.

AND, if Mother Nature 2012 is in our corner, we may be able to grow this:

Or not.

I'm thinking not, mainly because we couldn't manage to coax even one tomato from our lone tomato plant this year. And while I hear the tomato crop was particularly pathetic for everyone, we are undone by our lack of results. Nothing beats a fresh tomato. Not even zombie foam.

So, while we are painting, spackling and muttering,"What Would Vern Yip Do?" all week, let me know if you know the name of this flowering vine. And what you think our chances are of replicating it.

And just a little taste of the really fun stuff to tide you over:

Conflicted

2011-09-21T21:45:00.000-05:00

On our daily walks with Bandit, we pass by this tree. And every year, we exclaim over its split autumnal personality. (And then we usually say, "Didn't it do this last year?" "I don't know. Did it?" "Maybe.")

My dread of fall is no secret. And I wonder if other organic things, like this tree, experience foreboding.

"Psst. Right half. Get with the program."
"No way! It's still summer."
"Listen, you're messing up the color scheme, and I hate that."
"For months we've been verdant and pretty, and now, you're going all scarlet and dead."
"The change is inexorable. It cannot be ignored."
"I hate that I can't stay green."
"In a few weeks, we'll be completely unleafed, so deal with it....And stop crying."
"If we could stay like this until Christmas, at least people would admire our beauty a little longer."

"Hold on to me, kid. We'll not only look great, we'll be great."
"I still like green better."
"I know."

Pinned

2011-09-19T18:10:00.000-05:00

I am easily led astray by the Internet. It is unbelievable the width and breadth of porn out there, and who doesn't love a good graphic image?

My latest fascination is for pinterest.com, a website where, if you are invited, you may "pin" images from the web and make a virtual bulletin board. Think scrapbook and you've got the idea.

It can look a little like this:

Images from dazzling interiors, art, gifts, quotes, jewelry, food, drink -- if you can find an image on the Internet, you can create a limitless collage, as long as it isn't porn (in the purest sense of the word). Some people have created in excess of 10 boards across all those categories. (And will Virtual Hoarding be the next hit on A&E?)

I was fascinated by this idea board idea and requested an invite, which was granted in short order. There are two ways to sign up -- via facebook or Twitter. I don't tweet, but I do have a facebook page, so I was busily signing up when the ole "by clicking here, you give Facebook permission to access your personal information blahdy blah blah" popped up.

Because I don't want to give Facebook permission to do anything except what I want it to do, I wrote to pinterest.com and said, "Hey! I want to pin stuff, but not with Facebook 's schnoz peering into my underwear drawer."

Enid wrote me back:

We do this to make it easier to find people you already know on Pinterest. Activity on Pinterest is never posted automatically: only pins/repins can be shared and you will control when you want to do so, if at all.

Frankly, I have no idea what that means.

She did recommend using Twitter to register because the process is "very lightweight," but I don't want to do that either.

Too bad, because I need more excuses to circumvent laundry and dinner-making.

It then occurred to me: is anyone thinking about copyright here? The site says if you link the image back to its original site, that is good pin "etiquette." From what I read, however, the artists and other image-makers out there are not crazy about this pinning craze. Fair use, copyright infringement, and other proprietary issues are firing up all over the place.

I think I'll let everyone sort it out and see what happens.

I'd love to hear what you think. Would you want someone to pin a picture of your granddaughter or dog or mountain cabin on their board? Have they already?

Table 7

2011-09-15T19:43:00.000-05:00

I'm posting this marvelous little movie by Marko Slavnic about a couple having an intimate conversation in a restaurant, unaware that their every word is being closely monitored.

Marko was kind enough to respond very quickly with his permission to "post away" on Naperville Now.

His website is at http://markoslavnic.com/.

The movie is a smidge over 4 minutes.

I loved Table 7. You will love it, too.

Sweet Autumn

2011-09-14T09:01:00.000-05:00

Actually, Sweet Autumn is the name of this bodacious clematis growing up my friend's mailbox.

I find very little that is sweet about autumn. It's just a showy prelude to ~~death~~ winter, which lasts anywhere from 5 to 6 months in Chicago. Which means it's time to get out the anti-depressants, lightboxes, and cases of wine, just a few of the components of this Chicagoan's winter survival kit.

I don't remember exactly when I became anti-autumn. Used to be, fall meant Mizzou football games, keggers and boys, crisp new clothes, Bic pens, and academic beginnings.

Now it's too much chocolate consumed in a fetal position while wearing a Snuggie. (Actually, this is a metaphorical Snuggie.)

Last year, I survived winter because I knew we were leaving for Savannah, GA, in February. It's what got me through January's hellacious snowstorms.

Dogs and children, know that your very lives were saved by this trip south to sunshine and water.

The very best part is, we may probably/pretty much/dear Lord let it be so get to do it again this February.

I can live with that, right?

With the Rest of the World

2011-09-11T11:04:00.000-05:00

We remember.

Flung

2011-09-10T09:53:00.000-05:00

The heat of Labor Day weekend was so intense, I think my brain melted. (Naperville Now is very sensitive in that way.)

In fact, I still feel a little shaky, so I'll have our little buddy do most of the talking about our time at Naperville's Last Fling.

Impossible not to be drawn to the lethal flying weapon game.

See the handcrafted sign on the left? It details the logic of "With another 10 bucks, lady, you can upgrade the prize."

Every boy needs a $400 whale.

Now, this game makes sense to me.

I believe our $5 monkey may have met a quick end once Howie,

the miniature black Lab, saw it surrender.

Cars, trains, trucks. All boy all the time.

And another generation enjoys the Dandelion Fountain on the Riverwalk.

It took great restraint on my part to not jump in.

(And I would have not been the first in the family to do so,

though there is some controversy surrounding the details of that plunge.)

As it was, we made our own cool.

And so the sun slowly set on little buddy's first Fling.

And my 24th.

Back To Something

2011-08-31T12:47:00.000-05:00

I've bought a package of Bic pens every year since our last child took off for college.

That was in 2005.

Six years of Bics.

Still wrapped in plastic.

I think I am suffering from some sort of back-to-school/space-time compulsion/menopausal/does anyone really know what time it is/conundrum-of-my-own-making.

Perhaps I should clean drawers more often, except now I'm a little scared.

I'd like to think that now that I've put this, uh, bit of wacky out there for all to see, I will be able to resist the impulse to add to the collection and refrain from starting a new one, possibly with marble composition notebooks.

This is how cat hoarders get their start, isn't it?

(With thanks to my friend Joyce, who gave me this fabulous cup for Christmas last year. It is a perfect Bic bearer.)

Glorious

2011-08-28T16:07:00.000-05:00

With family living on the east coast, I feel guilty pointing out the beauty of this day along the Du Page River Trail. It looked as if the air had been scrubbed clean by all that turbulence. Everything was in magnificent detail.

Yesterday, I tried to ride a bike down this path. I have read that bike riding, once learned, is never forgotten. That's total crap. I nearly killed myself (and frightened a few others) on the path to Whalon Lake. So, until I can find a Sting Ray bike with foot brakes (and handle streamers), I'll stick to walking. Besides, it's safer to stop and take pictures.

One thing I have confirmed while on the trail is that men and women observe the world differently. My husband sees the sleek, Lycra-attired women who smiled at me as they zoomed by as "encouragers."

I thought they were quite smirky, actually.

Besides, in that I have no intention of setting any land speed records now or in the future, it's very agreeable to rest under the wing of an enormous oak tree.

We don't often get a chance to sit and just be.

I encourage you to try it.

Creeping Crud and a Fine

2011-08-26T17:02:00.002-05:00

Is it possible for mosquitoes to be rabid? The reason I ask is that I have the most awful swath of bites on the back of my neck. I itch like mad, and now have red, lumpy welts across my face.

Our granddaughter cried when she saw me.

So I'm thinking that if you need me, I will be the one in the calamine bath for the next couple of days. If something interesting pops up, like a hurricane or a plague of locusts, send me an email and I'll drag my sorry posterior to the computer.

Meanwhile, stay inside. It's dangerous out there.

xxx
Naperville Now

p.s. Oh, yes. The City of Aurora has fined me $100 for turning right on red by the high school. There is a sign at the intersection that says "No turn on red when pedestrians are present." There were none, so I turned. Perhaps a little too quickly, but I was late to see the new baby. And I was talking to Joyce in St. Louis. And I was just a little lost.

I'm thinking of delivering the money in person so I can at least give the Aurora Red Light Enforcement Program people a little jolt when I walk through the door. Facial welts that look as if they might be a little contagious? Have a nice day.

Architectural Touring

2011-08-22T20:29:00.001-05:00

Following our adventures with Superman and Mies van der Rohe, we ventured into Chicago, that great and wonderful nearby city with the over-priced parking and now, an outsized Marilyn Monroe.

(To make this picture work, I needed to use a ladder.

Also a crowd controller.)

Her lingerie appears to be fabric, but I didn't want to investigate too closely and be accused of being a creeper.

Marilyn was the last destination on our tour. We were there not to see France or underpants, but to take the Chicago Architectural Foundation's boat tour. Really. Here's what it looked like:

The Wrigley Building.

Reminds me of Metropolis, Clark Kent and spearmint gum.

The Chicago Tribune's billboard: "Now with broader shoulders."

Every once in awhile, it's good to bust out of the bubble that is Naperville, particularly on a glorious day filled with abundant sunshine.

Come and show me another city with lifted head singing
so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.

Carl Sandburg's poem Chicago is almost 100 years old. And with the exception of the hog butcher part, I do believe it still rings true.

Super Plano

2011-08-18T18:09:00.001-05:00

A Superman prequel is being filmed in the town of Plano, IL, a short dash just west of Naperville, if you're flying.

And while we didn't run into Russell Crowe or Diane Ladd, who will portray the Man of Steel's parents, we did browse the storefronts that are being transformed into a movie set.

Kinda neat, actually.

I'm assuming this is what happens when a spaceship falls on a roof.

Our waitress at the Main Street Diner told us this 7-Eleven was built expressly
for the movie and then will be blown up.
Or she was pulling our legs.
You decide.

Fighting for truth, justice and the American Way.
Also Bud.

We really went to Plano to see the Ludwig Mies van der Rohe house and just kind of bumped into Smallville.

Really.

I even have pictures.

And in the game of what's really super, this 1951 architectural gem is that. And, of course, much more.

Beauty, serenity, clean lines, simple, elegant, compelling, tranquil, lovely.

A treasure in our backyard.

The Farnsworth House, as it is called, requires tickets in advance, which you can buy online.

We plan to go back in autumn and see what it looks like surrounded by russet and gold.

Stand By

2011-08-17T20:20:00.000-05:00

Hello there.

I seem to have been out traipsing rather than keeping up with Naperville Now.

In fact, I've been to Plano, Chicago, Libertyville and Smallville. Yes, that Smallville. Russell, Kevin and Diane are, like, BFFs now. (Can one make BFF plural? Anyone have Roy Blount Jr.'s email?)

Much to report, just not tonight.

ttfn,

ps If the graphic rings any bells, let me know in the comments section.

To Market, To Market

2011-08-07T15:07:00.001-05:00

I've been a Kane County Flea Market fan since 1987, though I confess I haven't trolled the Sheep and Swine stalls for French faience in a long time.

On a whim, we scuffed our way through the fairgrounds last Saturday, and I only got yelled at once for taking photographs. (In truth, when I remember to ask vendors if I may take a picture, the answer always is yes.)

There's some pretty keen-o stuff being sold these days. Take a walk with me, won't you?

Admit it, you love spaghetti poodles and look for them wherever you go.

Memory art made of slag and pyrite and a whole lot of other unknown stuff. A great look for that perplexing corner of your home. Bring a crane. This urn weighs 300+ pounds.

Betsy of West Lafayette made these hula hoops that actually hula. She has an etsy store, too, which you can find here. She and her partners have darling stuff, mainly repurposed. I love that.

Tie snakes. Who knew?

Inside the lone air-conditioned building, we found Vintage Addiction. Darling booth.

Vintage fabrics in old frames for a bulletin board. Love it. Want it. All.

Then I saw, or rather inhaled, the booth of The Frenchman's Wife. In my trance, I forgot to ask if I could take a picture.

Lisa was not happy with me. I apologized. We compared blogs. We talked art. I think we are on good terms.

At another booth, due to the heat and excellent conversation, I forgot to take pictures altogether.

"Do you have a blog?" the booth owner asked as I checked out her tables of goodies.

While I suspected my husband of putting her up to it (he hadn't), we got to chatting like old friends. She has a full-time job, full-time kids and husband and a full-time life. And the need for an overflow valve for her stuff, hence the Kane County Flea Market. She is absolutely charming, so go find her in the double building and buy her stuff.

And be sure to get to the market early enough for the gnomes. I'm pretty sure we got the last one.

(In the interest of full disclosure, I have no financial connection to any of these vendors. I just like their stuff.)

Napped Out

2011-08-06T10:43:00.000-05:00

Of course, no one ever said it would be easy being 72 hours old.

Sweetest Baby Ever (SBE) born Aug. 2 to brother

Cutest Baby Ever (CBE) at Edward Hospital.

Seven pounds three ounces.

Confusion as to length (definitely a DNA thing).

19 1/2 or 3/4 or maybe just 19 inches long.

She's so comfy all curled up, it's hard to tell.

Hello, Charlotte. Welcome to your world.

Back To What?

2011-08-03T12:50:00.001-05:00

This page came from a free Naperville magazine that is mailed to us each month. The photograph was taken as part of a Back To School section.

I'm thinking she probably wouldn't need the hat if she had more clothes on.

Really? Who comes up with these fashion ideas?

Mostly, Naperville Now wants to know what you make of it.

Leave me a comment.

Do Not Disturb

2011-08-01T14:40:00.000-05:00

The laundry will remain in a mouldering heap.
Chinese take-out and pizza will be sufficient unto my day.
And boss? I quit because I have found my life's calling.

It is what makes this

turn into this:

And this

become this:

Am I the last person on earth to discover the joyous addiction that is Adobe Photoshop?

The Lifelong Learning class at Benedictine University that my friends and I took this summer was more fun than any college class has a right to be. Tinkering with saturation and values and curvy things on a grid was unquestionably the most fun I have EVER had. We would probably still be sitting in the classroom, oohing and ahhing over our groovy results, had the janitors not come in to sweep us out

Not only am I going to buy this software today, I'm going to have to invest in a really comfortable office chair. I don't plan on getting up until I've experimented with/improved 30-plus years of photographs.

Thanks again to Aaron, our teacher, for showing us the way to the light. And to the contrast. And to the levels. And especially to the burn and dodge.

Love, Grandma

2011-07-29T08:16:00.005-05:00

Dear Charlotte,

You are nearly here, and there’s so much explaining to do about the federal budget and debt ceiling crisis, I hardly know where to begin. This I do know: the whole debt/budget calamity has a lot of fuzzy math in it, with both Republicans and Democrats screeching, countering and plutttting at each other.

This will all seem familiar to you by the time you’re in seventh grade. The he saids, the she saids, the president said.

It’s all what one might expect in Junior High, but among the grownups? Not so much.

By the time I’m through trying to explain the trillions, the top 2% and the concomitant deficits, you will be in college, majoring in macroeconomics.

So until then, may I offer a few basics?

Don’t spend more than you have in your checking account.

Save a little bit each month. You’ll be glad for the cushion. And it’s satisfying to watch it grow (although the spending part can be satisfying, too).

When someone tells you that someone else said something outrageous, don’t believe it until you’ve spoken directly to that person. Direct is best.

Don’t open pictures sent from 202 area codes. Ever.

Read newspapers when you can, although I suspect they will mostly be in electronic form by the time you’re really following the Cubs.

Don’t follow the Cubs.

I’m sure there are a lot of other things that I can come up with that will be helpful to you down the road. As long as Blogspot is offering a free forum, I’ll write stuff down.

Meanwhile, we are all looking forward to Tuesday. Your Mom is especially ready.

Your dad’s got the crib assembled, Zach has painted the carpet (long story), I’m working on the curtains and your mom has washed all of those darling pink outfits. We won’t have to do laundry until you’re two, which is a cost-savings any political party can agree on.

Can’t wait to meet you, baby girl.

Love,

Grandma

Bucket List

2011-07-28T07:15:00.000-05:00

This was the cover of the Arts section of the Chicago Tribune on Sunday.

After I got my heart started again, it felt heady to be 11 years old again.

Tickets to his concerts at Wrigley Field are something like a billion dollars, but you know what? I'm pretty much okay with my creased newspaper. And that face.

Is there a band you'd love to hear? Or have you already been fulfilled on this front? Leave me a comment.

Shoot

2011-07-24T13:23:00.001-05:00

Much to my dismay, our field trip by bus to the Morton Arboretum was canceled because five students weren't enough to justify the gas. And while I realize it didn't make the greatest environmental sense, I was really looking forward to my first field trip since Mrs. Burrell's first grade went to a New York dairy to watch milk swirl around in stainless steel vats.

Saw my first cow that day, too.

In any event, our fearless instructor, Aaron (who is volunteering his time to teach this Lifelong Learning class) discussed brightness, contrast, saturation, temperature, clutter, the grid, hotspots and Ansel Adams.

Take out Ansel Adams and it sounds a bit like menopause, doesn't it?

After class, we took a "photowalk" around the campus, although I confess to getting sidetracked.

This is Sharon, author of the blog My Life with Labs and Jillian. She has a bodacious camera -- and she knows how to use it.

This is Kaki, a covert blogger with a special relationship with ospreys (in the photographic sense of the word). Also an excellent photographer.

We roamed Benedictine's campus trying to keep Aaron's lessons in mind.

A lesson in lines.

A lesson in clutter.

A lesson in staying dry.

A lesson in how to get an A.

Next Saturday is our last class, when we will learn how to use Photoshop, a handy utility for coping with double chins and bad hair.

I'll share some of the results down the road.

Benedictine University gets high marks for its Lifelong Learning program. The content is excellent and the price is right.

And seeing Kaki go after a ladybug on a weed? Priceless.

See

2011-07-22T15:08:00.000-05:00

One of the really great things about where we live is our backyard. While 95 percent of Illinois is flatter than a pancake and filled with prairie grasses, we live in tree central: elm, oak, hemlock, infuriating buckthorn, black walnut, serviceberry and mock orange.

And then there's the wildlife: annoying squirrels, even more annoying chipmunks, raccoons, skunk, deer. A fox trotted through our hostas just a few weeks ago.

It's all rather Disneyesque.

While starting dinner last night, I saw a flash of really intense blue just outside the window. An Indigo Bunting! We hadn't had one in ages!

"Honey!" I called out, rummaging for my glasses. "Tiptoe out here and see this bird!"

Upon further squint, I paused. "Wait! Is that a blue butterfly? Never had one of those before!"

I grabbed my camera.

It was very still and unafraid. I slipped outside to get a closer shot.

Rare and endangered helium balloon, ripped and roosting in the ivy.

So it's time for the optometrist.

Side benefit, howevever: I've been reading about this photographic effect called bokeh. And I think I (inadvertently) got it. A little bit, anyway.

I'll strive for a better subject next time. In fact, a few book buddies and I are taking a photography class at Benedictine College. I missed the first class last week on account of my trip to St. Louis. This week, I'm told, we are taking a field trip to the M0rton Arboretum in Lisle on Saturday. And we are taking a bus.

It feels just like first grade.

You're Welcome

2011-07-20T17:58:00.000-05:00

Just doing my part to keep 'yall cool.

Back

2011-07-19T20:27:00.001-05:00

Ever notice the trip home seems to have an extra 100 miles added in? It's a weird highway telescoping effect. Very Dr. Who, but not nearly as entertaining.

St. Louis is home, however, and I love that hot and humid city very much.

I was able to spend time with Tip and his adoptive mother in their new apartment. You remember Tip -- bad hairdo, bobbly head, fireplace soot on his shoulder blades.

This eating machine has hit the lottery, living with AJ. No more brothers to get between him and his Fancy Feast (which she warms up in the microwave.) Kibble on demand. Non-stop pats.

He is extraordinarily affectionate, a champeen purrer and indefatigable when it comes to exploring the fireplace. (Warning: Washing cats is neither easy nor advised.)

We eventually found enough safety pins to close the screen so he will be spared future scrub downs with Dawn dish soap.

When we weren't fussing over Tip, we were out and about in the city.

There is something about the architecture of St. Louis. I find it endlessly fascinating.

The red brick, the slate roofs, the Madeline-like qualities of the city neighborhoods. Love 'em.

Loved this also. A lot.

I think this guy was feeling the heat.

This whole corner in the Cherokee neighborhood was definitely going for a Reggae vibe.

Across the street from the fire hydrant is a wonderful antique store, R. Ege Antiques. Colored pencils from France that are two feet long are for sale, and just as soon as I find 850 dollars, I'm taking them home with me.

Hope you have a cool place to tuck into this week. Chicago, I hear, may be even hotter than St. Louis in the coming days. And that, my friends, is some kind of hot.

Le 14 Juillet

2011-07-13T20:06:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow, I am off to St. Louie, Louie, and I haven't time to post anything of great note.

However, tomorrow is Bastille Day, and I expect each of you to leave me an insanely detailed comment about your decorations, menu, wine selections, couture, sound track and assorted je ne sais quoi.

How exactly will you storm the gates this July 14th?

Allons enfants!

But first, a little inspiration:

July 3, 1951

Dad and my brothers no doubt thinking about Bastille Day.

(Mom wondering how to operate Brownie camera.)

May 2010

The city of Nice rocks the Tricouleur 59 years later.

Remember "Ou est la bibliotheque?" from French class?

Happy to report that I found it in Antibes.

You're welcome.

Baff

2011-07-10T19:50:00.001-05:00

Sorry to say, the slumping economy has affected the size of swimming pools.

The long- and short-range for cute, however, is at an all-time sizzle with an overall optimistic outcome.

Or something to that effect.

I got a 70.2 percent in Econ 51 and understood nothing, including those stupid widgets, for an entire semester.

Don't get me started with new math.*

*(per Wikipedia: New Math was a brief, dramatic change in the way mathematics was taught in American grade schools, and to a lesser extent in European countries, during the 1960s. The name is commonly given to a set of teaching practices introduced in the U.S. shortly after the Sputnik crisis in order to boost science education and mathematical skill in the population so that the intellectual threat of Soviet engineers, reputedly highly skilled mathematicians, could be met.)

So it all goes back to those Russians.

Total conspiracy.

Remember, you read it here first.

So Proud

2011-07-07T14:49:00.000-05:00

I'll admit it: I have no shame.

Got this little gem from my friend and blogger Kaki and had to share.

With thanks to the unknown graphic artist who created this.

Name That Cat

2011-07-05T08:39:00.000-05:00

Our daughter, AJ, moved into a new apartment in St. Louis last week.

All that was missing was a roommate.

PetSmart was having adoption day across the street.

She is now the owner of a 6-year-old cat with a neurological deficit. (They're called bobbleheads because of balance issues.)

Shiloh is his current name. I suggested Kitty. Or Carmel Crisco Wilbur, which is what my brother's first grade class named their hamster.

AJ suggested the faithful readers of this blog name him. So I want all 41 of you (Connie can vote twice) to leave a name in the Comments section.

Actually, this being Chicago, all of you may vote as often as you wish.

(He had to be shaved down due to fur issues. In six months, he will be quite poofy.)

The 4th

2011-07-03T19:51:00.001-05:00

What is it about fireworks and marshmallows?

And flags, of course.

And Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture (even though it's about Russia and France and not us whoopin' the Brits in the War of 1812. Wiki can be very handy. Just saying.)

And hydrangeas bursting in fullness.

And our friends Dave and Karen in from Middletown, Ohio, for a wedding in Barrington. (The Sancerre 2008 is fabulous. Thank you.)

And sweet corn for 22 cents an ear.

And cats with new homes.

And barbequed chicken. And salmon. And steak. (Possibly all three.)

And karaoke at the neighbors' house.

And for our dog's inability to hear M80s bursting in air.

And yellow finches diving into the fountain and playing tag in the trees.

And abundant sunlight and negligible humidity.

And babies due in precisely 30 days.

And flags at every mailbox in the neighborhood.

And the freedom to do it and see it.

And write about it.

Happy Fourth of July, everyone.

Fresh From Galway City

2011-06-30T19:32:00.003-05:00

My friend Barb, a journalism professor from Rhode Island, traveled to Ireland in early June to check out castles, girl pirates, pubs and the occasional singing group from my hometown.

It's a long way to Galway City.

I must confess we have yet to hear the Naperville Chorus perform on any continent. And while I am quite sure the chorus is splendid, we tend to listen to the Naperville Men's Glee Club when we are in a classics/spirituals/folk song state of mind.

In fact, the Glee Club is performing at the Bandshell tonight, which isn't much of a forewarning, sorry to say. But you can catch the Eventide performance at 5 p.m. Sunday, July 24 in Elmhurst.

In the Drink

2011-06-27T21:15:00.002-05:00

Over the weekend, we made a terror trip to St. Louis in order to bring a few household bits to our daughter, AJ. She has moved out of the city (named the Most Dangerous in 2010) and southward.

We took Bandit, our 1000-year-old dog, because he loves a road trip and is remarkably well-behaved for a dog who can't see or hear much anymore.

Part of move-in day involved a dinner invitation Saturday, which we accepted reluctantly because, afterall, we had this inconvenient dog. Not to worry, we were assured. There's a fenced-in yard. No worries! Really!

We arrive, meet our hosts for the first time and head to the yard so Bandit can sniff around a bit before dinner. Not three minutes into the story of the building of their backyard pool we hear a smallish splash.

Headed to the bottom faster than the Titanic is our dog.

I seem to remember a whole lot of slow motion on the pool deck.
"Beer?"
"Thank you, I'd love one."
"Cute sandals, Mom."
"Thanks! They're new."
"You say you built this pool in 2000?"
"That dog can't swim."

Jumping into the water, sandals still on my feet, I reach down and hoist Bandit up to the gaping crowd behind me. No mouth-to-muzzle required. Apparently he knows how to hold his breath.

By the time dinner was over, we were both fairly dry. And one of us still smelled good, so the evening wasn't a complete disaster. Pretty close, though.

We're packing swimmies next time. And a seeing-eye dog.

With major thanks to my pal Mike Haidley for the fabulous

Bandit in Hot Water illustration.

Did You See That?

2011-06-24T11:14:00.000-05:00

My friend Joyce, a textile artist of the highest order, recently returned from the quilt show in Paducah, KY. (It's a big event, though I'm told the one in Houston, like everything in Texas, is positively ginormous.)

Photo ops were hanging from the walls

(paying a little homage to our college sorority here)

as well as strolling the aisles

If you can get past the shock of what this woman is wearing, take a minute and check out the lady standing just behind her.

"Either I've been at this damned show too long, or she has."

Leave me a better caption in the comments section.

Many thanks to the vigilant Joyce for allowing the use of her pictures. (And in the event the behooped and bequilted lady is from Lisle or Downers Grove or even Naperville, I felt it best to decapitate her. I know you'd do the same for me.)

Seriously?

2011-06-19T15:53:00.002-05:00

Back in November, when it was already 10 degrees and grayer than a Chicago mood, our basement drain backed up and contaminated pretty much everything. To those of you who have followed the basement's restoration-by-bleach-and-9000-rubbermaid-containers (it started here, should you care to relive every Leeuwenhoekian detail), I thank you. And I have bad news. The drain did it again. Then again. And once more, just for fun.

Now the subsequent tidal waves of that-which-shall-not-be-named were squelched before setting any of those plastic boxes afloat. But the physics of this problem alluded and infuriated us beyond the edge of reason, which means we called a plumber.

He determined the back-up was INSIDE THE HOUSE, clearly a plotline stolen from When a Stranger Calls, rather than in the pipes running out to the street.

He managed to do whatever it is plumbers do and advised that we were to use only toilet paper that is single-ply, or barely-ply. "Just don't use the cushy, expensive stuff."

I have given up cigarettes and eggs and diet Coke and my thyroid. And now Charmin.

There is no end to the sacrifice. Or the scratchiness.

With huge thanks to my pal Mike Haidley for his exquisite rendering of our wave of woe.

Cantigny

2011-06-13T19:19:00.001-05:00

My father-in-law fought in the Pacific during the Second World War, piloting landing craft like this one, recently restored and on display at the First Division Museum at Cantigny:

Here's a heart-stopping view of Normandy, France, from a similar craft on D-Day:

These boats, we learned, even had assigned seating: Flame Thrower Team, Demolition Team, Wire Cutting Team, Browning Automatic Rifle Team, Bazooka Team. Lieut. (jg) Al Johnpeter.

This boat likely was used in the D-Day invasion of France. In peacetime, it became a barge used by French fishermen. Sixty-seven years later, it's been restored and is one of maybe 12 left of the 22,000 used in the war.

My father-in-law, like most veterans, rarely spoke of his experiences. Letters he wrote home are filled with news of the oppressive heat, his longing for a cold glass of buttermilk and waiting for a watch from his parents. We have learned from the records of the U.S.S. Wayne that he piloted a landing craft in seven separate engagments. So, we felt the need to see and understand just a little, just for a moment.

Cantigny (the g is silent, mes amis) is the home of Robert R. McCormick, publisher of the Chicago Tribune. As a commander in the 1st Infantry Division during the First World War, he renamed his estate Cantigny in honor of the first American victory. Now the grounds and museum, located in Wheaton, IL, are a memorial to and research center for the "Big Red One," as the division is named.

The gardens are absolutely lovely.

Water's Edge

2011-06-06T08:13:00.002-05:00

The Allies landed on the beaches of Normandy 67 years ago. Two months later, they would land in southern France. The war would end in May 1945.

Five years later, my parents and brothers would be living in France while Dad pursued a degree in French at the University of Montpellier.

These cement fortifications, placed on the beach near Palavas-les-Flots, originally were at the water's edge and mined to prevent allied landings.

September 1950. Jeannot at play on the beach.

My heart always skips a beat when I see this picture. A grim reminder of horror and innocence in one fell click.

Reward

2011-06-02T14:23:00.000-05:00

Last night was our inaugural dinner on the patio, which means we are about a month late doing the normal in Chicago.

And because it's been a year since we were doing the same thing with family in southern France, I felt moved to whip out my Eiffel Tower candle holder. (Amazing what one can find at the Kane County Flea Market.) The glass jars are yogurt containers from the store Monoprix.

And while our menu wasn't exactly the magret de canard rôti au feu de bois that we savored at the restaurant L'Oree d'Opio, it was pretty good, especially the grilled Vidalia onions (tossed with green beans, Yukon gold potatoes, and Herbes de Provence. I like one-step stuff on the grill. Fewer dishes.)

It was a relief to be outside and at leisure. Usually, we are huffing and puffing over the hostas, or weeding, or watering, or debating how ruthless we can be/should be when it comes to the chipmunks. (They are, to paraphrase Carrie Bradshaw, just rats with better coats.)

The evening was still and relatively unbuggy. In short, the kind of day we yearn for in the bleak of winter. In spring (or this year, nearly summer), we emerge blinking and stumbling into the sunlight and warmth. And turn on the grill. And invite friends over for dinner.

Bandit was particularly taken with the Baja Chipotle chicken. The portions, however, were too conservative for his taste, which explains the pout.

Memorial Day in Naperville

2011-05-30T17:46:00.000-05:00

Marching bands, a multitude of flags, and our veterans under sunny skies.

Pretty much a lump in the throat kind of morning.

Thank you. Thank you.

In Honored Glory

2011-05-29T13:44:00.003-05:00

There is an American cemetery in Draguignan, France, where the casualties of the southern invasion were interred. We visited the Rhone American Cemetery last spring.

There was a long-stemmed rose propped against a white marble headstone, one of more than 850 in the cemetery. I didn't have the courage to take a picture of it. It seemed too intrusive to photograph someone's grieving tribute to a soldier killed so long ago.

Nous serons insurmontables si nous demeurons unis dans la charite.
We will be invincible if we live united in charity.

The American Battle Monuments Commission, the guardian of all the overseas cemeteries and memorials, has a Facebook page. It is filled with touching tributes, among them posts from people in France and elsewhere who have "adopted" the care of the graves of American servicemen from both World Wars. Some even wish to connect with their families.

So, on this Memorial Day, what will you be thinking of? Peace, surely. A rose, maybe. Tribute, certainly.

101 Things to Do in Naperville

2011-05-28T12:21:00.000-05:00

Hey, hometown. Have you seen this book?

(And will someone tell me why I didn't think of it?)

Authors Ellen and Mary were at the Naperville Men's Glee Club performance at Wentz Concert Hall earlier this month, hawking this 6-inch square of fun fun fun.

From Scrabble in Fredenhagen Park (#99) to playing the GPS-driven Geocache game at the Settlement (#52) to practicing your "Ollies, Nollies and Kickflips (#31) at Naperville's two skate parks, there are many thoughtful and unexpected pursuits within its pages.

The book is available pretty much all over town. The authors' website is here.

A great gift for friends and for the city of Naperville.

Time

2011-05-22T20:28:00.001-05:00

There's a very nice man who occasionally walks his dog past our corner of the woods. We've spoken a few times to exclaim over each other's pet (his is definitely on crack cocaine; ours has 3 paws in the hereafter). Tonight, as Bandit wagged his tail and then lost track of what he was doing, I explained the old boy was 17 years old and nearer to God than thee.

"You mean this is the dog from your children's childhood?" he asked.

"Yes, and a living example of the power of costly veterinary care," I replied. "Imagine your dog in 14 years." (At that moment, she was joyously ricocheting off the earth and, occasionally, Bandit.)

As he gave Bandit a pat, he said imagining his children 14 years from now made him sad. His eldest was just finishing his first year of high school, the others were in junior high and grade school. Time seems to be speeding up, he said. And it made him sad to think about it.

I felt absolutely terrible for making him feel sad, particularly when I'm feeling rather invigorated myself. I'm enjoying this thing called freedom, which may be heretical and invalidate my Mom Card, but I am quite serene about it, thank you.

And while I have sometimes missed the carloads of kids, their stories of love lost and love attained, the swim meets and plays and assemblies and pomp and hoopla, I miss the careening back and forth not at all. And there is less laundry now, which is always a plus.

Kids, you know I love you. I am so glad you are launched and doing marvelously on your own. Which was the plan all along.

Go, you. Go, us.

Finally

2011-05-21T11:13:00.000-05:00

I could rant endlessly about Chicago's lost spring, but I will spare you and leave you with these soul-redeeming images from a Naperville garden.

Not my garden, of course. But an inspiring place, nonetheless.

One Can Never Have Too Many

2011-05-06T20:12:00.000-05:00

With thanks to the one who did all the work.

And to the one who kept her hand on the tiller.

And to the one who has given so much.

Happy Mother's Day, from someone very grateful to have had three wonderful mothers.

And thank you to those who've left encouraging words about Naperville Now here and on Facebook.

Stumped

2011-05-02T20:19:00.000-05:00

I am always amazed and delighted by what my favorite bloggers manage to come up with. Such variety! Such photography! Such naughty language!

However, Naperville Now is unsure as to how to proceed down the blogging trail. I need to mull my direction in life and the life of this blog. So while I roll up my sleeves and ponder, I'll get back to you with what I find out.

Meanwhile, if you have any suggestions, I'm listening.

xxx
Naperville Now

p.s. Thank you to Cindy and Maria for their contributions to the library my friend Barb is creating for Loaves and Fishes. They were down to 7 measly books by the time Barb got there to refill the shelves. Close one.

p.p.s. I managed to figure out the DVR so I could watch Kate and William's wedding in daylight. The hats were absolutely the best part.

Ray Ban

2011-04-28T15:58:00.000-05:00

Will whoever took the sun from Chicago please return it before my head explodes from the damp, the rain and the damn cold.

Thank you.

(Other than the occasional typo, this is the first time Naperville Now has used bad language.)

Watching?

2011-04-25T20:48:00.001-05:00

Twenty-five years ago, I set the VCR in our Atlanta home, telling our daughter that in the morning we would watch a prince marry his princess. This is heady stuff when you're 4-years-old.

In the morning, we grabbed coffee and tiara and prepared to be wowed by the wedding of Sarah Ferguson and Prince Andrew. But because I hadn't programmed the STUPID VCR correctly, what we got were two hours of Lassie reruns.

Our daughter wasn't bothered in the slightest, being a Lassie fan from way back. Later we would watch the wedding highlights on the news, but it wasn't nearly as captivating as watching one's very own video cassette of the event.

Fast forward (a little VCR humor there) to Saturday, when we became Comcast customers, throwing over Wide Open West for a better deal. And of course, I have no clue which of the 400 channels is which or, for that matter, how to tape anything.

Prince William and Kate are getting married this Friday.

Would someone please throw a tape in for me? Thanks.

Books, Glorious Books

2011-04-23T10:28:00.001-05:00

Being the book geek that I am, I tend to hang out with those similarly wired. And a friend (and founding mother of) our book club is steering a book drive for Loaves and Fishes, Naperville's food pantry.

Each week, as families pick up groceries, they can grab a book for themselves and a couple for their kids.

That's the good news.

The great news is demand is exceeding supply.

So, Naperville and environs, do me this favor: Grab a paper sack, stand in front of your bookcase(s) and start to cull your literary herd. Call me or email me, and I'll make sure your books get to Barb, who will see to it that your generosity is channeled at the right time to the right people.

Fiction, non-fiction, and especially children's books are desired. (Lisa, also in our book club, bought 41 children's books at her library for 10 cents each and brought them to Barb just this week. A simple and generous investment that will fly off the shelf very quickly.)

Should it be that you don't know who/where I am (I have that problem myself, occasionally), I've left my email at the bottom of this post so we can arrange to get your books where they will be read and appreciated.

Thanks in advance.

A house without books is like a room without windows. ~ Heinrich Mann

suejohnpeteratgmaildotcom

Hopping Down The Refi Trail

2011-04-19T16:54:00.000-05:00

My husband, the-one-in-charge-of-all-things-math, and I refinanced our house today. I think it's a good deal, from what I can tell from the 9,000 pages of documents, codicils, releases, subparagraphs and deeds that we signed and initialed for a full hour.

It was especially worth it when the guy overseeing our signingsigningsigning showed me a picture on his phone of a hole in his front yard filled with baby rabbits.

I like a Wild Kingdom spin on my financial transactions. Random, yet relaxing.

On the other hand, I was completely undone at the outset of the refi adventure when some bank woman zoomed across the lobby and asked very loudly, "Are you foreclosure?"

"Foreclosure? No!"

"No, no. I said are you here for a closing?"

"You might want to lower your voice because that's not what it sounded like," I replied. "And yes, they know we're here," you loud and zooming idiot. (That last part, you will have noticed, is not in quotes because I didn't say it out loud. I was very rabbit-like in that regard.)

Family Reunion

2011-04-15T19:25:00.003-05:00

Through the miracle of the Internet, a 19th century photo album has been returned to my family.

Now, for those of you whose eyes glaze over whenever I bring up my dearly departed relatives (Hi, Steve, and Happy Birthday), feel free to skip over to a non-genealogical post, which is pretty much every Naperville Now since 2009.

I've been in genealogical touch with several distant cousins since Prodigy was our ISP. Two weeks ago, Larry, whose fabulous website documents much of my family and various brooks and ripples off the Vredenburgh trunk, emailed me with news that a photo album, bearing the pix of possible relatives, was in the hands of a lady in Missouri. She had purchased it at a garage sale 23 years ago. An ancestry.com subscriber, she recently started to troll the various member-contributed data bases to see if she could connect with the right family. Lucky for us, she found Larry, who wrote to me and our cousin, Marc.

After exchanging several emails to establish if Eunice, Lulu, Clarence et al were my family (they are, in a first-cousinly way), Wilma and her family drove up to Chicago with family and album in hand.

We met at Wendy's by the interstate.

I told everyone where we were going, who we were meeting with and why.

I even arranged for the dog to be walked in the event we were ambushed and left crumpled and confused in the parking lot.

Happy to report that Wilma is a delightful human being who just wanted to see the album returned to its family.

This is us.

We share a lot in common, Wilma and I, and not a few geographical ties. And her trip up here -- to see her grandchildren in a choir competition -- was pure chance.

She says she was on the hunt for McDonald's toys at that garage sale all those years ago and saw the album.

(My mother would be over the moon to see this.)

The guy on the right, and you're dying to know, I can tell, is my great great grandmother's brother, Horace. His wife, Mary, is on the left. I could go on with the family tree, but I realize not everyone has the same zeal for identifying dead people that I have.

The album quest has reenergized my interest in researching this branch. Cousin Marc just found out where these folks are plugged, so he and I are off on a road trip to Cedar Rapids next month.

In that Marc and I have never met, it occurs to me that he may have a few reservations about me. Not to worry, Marc, it will just be me, a geek bearing pics.

Raking It In

2011-04-13T19:40:00.001-05:00

I promise a fairly boffo post by the weekend, provided I'm not knocked over the head with a steel pipe in the conservatory by Mrs. White.

Until then, I leave you with both the glory and pain-in-the-lower-back that is Spring, at least in our little wooded corner of Naperville.

One yard waste bag costs approximately 50 cents. Add to that $2.10 for just one yard waste sticker. Multiply that mess by 13 bags and I can tell you that tomorrow's contribution to the landfill will cost Naperville Now a whole LOT of money.

And that's just this week.

There has got to be a smarter way to get rid of all of this stuff without a) getting in trouble and b) being environmentally irresponsible.

Suggestions?

But He Followed Me Home

2011-04-10T15:11:00.002-05:00

I don't get over to the Dominick's side of Naper Boulevard very often. I got mad at a grocery clerk there several years ago and took my business across the street to the Jewel.

But Maytag seems to have moved elsewhere and the pet store from across the street has relocated to the Dominick's side.

Back when the girls were little, we were at that Dominick's store nearly every day (cooking/planning menus never having been my strong suit). Getting past the candy aisle required every ounce of cunning and skill that I had. I cannot imagine having to contend with all of that furry, feathery, and watery temptation nearly next door.

"But Mommmmm! We only want to looooooook! We promise! Pleeeease? Pleeeeease? A Sugar Glider/snake/gerbil/hamster/rabbit/hedgehog doesn't take up hardly any room. Or eat too much. They are waaaay cooler than fishes. Pleeeeeease!"

From the bottom of my heart, thank you for waiting 24 years to relocate.

And thank you for carrying our 1600-year-old dog's kibble. Now we don't have to take a field trip up Hwy. 59 to stock up.

This is Cheese, one of several kitties that are part of Naperville's Waifs and Strays Animal Rescue. While waiting to be adopted, he's in charge of patrolling inventory.

Tama is in charge of tunes.

And this one's mission is to keep the hamster population at a manageable level.

Dude, you are so busted.

The store also pet sits. I love that. In fact, over spring break, they hosted 40 cages worth of clients. At the moment, their main charge is this Umbrella Cockatoo.

Blue eyes, 38 years old, enjoys sunsets and live worms.

(Disclaimer: Pets, Etc., doesn't know Naperville Now from a Goliath Horned Worm, although in the interest of full disclosure, we did buy a hermit crab (and a luxurious condo to go with it) about 20 years ago. An instructive, albeit short-lived, pet.)

Death Thumbs

2011-04-08T15:13:00.001-05:00

My indoor gardening skills are pretty pathetic. In fact, this is the only plant I haven't managed to water into an early death.

I don't pay too much attention to it, to be honest, as it lives in all of its self-reliant glory in a corner of the house where the dog likes to throw up.

I try not to go in there very often.

This morning, however, it occurred to me the plant might be thirsty, so drinking glass in hand, I went into the living room and saw this:

I think I've managed to grow poison ivy in a Christmas Cactus.

Bye Bye Blockbuster

2011-04-04T16:41:00.000-05:00

By now, I'm sure you've seen Blockbuster's Going Out of Business sign on Naper Boulevard. I didn't pay a whole lot of attention to it the first 99 times I drove by. We do the on-demand thing, and I cannot recall the last time I browsed the shelves of any movie rental store (which might explain the company's financials).

But we were there on Friday night, after some Kung-Pao Chicken at the Chinese Emperor next door. Charlie suggested we go buy some stale Junior Mints and perhaps a movie or two. After reigning in my shock ("You want to go shopping?"), we went into BB.

Most of the shelves had been cleared by customers who paid attention the first time they saw the Going Out of Business sign. It occured to me I would have liked to own Gone With the Wind, The Yearling and Defending Your Life. You know, the classic stuff. These were long gone.

But there were still a lot of other titles left. And as we started to do that awkward checking-out-the-movie-shelves stroll (a cross between spastic line dancing and Walk Like an Egyptian), it occurred to me that we had done this crazy dance hundreds of times when we took our kids to the movie store to find a "tape" for the weekend. And I had completely forgotten what that "walk" looked -- and felt -- like. Scissor leg, stand, pause, consider, scissor leg, lean in, accidently bump into customer, apologize, stand. To be repeated until you had navigated up one side of the store and back down the other. Land Before Time and Belle and Sebastian. The Black Stallion and Jurassic Park. ("What's it rated?" "Mom, it's G." Not the whole truth.) National Velvet. Babe. Big. Back to the Future.

I can still recite a lot of the dialogue of those shows, but I didn't remember the walk until Friday night when we found a few "tapes" for next to nothing. And a couple of boxes of Junior Mints, for old times' sake. They were as fresh as can be.

e-Inspiration?

2011-04-01T14:16:00.000-05:00

Naperville Now may have inspired Will County to pilot a curbside pick-up of your old Betamax machines.

Per the local newspaper:

Items accepted include: computers, laptops, monitors, printers, televisions, all types of telephones, answering machines, computer mouse devices, keyboards, zip drives, computer cables, string lights, microwaves, fax machines, scanners, MP3 players, PDAs, video game consoles, video cassette players/recorders, DVD players and more. There is a limit of 10 items per service.

I am assuming if you live in DuPage County, you also are eligible for this service, but the article didn't say so specifically. (Naperville straddles Will and DuPage counties, for those of you reading this in St. Kitts and desirous of honing your geographical skills.)

We took a huge load of e-stuff to Bolingbrook last month. (You can relive every exciting detail here.) But, I daresay, as we continue the slash and burn of our horrifying basement, more e-recycling will be necessary. This time, all we'll have to do is call Vintage Tech Recyclers of Romeoville at 877-786-4715 to arrange a pick-up.

Way to go, you conscientious hate-to-see-waste-cast-into-the-landfill types over by der. Very cool. Thank you.

Washed Up

2011-03-29T08:43:00.000-05:00

The ole Kenmore came to a screeching and shuddering halt on Sunday. I hate it when that happens.

Aren't these stupid appliances supposed to last until you're carted off to a nursing home? I keep thinking it's part of a plan being perpetrated on the buying public by avaricious appliance designers. This could explain many things, including my sister-in-law's brand new microwave oven blowing up 10 days out of warranty. (You should see the scorch marks.)

I'm disappointed in these manufacturers for being short-sighted and creating appliances that should last, if not a lifetime, then fairly close. I also blame them for avocado green. Not a good design decision in any decade.

Charlie and I hit 17 stores yesterday, armed with a list of what not to buy, courtesy of a local repairman who does not recommend front loading anything. (But they're so spiffy! And gleamy! And red!)

The good news is they can deliver tomorrow. And because we are in that microscopic segment of the population that doesn't want a front loader, we got a pretty good deal.

At least, I think we did. Ask me in 366 days. From Wednesday.

New Content

2011-03-25T23:53:00.003-05:00

This is my 200th post, an anniversary that happens to coincide with a most wonderful announcement:

"New content has been added to your family tree."

If you are an Ancestry.com subscriber, this will resonate hugely. If you have posted your genealogy online, you have received emails alerting you to the fact that someone out there in this big blue world has "added content to your family tree."

In our case, however, it is our daughter who will be adding new content (with a little help from son-in-law Dennis) to our family tree around the first of August. Her name, at this great and awesome moment, is

Charlotte Elizabeth

Hello, Charley. And welcome -- almost -- to the world. We can hardly wait to meet you in ~~person~~ baby.

Your brother is celebrating his 2nd birthday this weekend, so we are looking very much forward to being in full woo hoo mode.

We are all about the blue and the pink, baby girl. And our hearts are very full.

Welcome (shortly) to our corner of the earth. We'll be so glad to know you.

Let's Review, Shall We?

2011-03-21T14:41:00.000-05:00

As a rule-follower and former New Yorker, it pains me to watch pedestrians and bikers be so dense when it comes to traffic signals.

Time for review (and don't make me stop this car):

This, dear friends, means stop:

The large red hand does not mean "High five, dude, now cross the street," because if you do, you will most assuredly be killed. No, the large red hand means stop. As in, do not cross the street. As in, stop.

To review:
Red hand = stop. Do not go. Stay on the curb. Ponder life for a few extra seconds. Chill.

When it is your turn to cross, the red hand goes away (I love magic, don't you?) and this appears:

See how his legs are kinetic, implying motion? That means you! Time to cross the street. It is safe (mostly) to do so, so skedaddle on across -- on foot, with your 10-speed, pushing your baby in his stroller.

(I suppose in a perfect world our little walking man should be green, but I can't control everything.)

So, remember: red hand = stop. Little walking man = go.

Now go out there and be careful, especially at Royce and Washington.