MBFTIBMTTIF: Runaway Baby

Before we get started... please click this link. I'm in the mood to give this blog a soundtrack today.

Feeling good? Alright, let's start. With 17 days left til the race, I've got a lot to catch up on. Here was Week 8 in numbers.

2.5 with a stroller.
3 on a treadmill with wet feet.
6.5 in the rain.
8 in the snow.
4 out of anger and confusion.
All 18 miles out of choice.

I think I'm officially a runner. I signed up for this marathon out of a desire to do something for me. All 18 of those miles were for me. Week 8 happened to be the week of the Boston bombing. That week, Monday's miles were to cope with the shock. Friday wasn't much different. I've been tossing ideas around in my head in regards to my feelings about the event, and frankly, many other people have put my thoughts into words in a prettier fashion and you should probably read this, this, or this. (Okay, that last one is just hilarious.)

Dealing with the one year anniversary of a friend's passing, plus Boston, plus the normal turbulent tumult of my ever transient twenties has made the last few weeks less than excellent. But instead of bringing everyone down further, I've made a small departure from my usual blogging style and compiled a list of ten things that made me feel better over the last few weeks  -- hopefully some of them will lift your spirits as well.

1. RUNNING. On Monday, April 15, I ran through Diversey Harbor. Nay, sprinted. I was angry at the news and I couldn't slow myself down until after mile two. I was missing the Boston skyline and instead had this insane view of Chicago midstorm. Boston in my heart, Chicago on the horizon. And I felt better.

2. THIS LINK came to me from my good friend Dani. As someone who is paid to look after a tiny person, I can say that I have multiple experiences like this every day. Henry is a fan of shutting himself in his dog's kennel. Why? I do not know. But it makes me laugh each and every time.

3. TURTLE RACING. What's that you may ask? Exactly what it sounds like. Go to the bar. Buy beer. Get tickets. If your ticket gets pulled you choose a turtle. If that turtle wins the race, you get a free drink or a tshirt. We didn't actually get to race a turtle but I'm 100% going back. It was 100% hilarious and 100% worth the beer I drank out of a solo cup. I recommend this wholeheartedly. 100%.

4. OMG EDITH. Special shout out to THE BLOG THAT PRODUCED THIS MEME.

5. EATING STUFF. Making good use of all of the food Chicago has to offer also helped out over the last few weeks. Right now I'm trying to decide which was better. Eating this Chi Dog Pizza at Dimo's or getting free rhubarb pie last week at Bang Bang. (Side note: Free pie officially makes us regulars! I've always wanted to be a regular somewhere. Couldn't have picked a better spot to make our own.) Shout out to Leor for being present on both food-tastic

occasions.

SERIOUSLY THOUGH GUYS. THAT'S CHICAGO DOG PIZZA.

6. LOVE. Phone calls and texts with my loved ones. I spent so much time on the phone during the week of the bombing. I talked to my parents, my friends in Boston and beyond. And I was overwhelmed at the number of texts I received asking if my family and friends in Boston were okay. Thank you to everyone who looked out for me. I appreciate the gesture more than you know. (Except I just told you, so now you know.)

7. SARA BAREILLES released a new single. Which means a new CD and another tour. Gosh this girl is incredible.

8. THIS ARTICLE. Please tell me these are real comments and not something made up by a comedian. Please, please, please. Not sure you want to click one more thing? This is a preview:

HOW CAN A STRANGER TELL IF TWO PEOPLE ARE MARRIED?

You might have to guess, based on whether they seem to be yelling at the same kids.
- Derrick, age 8 

HILARIOUS RIGHT!??! Get reading.

9.  CULOTTES. I'm happy to report that I've gotten a lot better at biking since last year. But one thing that drives me crazy is always having to wear shorts under my dresses and skirts while I bike. Well, thanks to Target, my problem is solved! Check out these babies, you only THINK they're a skirt. THEY'RE ACTUALLY SHORTS. Mine are adorable like this:

10. PRIDE. I've run with this hat a lot during the past few weeks, and all I can say is, I'm so proud to be from Massachusetts. Proud, proud, proud. And that's helped me getting through. (And yeah, that's Ollie the Owl and me showing some Boston/Brandeis pride. And maybe a little sadness.)

PS - That's me trying to look disheartened. I realize now that I kind of look like I'm saying the Pledge of Allegiance. Deal with it.

Well, Erika, (you might be saying), that certainly was random. It sure was, dear readers. But here's what I've got. Messy things are going to happen every day. Sad things are going to happen every day. But so are the happy and the silly. So all I've got for now is -- just keep running.

Til next time my loves.

xoxo,
E

Number 65: Remember the "a la mode" (Or Remember Why You Started This Blog in the First Place)

2013.
The new year. For some, this is a time for new beginnings, a fresh start, clean slate. For others, it is a time to celebrate. For me, it is a time to remember where I have been and how much further I have left to go. I stopped making resolutions years ago because I felt like I never stuck to them. But looking back at all of the new people and new experiences that 2012 brought into my life, I am thinking of the new year as a benchmark, and an opportunity to be thankful for everything I have.

Moving far away from my family, friends, and my home state was a hard thing to do, but it was a change I needed and I do not for one moment regret doing it. There are good days and there are bad days and even on the days where I feel like I belong and everything is falling into place -- well even on those days, especially on those days, I miss my loved ones the most. You can replace so many things in your life. You can figure out how to make a fresh start in so many ways, but you can't replace the people who truly love you.

Sometimes I sit on the bus with my headphones in, but the music off. I listen to people sharing and living and that's when I feel the most like I'm actually a part of things. Of the hum and the doldrum. Those are the days I realize that the city isn't new and that I don't stick out. And those are the days I know something's headed my way. Because this life doesn't stay quiet for long. And because every once and awhile I look up at the skyline... and it all feels fresh again.

And I remember that the city is magical. And still new. And I can't help but feel that 2013 has something special in store for me.

But today, in this first week of this new year, I am thankful for everyone in my life. From Pittsfield to Everett to DC to Sitka to Israel to San Francisco and to this little town they call Chicago. I am thankful to all of the people who love me and have faith in me. I love you back.

This year, my only resolution is to love. So get ready for it, friends. It's going to be a good one. Happy New Year.

xo,
Erika

(...and stay tuned! Because the blog is getting a revamp and some more love in 2013 as well.)

Number 12: Write your acceptance speech for your "Woman of the Year" award

Fall is my favorite time of year. The leaves change and fill the sky with warm colors to counteract the sudden chill in the air. Fall means the start of a new school year, apple picking, Halloween, my parents' anniversary, sweatshirts and scarves and tights. It means shopping for that new pair of boots and pumpkin flavored everything.

The the last two weeks of September leading into the first two weeks of October is my favorite time to be in Berkshire County, Massachusetts. I love taking a drive along Route 7, seeing the colors from up high as I travel North, or winding through the oversized homes surrounded by the lush foliage in South County. But somewhere in the middle, lies Pittsfield. My home town. And there, amidst the memories of pillaging the leaf piles in my front yard, lies some beautiful memories of two beautiful women.

For those of you who aren't familiar with the Jewish calendar, the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah, occurs in the fall. It is a time to celebrate the sweet things in life, like family. As I suddenly find myself farther from home than ever before (minus my brief stint in England), I've thought of two women that couldn't deserve a Woman of the Year Award more than my two grandmothers. We have many traditions in my family, but no tradition is as great as that of love and acceptance. When my parents were married in October 1983, it would have been easy for Sylvia Geller and Cecelia Rainka to become family in title only. Their children came from two long standing sets of traditions -- my father from a faithful Jewish family and my mother from a devoted line of Polish Catholics. I can't imagine how scary it must have been for them to compromise some of their traditions so that their children could wed. From what I know, the two families didn't immediately run to each other with open arms. But it took some extreme bravery and a whole lot of love to put aside their basic differences and discover that when it came down to it their traditions were not all that different -- they both loved their families more than anything, and that made all of the difference. Despite what prejudices they might have had 29 years ago, as a child, I never knew that my grandmothers were not always friends.

With my paternal grandparents in Florida, Winter 1988(?)

Holidays in my house are a well-rounded family affair. My maternal grandmother sends out cards for Rosh Hashanah and attended our Passover seders and my paternal grandmother never missed a Christmas Eve dinner. And without knowing it, I learned things from them both. From Sylvia, my dad's mother, my "Grandma," I learned the importance of picking up the newspaper in the morning. That staying informed about the world will always serve you well, whether it is in passing conversation or making an important life decision. She taught me that you are never too old to make new friends, or learn new skills. Grandma was a Netflix member long before I was, and waking up for an 8 am Friday class in college was always made a little easier when I had an early morning email waiting from her in my inbox.

With my Baba

My mother's mother, or my "Baba," was the one who cared for me before and after school as a child. She taught me how to poach an egg and darn a pair a jeans. She gave me an appreciation for how hard both my parents worked. To this day when I go home, I try to do small things around the house for my parents, whether it is loading the dishwasher or switching over a load of laundry because the words, "Your mother works hard, help her out when you can" always echo in the back of my mind. Baba also taught me that remembering the small things, even someone's name can go a long way in making someone's day. And from them both I learned the importance of independence. They were both widows for the majority of my lifetime, and I watched these two fiercely independent women host holidays, mow lawns, pay bills, and take care of their families. Sometimes when I will myself to do something brave, I think of Grandma and Baba, and I try to imagine what they would tell me to do.

My grandmothers, with my brother.

When Grandma passed away in August 2008, Baba mourned not just as an in-law but as a sister and a friend. And that's when I learned the most important lesson of all. Love. Love always comes first. No matter how different you might think you are, a sense of love and compassion for those around you, especially your family, will always carry you through. And for that, I thank you both. You both lived through so much, and I've never met two stronger or more beautiful women in my life. (Unless you count their daughters, among them my mother, who also inherited my Baba's strength and ability to love fiercely.) I miss you both in different ways every day, but I'm comforted when I can feel you next to me. Grandma, I was missing you last week so I made my first ever batch of matzo ball soup -- and it turned out okay! Baba, every time I give a stranger a smile and they smile back, I think of you, for you are the kindest woman I've ever met.

Fall reminds me of both of you in different ways, but mostly because it makes me think of home, and that makes me think of you. I'm grateful for all that you've give me over the years, but without you, I most certainly would not be where I am today, or WHO I am today. Happy New Year, Everyone. May you be surrounded by loved ones as the seasons change. And to my grandmothers, thank you. Shana Tova. Sto lat. I love you.

Matzo ball soup now, pierogies to come next!

Number 59: Send a thank you letter to a mentor

There's a reason we named you Papa Bear. To be honest, I'm not even sure how that started or who started it. I picked it up from K (I've got you to thank for that too!) and it has always made sense to me. To us.

There's this thing that's always been a part of me. This ridiculous thing I'm passionate about. This thing that makes sense to me when nothing else does. This thing that motivates me. This thing I understand better than anything in the world and can't stop doing, no matter what. There was a time when I couldn't figure out how to MAKE THEATRE. (If I'm really being honest, when this story starts, I didn't even know what that meant. I just knew it was the only thing I had ever cared so much about.)

In September 2005, eighteen-year-old me went off to college thinking that everything would be easy like it was in high school. And it wasn't. I wanted so badly to be on stage my first semester, and I didn't get to. And it had me second guessing myself... until January 2006 rolled around. You did a simple thing. Something that could have turned out to be nothing.  You cast me. You said the part is yours. You are the right fit for this. You fit with us theatre folk. And that was it. Because that one little thing started a domino effect. Because this....

Turned into this:

 And SOMEHOW, two years later, THAT turned into THIS:

Although, it was chance that the first time I flew to Chicago was for your wedding... it seems oddly karmic, or at the very least, appropriate considering how things have turned out. I've been "the big sister" my whole life, and it was nice to realize that I had a big brother watching out for me. Because although you've given me some amazing advice over the years, it was often what you didn't say (I know I deserve more "I told you so's" than have been uttered), that led me in the right direction.

And so I'll say something I've said before, but I can't say enough: THANK YOU. Thanks for that one little part. Because that part introduced me to a whole new world of theatre. And in that world, I met K. And K introduced me to ML. And without those introductions, I never would have ventured out on the scariest thing I had ever attempted to do. And if The CoLab had never happened, I never would have had the courage to do the second scariest thing I've ever attempted to do, pick up and move half-way across the country. I know what you're thinking, and I promise I'm not over-embellishing. I know I'm here due to a lot of hard work, determination (sometimes to be mistaken for pigheadedness), a dash of stupidity, a little magic, and a whole host of other wonderfully supportive folks; but there was something about that first play at Brandeis that shaped me.

I've learned so much from you as a director, an actor, a theatre professional, and most importantly, as a friend. When I make my Chicago stage debut this month, I'll say it again. Because sometimes I forget how much I love what I do. And I was reminded this week of how much the theatre is not just a part of my life, but a large part of who I am as a person. So Papa Bear, thank you. For everything.

(And let's face it, after this post, there's no way any of the five of us can blame you for aiding us towards our collective future as a FAMILY of starving artists.)