What Would Francis Do?

I'm not sure how to start this post.  I'm sitting on my patio in the bright sunshine, at 3:00 pm on a Monday afternoon.  I took today off, knowing I would be exhausted and jetlagged from my recent travels to Italy.  I'm not sure how to feel now that the trip is over; I have looked forward to this trip for the last 3 years and its promise of a spiritual renewal guided me through many tough times at St. Fozzie's during the last couple years.  

I keep telling myself to not be sad that it's over but to be happy it happened.  

And boy, did it happen.  

There were 13 of us colleagues who traveled to Rome on pilgrimage.  Plus two Sisters and a priest who has served as shepherd of our leadership group since December 2011.  It was the most natural thing in the world to tour the religious Church sites in Rome with this group (and without our spouses). We became family.  We became Church.  

Last week at this time, I was walking up the stairs at St. Peter's, to the top of the cupola.  Last Monday was intense and it covered everything I saw the first time in Rome as a college student.  We started with an in-depth tour of the Coliseum, then the Imperial Forum, then a picturesque lunch at Piazza Novona (complete with caprese salad, excellent red wine, gelato, and an accordian player).  After lunch, with our tour guide, cut to the front of the line at St. Peter's and toured the Vatican museum (and Sistine Chapel).  Part of the deal with the pilgrimage was that we attended daily mass.  Which, given our surroundings, wasn't exactly a sacrifice.  The Vatican museum tour concluded at 3:45pm and we had an hour to blow before mass at 5:00 in St. Peter's basilica (the chapel of the Chair).  Ambitiously, a few of us thought we could hike the 525 stairs to the top of the cupola and return before mass (even though we stood in line until about 4:15).  

The first 300 or so steps are pretty routine.  But once you get into the upper part of the dome, the stairs wind to the side and are dangerously steep.  Braving them in my sandals, we reached the top around 4:45 pm.  After taking a couple million-dollar-shots at the outstretched arms of St. Peter's, we ran back down the stairs, arriving in the main church at 4:58!  The Sisters, glancing at us across the chapel, silently laughed at our tired, out of breath, sweaty presence.  Yes, we made it to mass.  It was in Latin.  But I sat in that pew at St. Peter's, struck by the sheer universal existence of the mass.  Even though I do not understand Latin, I knew the points of the mass and could follow along in English.  The same mass we celebrate in Indianapolis or Chicago occurs at the Vatican, too.  

Those thoughts kept occuring throughout the week.  So many experiences were wonderful and truly life-changing.  We landed in Rome at about 9:30 am Sunday morning.  By 11:30, we were at our hotel (two blocks from St. Peter's...you exit the hotel, look left, and the radiant dome of St. Peter's awaited us...beautiful).  By noon, I was standing in the crowd in St. Peter's Square receiving the Angelus blessing from Pope Francis.

I didn't waste any time getting to St. Peter's and the Pope.  Pope Francis reminds me of my deceased grandpa.  

We ate like kinds and queens; after small breakfasts, we relished 4-5 course lunches and dinners each day (By some miracle, I only gained .8 pounds).  Rich antipasto of Italian proscuitto and panchetta, basil and mozzarella, pasta carbonara and veal.  Each person was "budgeted" a bottle of wine at each meal.  While the alcohol content of Italian wine is lower than in the States, it was strange to drink so much wine.  And have it condoned by the Sisters (who readily joined in.  I had no idea how popular and refreshing cold, white Italian wine is at lunch.  Can I have cold white wine for lunch every day?)

On Tuesday, we started the day with a private mass in one of the cypt chapels at St. Peter's Basilica.  I was asked to serve as lector for that mass.  Despite my lengthy bucket lists, I never even thought of wishing I could serve as lector at St. Peter's.  I HATE reading at mass.  And yet, the reading was about the first Christians at Antioch and we *felt* like neophyte Christians in a new world.  The week's readings matched our collective experience perfectly.  

After mass and breakfast, we toured San Clemente church and San Sebastián catacombs, interrupted by two meetings at the Vatican with Roman Curia.  One of the meetings consisted of a set of Cardinals informing us about the upcoming priorities in healthcare.  The other meeting involved US telling the Cardinals how things were in America.  They wanted to know the state of Catholic healthcare in America and we were the ones to inform them.  How crazy is that?  I had another out-of-body experience thinking, "Am I really in the presence of Cardinals representing the Roman Curia?  How in the WORLD did I get here?!"

That thought kept hitting me.  How in the world did I get here?  Why me?  Why me?

On Wednesday, we had an audience with Pope Francis and even though we were a few of the 100,000 crowd, he passed within about 7 feet of us.  I could see his mannerisms and facial expressions.  That man is revolutionizing the Church.  Before the audience started, the atmosphere was electric.  It felt like a U2 concert or Notre Dame football game, with everyone in collective waiting for his presence.  He did not disappoint!  The homily for the day was about the gift of Fortitude (through the Holy Spirit) which fit us all perfectly.  The only way to survive in Catholic healthcare is through and with fortitude.  The Pope's homily gave us two days' of dinner fodder as we digested that message.  With a rare two hours off that afternoon, three of us trekked back to Piazza Novona for some Lambrusco and Spirit-filled conversation.  Everyone had that same reaction: "why me?  Why am I here and how am I supposed to lead Catholic healthcare into its next phase?" 

On Thursday, we bussed to Assisi to connect with St. Francis.  After seeing the basilica, the church of St. Clare, the tomb of St. Francis, and real San Damiano cross, I *felt* Franciscan.  The San Damiano cross hangs in all of our conference rooms, offices, and patient rooms.  But it hit me to my core when I saw the *real* San Damiano cross in Assisi.  I felt as though St. Francis was there, receiving his call and vocation in the present.  We celebrated mass at the  tomb of St. Francis, an experience that started me with its simplicity and powerful commissioning.  It was Franciscan "Ground Zero," akin to visiting Ireland's Aran Islands if you like Irish music.  Or Germany's battlefields to better grasp the World War II battles.  There was no place on earth more Franciscan than Assisi.  The placed breathed Francis.  And I needed more.  I recently received my first job offer of a CEO position.  In a non-Catholic, non-Franciscan organization.  I declined without even thinking twice.  My job/vocation in Catholic healthcare will never be easy.  Nor will it always be joyful.  But it WILL be meaningful.  Each day bears more meaning than a huge paycheck could garner.  Nope, not interested.  

It was in Assisi that I caught one of the head Sisters for a few moments on the side.  I asked if Jack and I could accompany the Sisters on the 2015 pilgrimage to Assisi (you spend 9 days in Assisi).  She enthusiastically agreed.  Then she asked if Jack and me had ever discerned becoming Third Order Franciscans.  I didn't even know women could become Third Order but I promised her we'd discuss it and the associated discernment process.  That type of a decision takes years (decades?) but a trip to Assisi with Jack could shed some clarity on that invitation.  

After a 1.5 hour traffic jam in Rome, we arrived back at our hotel at 9 pm.  Four of us braved the Roman dinner scene to find the neighborhood's best pizza.  After antipasto of pesto calamari and swordfish carpaccio, we shared two pizzas: pancetta and shrimp/arugala/corn.  Bacon pizza?  Seafood pizza?  Does life get any better?  We felt especially proud that we found this pizzaria by speaking to the locals; every other meal was organized by the knowing eyes of a Roman tour guide.  Heck, we even had a "nighttime guide" who ushered us around the Roman night scene.  Which consisted (mostly) of limoncello and gelato.  How much trouble could we truly get into when all we wanted was Rome's best gelato?  

On Friday, we visited the Holy Steps and St. John Lateran.  I knew very little of St. John Lateran...one day, about 10 years ago, I went to weekday mass because I felt helpless and sad in my life.  It just happened to be the feast of St. John Lateran Basilica.  I had to look it up - there's a feast day dedicated to a basilica??  But yes, the time at the Basilica itself was magical.  We celebrated mass in a side chapel and afterwards, received a "reconfirmation" of our service to Catholic healthcare in the US. I couldn't help but cry...while the masses at St. Peter's were wonderful and bridged the universalness of the Church, this one spoke to ME.  I can't put a finger on it yet but I was commissioned.  The sense of vocation was placed squarely, heavily upon my shoulders.  To say no is to deny God's will for my life.  That point came across very clearly...that Catholic healthcare really is my vocation.  I've felt smatterings of it before, where I sort of guessed I was destined to serve in Catholic healthcare, but never had I sensed such a certainty to it.  It's as though my entire education and professional existence led me to that exact moment.  

I couldn't stop the tears.  I'm SO not a cryer and cry (on average) about once a year.  And that's usually because I have to lay off hard workers or just cannot fathom the blessings granted to Jack and I in this life.  But this time, I cried out of realization.  Out of fear.  Out of a dedication to service.  How can I say no to such a defined, deliberate calling?  I'd never sensed my vocation so clearly.  It wasn't even a question.  The weight of my calling again settled heavy on my shoulders....I knew I'd never have an easy job.  But my job will be meaningful - as meaningful as it gets.  

St. John Lateran broke us all in some way or another.  So much so that our priestly shepherd varied from the set lunch agenda and took us out for Rome's best pizza.  Seriously.  If I thought Thursday's pizza was stellar, Friday's was in a class by itself.  Porchini mushroom pizza with fresh basil?  With crust so thin it was more like Indian naan...oh man...I cannot even describe that pizza.  I'm not sure why America even bothers with pizza.  And Domino's?  Um, no.  The only pizza we have will now be homemade.  That is our only prayer of somewhat capturing the magic deliciousness of that pizza.  

We went to "Last supper" that evening, knowing we were all flying back to our respective homes and families the next day.  A melt-in-your-mouth veal in marsala sauce with potato flan, followed by a magical tirimisu and Italian custard topped with dark chocolate raspberry.  It was as much a gastronomic pilgrimage as it was a religious experience.  We sort of thought we should be having bread and water but thought maybe the Sisters wanted to feed us spiritually and physically.  

Did I mention I only gained .8 pounds?  No idea how that happened!  

But the experience was one that I will be forced to unpack for the coming months and even years.  It's one of those experiences whose gravity you realize a few months into your "regular" life, when some great insight crystallizes before your eyes.  I'm still too exhausted and sick to reflect with much efficacy (I brought home a nice European cold.  It's not MERS.  I checked the symptoms).  But know that, in my daily life at the hospital, this experience will ground me in the most Franciscan of healthcare service.  I will look to Francis when I struggle or find myself lost in operational or strategic decisions.  

Most of the world asks, "What would Jesus do?"  I find myself asking "What would Francis do?"

I'm not sure what Francis would do.  But I'm willing to learn and integrate it into my life.  

Life is Good!

Some people say they're "shaking the dust off" when they step back and take a break. For me, it was "shakin' the sand off" since we just spent eight days in Florida. The salt air and sunshine cleansed me, facilitated great relaxation, and gave me time to reflect on how I can attack 2012 with gusto.

We had a WONDERFUL time with our family. Not really sure if we would want to kill each other or create lifetime memories, the trip went pretty darn well. You see, we did not want to have any unfulfilled intentions. My folks are aging more than I'd like to admit and I never want to look back and say, "Man, we should have taken that trip and we missed our chance." So we took the trip.

All the travel plans went perfectly, the temperatures were way above normal, and we crafted new traditions. Calm and relaxed on the very last night in Florida, I sat outside in the 73-degree evening and reflected upon the trip, adoring the colored Christmas lights wrapped around our balcony.



On December 22, my folks and Brady traveled to our house in Chicagoland. As our flight out was at 6:00 a.m. from Midway, we sought to avoid a "Home Alone" moment and set no fewer than five alarm clocks! We landed in Tampa and checked into our hotel in Treasure Island. We immediately found the nearest outside beach bar and everyone sampled blackened Grouper (the best fish ever). Sauntering along the beach that day, we all devoured the sunshine, soaking up as many rays as possible. Life was good.



The next day, Christmas Eve, we headed over to Anna Maria Island and checked into our beachhouse. It was just fantastic; a three-story house with a pool and five houses from the white-sand beach. At 82 and sunny, we hurriedly grocery shopped for Christmas dinners and hit the beach for more Vitamin D absorption. It was Christmas Eve and we were playing in the sand on a beautiful beach! Life was good!



Deciding upon midnight mass for Christmas, Jack created a culinary masterpiece of grouper, salmon, crab cakes, and mahi-mahi for dinner. Our beach house had a whole-house stereo system, so we piped in Christmas tunes to solidify the atmosphere. Before mass, we took a ride around the small island, admiring the Christmas lights. Mass was beautiful and we all paid closer attention to make sure we grasped that it was, indeed, Christmas. In sandals and capris, after having a Christmas dinner of mahi-mahi, we weren't sure it would feel like Christmas. However, it did. And life was good.

Per my vacation tradition, I awoke at dawn on Christmas morning to walk the beach (I get up early every day on beach vacations; there is just something magical about dawn on a beach). I arrived back home to cinnamon rolls baking in the oven and the whole family out on the deck, sipping coffee and lounging in the sunshine. Does it get much better than that?

Jack whipped up a prime rib for dinner and chose to sear it on the grill before slowly roasting it in the oven for several hours. He left the grill unattended and Brady and I, floating in the pool, noticed flames licking out the sides of the grill. Black smoke billowed! Unsure of whether to douse the grill in pool water or stand helplessly by, Brady yelled for Jack to help and I stood frozen in place, nervous about the buzzards circling overhead! They saved the prime rib, but it made for some interesting bird-watching!

Christmas Day was weird, though. Different. After my folks tired of the beach, we all relaxed in the pool and via speakerphone, we called each member of the family to wish them a Merry Christmas. After eating the wonderful-but-torched prime rib, we retired to the living room to watch "The Christmas Story." It's not Christmas without Ralphie. Life was good, though!

The rest of the week went by blissfully uneventful. We alternated between beaching, pooling, sightseeing, and dreaming up ideas to get the entire family down for Christmas 2013 (y'know, if the whole Mayan thing doesn't happen in 2012!).



OH, and we ate a lot. Scallops, shrimp, and fish, oh my! In addition to our usual favorites, we squeezed in two visits to Starfish Company (this really hole-in-the-wall of all hole-in-the-wall restaurants that cooks off-the-boat fish) afforded us our share of grouper and soft shell crab.



Mom put aside a breaded crab leg as a joke and not looking before he grabbed a "french fry," Brady unsuspectingly ate the crab leg. That's a picture I wish I had!

Jack and I did manage to steal away for a couple romantic lunches. We use these times to plan our lives and goals and reconnect for the craziness that is sure to find us in 2012. One of our favorites is Columbia, for their tapas and champagne sangria. True to form, we sat there in the sunshine, sipping sangria, and charting out our shared and personal goals for 2012.



Our goals are pretty similar...trying to take better care of ourselves and becoming the best versions of ourselves. All of our sub-goals cascade from those two primary aims. And, of course, to drink more sangria!

So vacation was pretty spectacular. Jack and I booked our next trip and already programmed the count-down app to tick off the days until we depart.

Until then, it's time to put our proverbial noses to the grindstone and crank out a lot of work the next five months. With Jack in school and me resuming grad school (first class is Synoptic Gospels!), it'll go fast. But we're ready to go and to make it a great 2012. Life is good!

Boca Burgers

While in Boca Raton last week, we learned that Boca burgers are from Boca Raton. Silly fact, but we didn't know this!

It was a tremendous experience and I had a great opportunity to attend a Medical Executive Committee Institute last week. It was a gift. A blessing. A darn good blessing.

We landed in sunny Florida and were picked up in a black Lincoln Towncar with one of those gentlemen in a black suit holding our names on a card by the airport's baggage claim. How cool is that?! He whisked us off to the Boca Raton resort, where we somehow scored a corner suite, overlooking the intracoastal waterway and the Atlantic. I could lay in bed, open my eyes, and see the Atlantic, since we were on the 15th floor.



The resort, itself, was beautiful. Reminding us of a colorful monastery, we were touched by the gourmet food, flowing champagne and superb Chardonnay, and complimentary boat trips.





Did I mention the gourmet food? I'm not sure how we managed to not gain 10 lbs while in Boca. We ate SO well. Besides Chilean Seabass at Truluck's and filet at Cielo, we needed something healthy.

So we ate at Morimoto's THREE times in the span of four days.



Morimoto's sets a new bar for us for sushi. Unfortunately, there will be no more supermarket sushi; we had the honor of trying unagi, lobster, raw scallops, hamachi, baby hamachi, and snapper. I cannot remember ever spending $100 on sushi, but this was completely, totally, utterly worth it:



This was our sushi chef making my lobster maki. We named him "Bob." As in, "Sponge Bob."

Aside from the food and drink, the conference itself was amazing. I came away with 6 pages of ideas on how to improve processes and departments in the hospital. I sent Elvis a quick email telling him which departments I want to blow up and reformulate. We'll see how that goes!

I keep having this managerial struggle of trying to find the middle ground (is there a middle ground?) between being a tough, assertive woman in the boardroom and cultivating the spirituality of servant leadership. They are at odds...and because I respect rules so much, I decided that my fourth quarter goal for myself is to get in trouble at work. So I'm going to push some of these reorganizations until I actually get in trouble.

Fun, eh? Why not?

I love conferences like that, where you're continually challenged and you can revisit those notes repeatedly and glean something new. So that's what I plan to do. I'll let you know how well this works and please, oh please, bail me out of jail when I get in trouble at work!

And with that, I am returning to my Christmas-card-writing (I bought seven boxes of cards and have this wickedly ambitious plan to write each of my employees a handwritten card with a small token of my appreciation). But I need to get a move-on; it's already mid-November and I swore I would have all my Christmas shopping, wrapping, and Christmas cards done by December 1!

[Hmm. Maybe *that's* how I'm getting myself in trouble this quarter!]

Viva Las Gala

I had SO much fun on my recent Vegas trip with my girlfriend, Mary.

With all the stress of late, it was the impromptu getaway I needed to keep my energy up for another leadership conference and then a Medical Executive Committee conference next week. However, I’m not sure how the celebs jetset all over the world and never have one hair out of place. The jetlag between Chi and Vegas kicked my rear and I looked like the crypt keeper the day after we arrived!

That is, in part, because of our black tie gala the night before our departure. I spent the morning primping and Jack was downtown at Navy Pier, helping set up for the big event. He came home to pick me up, we grabbed our tux and gown, and we rode downtown to check into our hotel. The “pre-party” was fun in the hotel bar with everyone (even the CFO) in our finest duds. We then taxied to Navy Pier for one of the largest balls the Grand Ballroom has ever seen. There were SO many people there! We talked to what felt like a hundred or more people, bid on silent auctions, hobnobbed, and danced.



Like a wedding that goes too quickly and you're left wondering where the night went, it was all over. We joined a small group at the Redhead for the “after party.” That was the first time I had been out until 2 a.m. in…well…YEARS.

SO we scraped ourselves out of bed Sunday morning and had breakfast with friends. Soon after, I departed for the airport to catch my Vegas flight. I was still so sick and my sinuses threatened to explode on the plane. Thank goodness Mary had stashed Tylenol Sinus in her purse!

We landed and checked into Paris, our temporary home.



Not having been out in, like, a whole 15 hours, we got gussied up for a girls’ night. We chose Ichiban for sushi and it was phenomenal. When the place is full of Japanese folks, you know you're in for an excellent time.

After walking a part of the Strip, we retired to the slots...Where I promptly lost $60 in about 10 minutes. Mary, on the other hand, was up about $50. Then she was able to play for another three hours on $20. Now that’s entertainment!

Sick of the slots, I went back out to the strip and watched several Bellagio shows. I love those fountains! It’s so powerfully emotional to watch them, especially with the slight breezes blowing your hair, whisking you away to another land where stress just doesn’t exist. I made three separate trips to the fountains because, well, I could. And while I like to gamble (when I'm winning), I wasn't into the slots quite as much as Mary was. Vegas is pretty safe; as long as you avoid the drunks, prostitutes, and pick-pockets, you're fine. Y'know?



The next morning, Mary went off to her conference and I went to the Bellagio buffet. Where else can you have sushi, shrimp, and beef tenderloin for breakfast? And yes, I went alone. Several people came up to me and asked in a pathetic tone, “are you here all alone?” Yes, I was there alone and greatly relished my time to wander! Now back off, buck-o!

After breakfast, I walked down to New York New York, my fave gambling casino. I played slots for almost three hours and was actually up about $120 before I lost it all again. Dangit! To dampen my losses, I treated myself to a pre-noon frozen hurricane at Coyote Ugly. Slightly buzzed, I joined the line for the NYNY roller coaster.

Yes, I’m one of those nuts who rides the roller coaster. It was fantastic! At $14/ride, it's a great deal for 3 minutes worth of thrills on the Strip! Except I don’t have photo evidence because they won’t let you take anything on the coaster with you (and they make you lock it away in lockers). So you’ll have to take my word!



I then wandered back to the pool for some work-related reading. It was just stunning out there:



That night, we got all gussied up again and went to dinner at La Cave, in Wynn. “Wynn” should be called “Wow.” Dinner consisted of five tapas: avocado rotini, sushi Panini, prosciutto-wrapped, stuffed chicken, roasted salmon, and filet mignon pizza. Yes, filet mignon pizza!



After dinner, we walked over to the La Reve theatre for our show. Dreamy and surreal, I know shows are good when they make me involuntarily hold my breath:



True to our nature, we returned to the gambling floor for a few more slots. Actually, Mary did and after I lost another $20 in 5 minutes, I just watched her. I was still pretty pissed at Vegas for taking my money so quickly. At least Vegas could *tease* me a little!

The next morning, Mary again went off to her conference and I went for a run along the Strip. Talk about good scenery! Between all the over-the-road walkways and extra staircases, I had a great workout. I then went back to the pool for more 85-and-sunny time. After all, I’m already vitamin D deficient and Chi is not known for its sunny winters!

When Mary returned that afternoon, we hit Margaritaville and in addition to the best cheeseburgers and ‘ritas we ever had, we were treated to a strip show. At Jimmy Buffet’s house. When did they start that crap?



Not quite done eating, we then went to Serendipity 3 for ice cream (that we were then too full to eat!). Deciding we needed to try NYNY again, we walked the length of the Strip and Mary promptly lost about $100 there. I held out, still pretty mad at Vegas. We did, however, catch a saxophone concert in front of the resort...very New York!

We weren’t quite done with Vegas and decided to check out Napoleon’s, a dueling piano bar in Paris. It was fabulous! The whole place was jiving and had a much better vibe than even Redhead in Chi. I love live music and had such a good time. We left only because Mary’s eyes were drooping and I could tell she was about to sleep sitting up at the bar.

The next morning, we only had a few hours during which we could play before our flight home. After a quick breakfast, I decided I had forgiven Vegas for taking my money so hastily. Except I blew the cash I had with me at breakfast. Mary loaned me a $20 (feeding my frenzy) and after taking two pulls on the machine, I won a jackpot. That’s more like it! Quickly cashing out to pay her back, I then played with my own money until it was time to leave. And it was entertaining, the way those pesky, mobster-run machines SHOULD reward you. We’re all like Pavlov's dog, right?

All in all, I left Vegas about $15 down. THAT I can handle.

Three days in Sin City was a perfect amount of time. It gives you enough time to try new culinary wonders, walk it all off while perusing the Strip, and forgive Vegas for taking your money away when they suddenly pay you back for your pain.

Luck Be a Lady

We didn't *go* to Vegas, we *did* Vegas!



Details to come, when I finally get a chance to go home and unpack! I didn't take these videos, but they pretty much sum up my weekend!

And now it's time to say goodbye (for now!):

Twist My Arm...

...All the way to Sin City.

Last Friday night, we dined with friends from work at Coopershawk (yes, again). These friends are wonderful, with witty humor, hilarious stories, and share a Christian faith that rivals the friars. Good times seem to follow them. I laughed so hard my face hurt. Those types of evenings replenish even the emptiest tanks. My tanks were empty from teaching a class on Friday, doing leader rounding on patients (where you get to go "check on them" and see how things really are. I always ask the patients, "So how are we treating you?"), and process mapping our hellacious physician recruitment process (that took six execs and two Lean experts a total of three hours to master), I seriously wanted to bail on dinner and just go home to my pj's and frozen pizza. My friend (I'll call her Mary) wouldn't let me bail. She flat-out refused and told me that if I bailed, she'd just show up at my house with a bag of food and bottle of wine, so I might as well just go. Friends who threaten you like that are awesome and I think I need more of them!

Anyway, I'm glad I went. We invited the men this time and our monthly "directors' meeting" turned into a four-hour dinner with awesome friends.

More importantly, Mary is traveling to Vegas in a couple weeks for a conference and she told me she has an empty room in her suite in the Paris hotel. She wants company, I have a ton of PTO, and she told me I need to sit by the pool and catch up on my reading while she's at the conference. Then I can join her for networking and the vendor fair if I want to. Seriously? The best of both worlds and it's next to free? Dude. Count me in. Why not?

When people ask me how I am, I have a hard time not responding, "blessed."

'Cuz that's what I am.

He's My Wife

My infrequent posting will, hopefully, come to an end now that I received my shiny new laptop at work today. The clouds parted, sun rays shined down upon me, and the angels sang...I had no idea just how productive I was on nights and weekends.

Alas, my time watching college football that we DVR from Saturday and view throughout the week is probably over, too.

Even though it's only late September, my body has long-since transitioned to fall. The sun has been setting earlier and earlier; I glance out the window and am shocked to see it's only 7 p.m. when my body thinks it's 9:30. When I get up at the tender hour of 5:30, it's still dark outside and the light spilling into the hallway from the streetlight guides my groggy self to the shower. I find I want to sleep more, unearth the sweatshirts from the back of my closet, and flop on the couch on Sunday nights while a pot of soup simmers on the stove.

I had a teleconference with a director from Purdue University the other day and even though she and I had never met before, we opened up the conversation by chatting about the fall. She was so giddy over her first pot of chili on Sunday night and I shared that I, too, made chili on Sunday. So before discussing any business, we crafted our relationship out of shared chili recipes. Now *that* is how you get a business client!

Fall...that time of year when the wind, rain, and falling leaves beckon us inside to warmer, cozier places.

Warmer places like Boca Raton. I was invited to a conference with our medical staff leadership team and I learned from Elvis that it's a "couples' thing." Apparently, it's taboo to go to Boca alone and spouses aren't just tolerated, their attendance is encouraged. Spouses cavort on the resort grounds and join the group for dinners out each evening.

I break the news to Jack and he's heart-broken, of course. Jack just happens to be helping the past president of the medical staff's WIFE on a website project for the hospital. The wife is very happy with Jack and thinks he's quite the debonair gentleman. She is going to Boca, as her husband is on the medical staff. When she found out Jack was also going, she asked if he was attending conference. He said no and she exclaimed, "oh yeah, 'cuz you're the wife!"

So that is how Jack came to hang out with physicians' wives while I will be inside at the conference. I told him he BETTER NOT indulge in lavish lunches, boat trips, poolside margaritas, or golf outings without me! He's such a good sport, I have to give him credit!

With that trip, another leadership conference, a potential trip to Colorado, the hospital's huge gala coming up in soon, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, this year is going to be over before I know it.

Time needs to slow down!

Vacation- The Food Edition

Well, I'm in this strange middle ground of complete relaxation and an anxiousness to return to my usual routine of craziness. What can I say, I'm a glutton for punishment.

Anyway, Jack and I enjoyed a LOVELY long weekend away these past five days. We left Wednesday morning and after battling scary Chi traffic, ended up on the backroads of southwestern Michigan. While we had plans of visiting Maui for our 10 year anniversary, it just made more sense to return to our roots and spend time at a B&B in Michigan, on the coast. We did that for our honeymoon; being penniless and young. Everyone thought we were "so cute" back then, when we scraped together enough money to pay for a few expensive nights at a kitschy B&B on the coast of Lake Michigan.

Oddly enough, we were *still* the youngest in the B&B and everyone *still* thought we were on our honeymoon! When approached by a few fellow B&B mates, Jack laughed when asked how our honeymoon was going. He explained that we have been married ten years and this was just a quick getaway from our frantic lives in Chicagoland. But, apparently, we still give off that honeymooner vibe, which I think is so very neat.

***These are the food-related stories from our trip!***

So we ambled up the coast highway to New Buffalo and realizing we were too early to check into our B&B, the Inn at Union Pier, we hit the nearest wine trail. Forgetting the close proximity of all the SW Michigan wineries, we made an afternoon out of wine tasting and eating. This was the view inside Round Barn Winery:



After tasting and purchasing our requisite bottle of wine, we headed for more familiar grounds, Tabor Hill:



Tabor Hill is my mother ship. It was the first kind of wine I ever loved and it ushered me into a whole world of demi-sec, Riesling, and chardonnay. Again, ironically, Jack and I visited Tabor Hill for our fourth anniversary. So we *had* to stay for some vino:



The glass on the left is Valvin Muscat and the glass on the right is Red Arrow Red. Both were excellent and served as wonderful precursors to the all-important dinner entrees:



Gourmet chocolates and tirimisu!



Taking home another few bottles of souvenir wine, we departed for our B&B. It was very cute, welcoming, warm, and inviting. But we decided to fight the fog and dreary day and head out to New Buffalo harbor. I grew up climbing the half mile of massive boulders marking the boat channel. This was even more fun as adults, having spent the afternoon sipping wine! But we made it to the end and no one pitched head-first into the churning waters below:



That night, we grabbed a quick burger at the New Buffalo hotspot, Redamaks. We retired to our B&B and dreamt of the gourmet breakfast that was to soon follow. That was the highlight of our B&B...the gourmet breakfasts every morning. We woke up to a fruit parfait and lemon and cream cheese-stuffed pancakes. The second day was an egg quiche with feta and sun dried tomatoes. It was just crazy- how do you even burn off that many calories from breakfast? Nonetheless, we took one for the team and polished off our wonderful eats.

For dinner on Night #2, we ate at Bentwood Tavern. We considered going to the steakhouse inside Four Winds Casino, but who wants to pay $85 for a steak?! Anyway, we split a seafood extravaganza and a single-person pizza topped with fresh mozzarella, prosciutto, and basil. Who *wouldn't* want pizza for their 10-year anniversary!? We kept it real!



Then on Friday night, we tried out the new GreenBush Brewery and neighboring Fitzgerald's. The brewery was good, but not as good as Bell's or Three Floyds.

As one last tribute to great food on the beach, Jack and I decided to forego the fancy dinners and pricey tabs on our last night. We instead opted to sit on the beach all the way through sunset. We quickly ordered a pizza from a nearby pizzeria and noshed during sunset, eliciting jealous stares from other beach goers ogling our oozing cheese and sausage pie. It was great- we were *those* people who sat on the beach all day and made it through until sunset. It's an accomplishment, after all.

I have a few more stories from our getaway, but Jack is back with our Sunday sushi and I will add another post soon.

Camp Stories

The moment you've all been waiting for, stories from FEMA Camp! I cannot tell you how many times I heard someone say, "This one time, at FEMA Camp..."

It *was* funny, if quite ridiculous!

So I left on Sunday morning and arrived in Atlanta just after noon. Then I caught a bus for the two-hour ride to Anniston, Alabama. It was HOT. And there were big bugs. Those are the two things I will remember most about 'Bama. But we did manage to have some fun along the way, at Fort McClellan, an Army base in the hills of 'Bama, the site of the Center for Domestic Preparedness.

On Sunday night, everything in the bustling metropolis of Anniston was closed. Everything, that is, except Walmart. So my new friend, Nurse Onomatopoeia, and I chartered a ride from base to Wally World in the hopes of some entertainment. The people watching was just as much fun as checking out the local Wally's merchandise:



I would have bought this shirt, but they were sold out. Seriously. So RN Onomatopoeia and I stocked up on our Alabama Crimson Tide t-shirts. I kept thinking it was the "Crimson Wave," not "Crimson Tide," but I was corrected. That would've been funnier had Alabama been a women's college. :) And I dubbed my friend "Nurse Onomatopoeia" because she had a sound effect for everything. An ER/Trauma nurse from Fort Worth, TX, she used sounds more than words for communicating.

On Monday, we were transported to Noble Army Hospital (busing to and from base), an out-of-commission hospital in which we were going to train. It felt official:



Security was TIGHT. Even though they check your badge against your photo ID when you leave base, they check it all AGAIN when you arrive at the hospital. What's going to happen? Spontaneous evolution of human life on the 4 minute bus ride? Regardless, it was probably one of the safest places to be this past week.

There were 60 administrators, RN's, EMS, and fire chiefs in our class. Day 1 consisted mostly of lecture. Nine hours of lecture. After that, we were desperate for some local culture (read: alcohol), so a group of us chartered a bus to a lovely, sophisticated dining establishment called Cooter Brown's. It redefined "hole in the wall."

Seating about 40 people (tops), this was the view from the minuscule loft:



Being total tourists, our group tried Alabama Slammers. The drinks were the color of river water but tasted like fruit punch. They were perfect to accompany the "tasty butts" Cooter's is known for:



It was simply the best BBQ I've ever had. The pork was smoky and the sauce spicy and tangy. However, it was the BBQ that never ended; regardless of how much I ate, my pile of pork BBQ never went down. It regenerated itself. Like *MAGIC* BBQ. Cooter's lived up to its hype, except when we were reclining after our feast, a cockroach scurried across the table. Making one of her characteristic sound effects (kind of like a crazy rooster), RN Onomatopoeia hailed the table's check in 3.78 seconds. Honestly, I wasn't that surprised, but one of the infection preventionists in our group started hyperventilating.

The next morning and four TUMS later, we returned to the hospital for more lecture. Then we did table-top exercises where you think through what you would do in Disaster A, B, or C. They split us up into groups, so we got to know several other folks.

That night, I returned to my room and JUST ABOUT finished my ethics paper. Yes, this is newsworthy.

The next day, day three, was our first simulation. We actually ran the Army hospital during a crisis. It was a terrorism explosion that turned into a nerve gas event with some anthrax thrown in. As hospital incident command, we had to supervise the decontamination of patients, treat the hazmat situation, accommodate hundreds of ER patients (using mass triage) and somehow work with public health to protect society. We ran and ran for 8 hours and everyone was zonked by the end.

That night, a spontaneous party erupted at the FEMA bar, with about 20 people from my class. There was an outdoor picnic area and everyone congregated to share tales from the day. Fueling this were the $1 draft imports in the FEMA bar subsidized by YOU. Your tax dollars at work!

It was interesting, though, because the whole experience was starting to remind me of college. Everything from the cinderblock dorm rooms to the shared bathrooms to the dining hall food with excellent entrees and even better desserts, it was just like college. Except that most people were married and the bizarre late-adolescent courtship rituals were not occurring, thankfully. This is a shot from the inside of FEMA bar. Even it reminded me of Senior Bar at Notre Dame:



Then on Day 4, the last day of training, we had to run the hospital again. This time, it was a bioterrorism attack with small pox. It was insanity and people really got into the exercise. Here is the administrative command post:



Here is the ER:



So the last night, we again congregated in the picnic area to share our gritty stories from the day. A few days ago, we didn't know each other at all; now we were good friends who survived anthrax and small pox and kamikaze terrorists. We swapped phone numbers and email addresses like kids exchanging friendship bracelets at camp, promising to keep in touch as penpals. It was a cross between camp and college and we all feel better prepared to manage our respective hospitals in a time of mass disaster.

The only hiccup during the trip was thanks to my Citibank credit card. I used it in the Alabama outback and when I tried to upgrade myself to business class for the return flight, it was denied. Turns out Citi didn't think I should have been in 'Bama, buying Crimson Wave t-shirts at Wally World! They said it was "outside my usual spending habits."

How funny. And true (as I adjust the Alabama baseball cap I'm wearing)!

Back to the real world and the 548 emails I have awaiting me. My ethics paper is 98%done, I paid off my student loan yesterday, and travel season has come to a close...I smell a party!

Federal Dress Code

I leave for FEMA camp today (don't take this as an invitation to break into my house, Jack will still be there). I'm quite looking forward to this now, finally, and hope to learn something valuable about how to run a hospital in crisis.

However, I'm a bit nervous. I'm basically becoming a contract employee of the federal government for the next week. My biggest question? How does one dress as a government employee? What do I wear to class? Usually when you travel for business, you wear a suit (or at least, business casual). What about for the government? Do I need to wear a shirt with the Old Glory on it? Anything that's red, white, and blue?

Running this by Jack last night, I asked him how I should dress for the week. His response?

"Representative Weiner wears only boxers and HE's a federal employee. And you're worried about what to wear?"

Point taken!

Memorial Day to Remember

I just love three-day weekends. I get my usual weekend plus one bonus day on which I goof off without any inclination of time wasted. So I worked on my ethics paper on Saturday (it's tedious, boring, and I have to learn an entire new style of citation, the Chicago Manual of Style, 15th edition). After about 6 hours in the Land O'Ethics, I looked at the weather radar and saw huge rain heading our way. Quick! Must abandon ship and go for our daily walk!

The ethics paper has sat untouched since then. Oh well, there's always next Saturday! It's due July 1, so I have a feeling I'll be working around the clock June 29-30th!

This weekend was/is the polar opposite of last year. Last year, we had just sold our house (for the first time) and escaped the stress by going to the beach two days in a row. Our lives seem so calm, predictable, and, well, structured compared to this time last year! That's the fun part about holidays, reflecting on your progress since that time last year.

Since Sunday was this three-day weekend's goof-off day, we went to SB to visit my family. We haven't seen them, really, since Christmas. My folks *do* American holidays, in all their burgers-and-potato-salad-and-deviled-eggs-and-apple-pie glory. So picture us all, hanging out on the deck, when the tornado sirens sound their eerie, high-pitched ring. Ah yes, the joys of severe weather in Indiana! Not only did we MISS the end of the Indy 500 because of local tornado warning coverage, but our BBQ was ungracefully interrupted by the sirens going off five times and crazy storms that lasted all of 10 minutes.

It was the stuff of memories, I tell ya!

In other news, I met Zibby's girlfriend for the first time. It's no longer a shrouded family secret that Zibby's having a baby and this was our chance to haze, I mean, get to know, Zibby's girl. They're not engaged or married (my religious parents LOVE that fact) but they are keeping the child. They did the right thing by respecting the child's right to life, but it's been tumultuous (to say the least!) for the family. It was rather ironic (and apropos) that Zibby bring her to the family gathering at the height of the tornado warnings...nature's storm outmaneuvered any family weirdness. She's due August 18th and we just found out about this wonderful miracle in late-April.

So how about them apples? It's changing the dynamic of our family (in a good way) and actually shifting the spotlight from Jack and me and our family situation.

We stayed until early evening and rushed back to Chicagoland to enjoy the waning sunset (always prettier after immense storms). The both worked this morning and are heading to my friend Vera's house for a holiday BBQ this afternoon. Vera and her husband are gracious hosts...and they have pyromaniac propensities toward bonfire construction! S'mores are always in order at Vera's.

I hope your Memorial Day weekend was wonderful, non-stormy, and full of good times!

Fargo and Other Stuff

First, I will never again underestimate the importance of margaritas with friends. I know I'm taking a risk of sounding like a booze-hound here, but I went out for a drink after work today with Mary, one of the nursing directors. She's another one of those soulmates; we just 'get' each other.

So after a couple hours and a couple large margaritas, we bonded. And I drove home (sobered up, thank you) so grateful for coworkers like that. I felt better about work because I knew she was in similar drama as me. Misery loves company...and apparently, margaritas, too!

*****************

Second, I arrived home tonight to a 59-degree house. Seriously? In May? So I dug out a heavy sweatshirt and sunk my tequila'd brain down for some quality television. Jack went out with friends since I did and I enjoyed the tv to myself for a while. Checking the DVR, I found our usual staples of "The Borgias," "Deadliest Catch," reruns of "Whose Line Is It Anyway," and..."Fraggle Rock?"

Fraggle Rock?

So I passed on the Borgias and checked out Fraggle Rock. Why not?!

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When I talk about watching "The Borgias," I get the same reaction as when I let it slip that I watch "Boardwalk Empire." I can't help it...murderous scandal in Renassiance, Pre-Reformation Rome? What's not to love? While I know my beloved Church has advanced from this corrupt state, I have studied theology long enough to know (and accept) that it's mostly true. Sad, but true.

Epistemological Doorknob (one of my fellow undergraduate theology scholars) and I debate this show. She has good ideas about how some of the inner-Vatican scenes would be more authentic if they were scripted in Latin. Good point, ED, good point.

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So a few words about my trip to Fargo...I've noticed that Fargo is one of those "one word" cities about which everyone has preconceived notions, like "Miami," "Vegas," or "Hollywood." Except that Fargo is the anti-thesis of those cities!

I'll be nice. It was so outside my realm of usual activity that I truly did forget about work for a while.

I went to visit my friend Bewley, her husband, and their new baby, D. D is three months and quite a character already. He entertains himself quite well, as evidenced in this hickey he gave himself:



He's teething already...Since Bewley is a Ph.D., we figure he's in "AP Teething" or maybe "Teething Honors."

Because of their hectic life as new parents, neither had gotten a decent meal in weeks. So Bewley's husband broke out his home-brewed beer:



It was good...but had a *lot* of bubbles. It was a foiled batch that didn't quite ferment. So the alcohol content was low and the bubble content, well, high.

In other news, I mixed up an herb rub for Bewley's husband and I, as we dined on t-bone steaks one night. The guilt I felt was palpable; this occurred in a staunch vegetarian's kitchen who barely tolerated the steaks hitting her counter tops!



Nonetheless, the herb rub worked its magic. And it was good.

We didn't just eat, we did some minor sight-seeing along the way, too. There are two sights in town, the town theatre and the Viking ship that is housed on the Minnesota side of the border. Here's the ship (which was, admittedly, pretty cool):





We also stopped by the theatre. Bewley and I watched a French film called Potiche, which, ironically, features a woman who progressed from housewife to successful CEO to successful politician. The CEO part was great; when her husband's umbrella factory revolted, she stepped in and with her grace and womanly leadership, created a harmonious work environment.

The trip itself was an interesting study in women's leadership. Bewley studies feminist philosophy and I witnessed how a feminist philosopher views and experiences motherhood. And, like in the movie, women can assume CEO roles gracefully.

I struggled with this diverse concept throughout the trip. Motherhood versus careerhood. Can the two co-exist? It generated a lot of conversation between Bewley and me. Baby D tried to join in, but he was busy gnawing on his arm! He was a cutie and I surprised myself by grabbing him up into my lap several times a day.

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I have a few more tidbits about Fargo...but they involve a new pair of shoes!

Philadelphia Freedom!

Last weekend, I spent a scant 25 hours in Philadelphia again, finishing up my ethics certification. We had to travel to Philly at the beginning and at the end of the program, for some face-to-face interrogation.

They want to make sure you know your stuff. Especially your ERD’s!

Every time I fly to Philly, I get the song “Philadelphia Freedom” stuck in my head. When I take taxis or trains through the city, I internally sing “The Streets of Philadelphia.” This does not happen to me in New York or Chicago (about which Sinatra sings quite well) and even in Vegas, the song that gets stuck in my head is Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer,” not Elvis’ “Viva Las Vegas.”

Coincidentally, when I’m in Tampa, the song in my head is “It’s 5:00 Somewhere.” I should be careful about getting a job there if I’m *not* a bartender.

ANYWAY, the five of us from Muppetville traveled together and flew in uneventfully. Being lucky as I always am in all things hotel-related, I threw the curtains open in my beautiful corner suite and immediately saw the Devil building. Have you seen the movie “Devil?” It’s a thriller…but it’s not an “Exorcist” type of flick; it’s more along the lines of forgiveness and redemption (with a wacky ending thrown in for good measure). But it takes place in the 50+ story, glass skyscraper located in downtown Philly.

So when I opened my curtains and saw the Devil building staring at me (the plate glass rectangle one), I should have run:



This was my view from the *other* window:



Our group went to dinner in the early evening. We had plans to try Fork, but unable to get a reservation, we had to slum it at Ruth Chris. It was my first time at Ruth’s and it wasn’t that impressive. The steaks are great, yes. Half of it is that the meat is a high quality. But the other half is a sheer genius grilling ability. And Jack always grills that well. So pardon my unsophisticated taste buds, for I could not tell much difference between the $48 filet mignon at Ruth’s and Jack’s $10 filet that he bought me from Jewel and grilled himself.

So after painfully digesting the richest steak I’ve eaten in months, I finally retired to bed in my gorgeous hotel room around 11 p.m.

…to be woken up at 11:38 by someone trying to get into my room. I shooed them away.

…then I was woken up again at 12:42 by someone ELSE trying to get into my room. I shooed them away and threatened to call the cops.

…then I woke up a few times to eat a couple more TUMS at 1 and 2 a.m.
…THEN the hotel’s fire alarm went off at 3:49 for 20 agonizing minutes. I thought I was living in a nightmare or worse, that it was a practical joke and I was the only one being kept awake by the screaming sirens.

No, I didn’t evacuate. I didn’t smell smoke and I sure as heck wasn’t leaving my sanctuary with all the scary people out there trying to get into my room!

Regardless, I slept about 55 minutes the entire night and arrived nice *and* rested to my ethics exams.

The ethics exams went well. We had two three different oral exams and I am happy to report that I passed them (per my proctor). I do not have my final grades yet, but as soon as I finish my last 20-page paper, my ethics training will be complete.

Hurray! I'm free from Philly!

[Cue internal soundtrack: "Philadelphia Freedom!"]

The *Real* Train

Have you ever had a day where you swear your I.Q. has plummeted without reason and you've caught a case of temporary amnesia?

I had one of those days. I would have forgotten my stupid head if it was not attached! And I'm telling you this, not so you can make fun of me, but so you know I'm not always "yeah, me!" and sometimes suck in the mental department!

For the ACHE Congress, I usually commute via train. I don't mind driving into Chi now, it's just the parking situation that gives me fits. So I left my house at 6 a.m. to catch my train into downtown Chi. I had to pick up my portfolio and register before the 8 a.m. session started. And there are 5,000 people at the conference (all in the black and charcoal suits) and it's rather intimidating to navigate your way around a huge hotel while in a rush, parting a sea of black and gray.

Anyway, I arrived at the train station early. Staying warm in my car, I was fiddling with my phone, checking out peoples' Facebook pictures. I always lose track of time when I do that...then, from out of the foggy pre-dawn, the computerized announcer comes over the PA system to tell passengers that the next westbound train was approaching the station. I gasped, "What?!?" Then I grabbed my bags, locked my car, and ran to the train station. Everyone else was sauntering in their half-sleep. I scaled the steps two-by-two to the platform to see the tail lights of the train disappearing into the gray fog.

@$%&#!! Seriously? Why was the stupid train early? Isn't this like Europe, where you can set your watch by the trains?

Some young girl, probably a student, looked over at me and said, "the real train comes in 4 minutes."

Snotty brat.

Instead of making a face at her, I just let it roll off my back. Besides, my legs were shaking from having done the 100 meter dash and three flights of steps in 30 seconds. I was trying to play it cool and not look like I was about to pass out from the lack of oxygen!

So the real train came and all was well. The conference portion went really well. As with any conference, the 'meat' of the presentations are good, but you learn the most from the conversations you have with people before and after. I met a system CEO of a hospital system in Indiana (one of Muppet's competitors). I know he was just killing time talking to lil ol' me, but that was fine. I learned so much from that guy; he was a quasi-egotistical sage of CEO-dom. He mentioned that he'd help me if I had questions along the administrator path and offered to put in a good word with the CEO of Tampa's BayCare system if I really wanted to move there (we both like Tampa Bay). I was thrilled; after an hour, we were practically soulmates, right? While you do click with people at times, it was a bit strange...but I found myself jotting down notes about our conversation when i was in my next session (when I should have been paying attention to healthcare costs as a portion of the GDP and what my generation has to do about it because all the current CEO's will be living in their villas in Anguilla).

Day One was awesome. Especially because my assistant was obviously taking very good care of my email box. She keeps me from overflowing while I'm out...but it dawned on me that I hadn't received an email since about 9:30 a.m. Then I realized I was going to miss some friends I had planned to meet for a quick dinner because I wasn't getting emails. My email wasn't working and I was stuck. Dangit!!!!!

Suddenly without plans and without an urge to shop, I ran to the nearest train station a few blocks away, relishing the thought of a restful evening. I was SO exhausted after the day and while I love my friends, I could catch them the next day. Arriving at the train station, I checked my little time grid, saw that a train was due in 5 minutes, and marveled at my good luck. Who-hoo!

My train arrived, full to the brim. As the doors began to close after me, the conductor announced that this train was not stopping at my particular stop. Huh? I dashed off the train, and waited for the real train which was another 3 minutes later. I never pick up trains from that station and had no idea.

The real train then arrived and I jumped on. I settled into my Wall Street Journal. Anxious to go home, I checked my little time grid to check out my arrival time. It skipped my station. Huh? I studied the grid for a full 3 minutes before deducing that the first train, the mistaken train that supposedly wasn't stopping at my stop, WAS indeed my real train. DANGIT!!!!!

I disembarked at a station before my skipped station. Luckily, there are enough idiots who do the same thing and a small group of us huddled on the platform to await the next train. 13 minutes later, we were on our way home. I talked the conductor into NOT charging me for another train ride.

THEN, for my last stop before collapsing on the couch in my pj's, I stopped to fill up my gas tank. After topping off, I nearly forgot to close my fuel cap. Then I forgot to clear my credit card info. Then when I arrived home, safe in the confines of my own garage, I put my car in "park," grabbed my stuff, and got out. Then I promptly got back in the car to TURN OFF THE IGNITION. DANGIT!!!!!!!

Luckily, Day Two of the conference was much much smoother and I wasn't such an airhead. But I've already blabbed enough for tonight and will save my hot air for another night!

It's that Time Again

Travel season is in full swing and after a refreshing weekend in SB with family and friends, I'm back in Chicago this week for the annual ACHE conference.

It's the stuffy conference, where everyone wears black or charcoal suits. Seriously. So what am I going to wear? A black suit with black and white shell. I *should* wear a hot pink or turquoise suit; that'd make a splash!

So, because we live and work in metropolitan Chicago, the hospital will not reimburse a hotel for Chicagoan conferences. I have sessions from 7 a.m. through 5:30 p.m. tomorrow and Tuesday AND there's a Muppet dinner forming tomorrow night. So I completely envision taking the train into downtown, doing my thing, taking said train home, hitting the bed for a few hours, then repeating. Don't get me wrong, I'm very grateful to have the opportunity to attend this conference...but wish I could feel a bit more rested during and after it.

According to the gospel of Outlook calendars, I'm full Wednesday and Thursday and the class I'm teaching is starting Friday. So if I survive all of this, I'll catch you next weekend!

Happy first week of Spring (we made it through the winter!....insert cheers here)

Guitars and Tiki Bars

I hear the wind howling outside, I'm wrapped up in a blanket, and my feet are cold. Yep, must be back in the Midwest!

Last weekend, Jack and I escaped to Florida for four days and relished our time in the 70-degrees-and-foggy beach town we love on Anna Maria Island. It was creepy foggy half the time, but that didn’t stop us from walking around in flip-flops, visiting our favorite haunts, and eating everything in sight. It's one of those places where the songs "Guitars and Tiki Bars" and "Mother Ocean" immediately start playing on 'repeat' in your head.



See? Creepy fog!

A few highlights from the trip:

*We were not able to access our condo before check-in (as we had the first 6 times we visited), so we lunched at Starfish (a hole in the wall that serves the best seafood in the world) and then drove around the island to waste time. The steady drumming of the rain lulled us into comas. We pulled over in the grocery store parking lot to decide our next course of action…and both accidentally fell asleep in the car. Yes, napped in the Publix parking lot! Now, please tell me that’s not newsworthy!

* Visiting our usual “Green Bay Packer Bar” for the Superbowl. We always visit this bar for its great beer, coconut shrimp, and live music and wondered what it would be like to see a GB game there. Lucky for us, GB won the ticket to the Superbowl and the Packer Bar did not disappoint. The owners passed around yellow and green jello shots every time GB scored.



*Watching a huge storm roll in off the Gulf, while eating shrimp broiled in beer (sounds gross, was completely yummy). We dined at The Sandbar, which offers sweeping, panoramic views of the Gulf. Plus, you dine with your feet in the sand.

*Eating homemade mahi mahi that Jack whipped up in our condo kitchen. Feeling bold, he dumped a couple of shots of rum into a healthy (I mean, heart-clogging) scoop of butter and created “Butter Rum Mahi Mahi.” One of our best meals to date, it will surely be re-created. Like, this weekend.

*Going *back* to Starfish, this time for blackened grouper. We took our “to go” boxes back to our condo and ate our lunch in the heavenly atmosphere of our deck overlooking the bay. That fish was like eating a baby angel.

*Sitting by the pool, relaxing by catching up on work reading and flipping aimlessly through people's Facebook updates on my phone (hey, sometimes that is relaxing!). I saw my former neighbor's update that they were on the Island! I couldn't believe the coincidence; when you escape to a quieter island and learn that one of your neighbors was a mere 2 miles away!

*On our very last day, the fog cleared and temperature soared to 76 degrees. Naturally, Jack had to physically drag me from the beach and back into the rental car for our return trip back to the airport.



The trip was wonderful and I love that we can slip away for a few days to our favorite beach escape. While the weather wasn’t ideal, I still emerged rested, relaxed, and two pounds heavier from all the great eats!