Home is where the heart is.

It's reposting, but this is a busy time of year for me and if I can't write something original, I can at least give you something appropos.

There's a quiet in the suburbs that doesn't exist in the city.

When I stepped outside onto the snowy folds of my parents' back deck last night, I noticed it.

It's remarkable, the calm. Maybe that's why I go back so often. There's a peace of mind this place gives me that nothing else can.

When my world starts getting a little fuzzy around the edges and I feel like at any moment my heels could slip off the ledge, I pack up some stuff, take to the Kennedy and go home.

My mom always scolds me every time I leave her place and say, "I'm going home." She says,

"No. You ARE home. This is your home. THAT'S your apartment."
She's right.

I am home here.

And that's something I didn't really value until my twenty-eighth year on this Earth.

Shame on me.

Yesterday night I came home to find an empty house; no one else was there. I like it this way. I imagine having my own house one day, big and open all around me, sheltering and defining. The spaces of my parents' house are intimate and familiar. Each corner my own. Each creak of the walls and moan of the stairs predictable under my feet.

And that's a safe feeling.

Because when it comes down to it, that's what we all want. To feel safe. And accepted.

Life doesn't always give us these opportunities to fit somewhere so perfectly.

I walked out onto the back deck last night and breathed in deep. The only sound for miles, my own breath.

In Keeping With Tradition...

Ah, Thanksgiving in the suburbs. Can’t wait. Once again, for those who don't already know, here’s how it will go down.

The week of Thanksgiving will come around and my Mom will already be going nuts with things she has to do; as if this scene wasn’t at all familiar to her from past year's experience. She’ll forget where she put the “good” gravy boats and force my Dad into manual labor up in the attic where it is constantly 400°, even in the dead of winter. My Dad will exhume himself from the attic a shell of man and thirty pounds lighter from sweating, empty-handed. My Mom will have found the “good” gravy boats five minutes after she sent my Dad into the attic, but will neglect to tell him this because something is on fire in the kitchen.

Once the smoke clears, it’s Black Wednesday in Palatine. This is the Wednesday before Thanksgiving where everyone in the suburbs goes out because no one has to work in the morning. Though most of us claim we are over traditions and are too mature to follow the crowd, eventually we’ll all end up at Durty Nellie’s. Usually you have to wait in line for like an hour to get into this bar that none of the people actually in line would ever hang out in on a regular Wednesday night. Then you pay an absurd cover charge just to see all the people you hated in high school come out of the woodwork. People fly in for this. People plan their family vacations around it. But it's worth it to see that the guy who turned you down for Homecoming is now a fat, unemployed alcoholic and fortunately for you, the girl he took instead of you is not there because she got pregnant after high school and is working the night shift at Kmart to support her three illegitimate children.

Once inside the bar, you’re obviously already ridiculously drunk because you HAVE to be drunk in order to have that same artificial conversation with three hundred people you haven’t seen in five or six years. It goes something like this:

“Hey, what’s up?”*Awkward hug* “Wow, I haven’t seen YOU in forever. What are you doing these days?” *Stock answer* “No way, that’s great!” “Well, I gotta get another beer, are you going to be here for a while?” *Turn and leave, no intentions of coming back*

That is, unless you run into the person who you had an intensely obsessive crush on in high school and is now incredibly HOT. Then, it’s okay to "accidentally" stumble drunkenly into them, tell them how cute you thought they were in high school and lick their face. Or…so I’ve heard. I’m not talking from personal experience, of course.

After Nellie’s closes down and enough people are trampled into the mud (it always rains) in that absurdly small tent, everyone heads over to the Slice (pronounced Slee-chay) for more of the same except in an even smaller bar packed with even more people, shoved up next to you, reeking of booze. There, either someone gets into a fight or shows their boobs and you realize, god damn, is it really 4:30 a.m. because you forgot that you are big time now with your Big Ten degree, corporate job and your new Honda Accord and you can’t afford to be hanging out with these people who you never really liked anyway because you actually have to be productive during the week. So you find a ride home in a police car or take a cab and wake up the next morning, groggy and hung over, Taco Bell wrappers strewn across your bedroom floor and wonder why in the hell you thought it was a good idea to lick that guy’s face.

You shower, down a quart of orange juice, sack up, drag yourself upstairs from your parent's basement where you stuff your face with assorted meats and baked goods until you pass out on the living room floor to the sound of your brother, who has had one too many Labatt Blues, shouting about the Bears losing again on Thanksgiving. Good times.

Let's catch up.

I told you I was going to take care of you, and I am a woman of my word so here I am. I think you deserve a massive update.

Last night I was in the suburbs taking care of these two little monsters.



It really made me realize how fortunate I am to have such a wonderful family. Sure half the time we're dysfunctional and insane, but whose family isn't? I've shared a fantastic childhood, rich with family history and tradition. I have unbelievable Aunts and Uncles who spoiled us rotten when we were growing up. Thanks to them I know my heritage and recognize where I come from. Thanks to them my niece and nephew will never have to know anything but an outpouring of unconditional love and a genuine desire to be a part of their lives. To know who they are now and a wish to see who they become.

As I've mentioned before, I don't know if a family of my own is in the cards for me, but with the one I've already got, I'll never long for more.

I know you can't choose your family, and I'm okay with that because I am lucky enough to have gotten stuck with mine.



I think about that a lot. Life would be a lot easier if you could choose who you love. Think about it. Instead of that sneaking, slow growing, smack you upside your head moment, it would be something you could control. Something that was accessible and convenient for you. What if we could pick out who we love from a line-up, like they do to perps in jail. Instead of holding up criminal numbers, they would hold up something like, "Is nice to his mom", or "Cries a lot" or "Will only break your heart". Imagine the possibilities.

I was just talking the other day with my friend Jackie about the roles different people play in our lives.

Laura is like a warm cup of tea on a cold afternoon, she just makes me feel at ease and comfortable. Laura knows the best and the worst of me and still loves me. She is my mama bear, always going to bat for me without even having to ask for her help.

Katie is a fiercely loyal friend. She's the one you call when you're all dressed up on a Friday night and your date never shows up. Even if she has been sleeping for hours, she will without hesitation, show up at your door when you need her.

Eleanor lets me be myself more than anyone, a true gift. She knows the words in my heart even when I don't speak them. She is endlessly generous and has shown me moments of kindness that inspire me to be a better person.

Ryan is my magic wand. He makes everyone else disappear. He's the hand that holds my own. He brought commitment to me, shoved it's rearing, ugly face into mine and said, "Don't run."

Dianka is a laugh just when I need it the most and brings excitement into my life. She is authentic and genuine and has taught me never to judge a book by its cover.

Dave is a kindred spirit, he understands things unsaid. He inspires me to have faith in other people and to never give up on true love.

Mel is my wise seer, someone who radiates strength into all she is around. Out of everyone, her words calm me the most. She is the most compassionate person I have ever met without a doubt. When she says "My heart aches for you, Meg" she truly means it.

Shannon is stability and honesty and always gives a genuine and warm hug.

Jess is my home away from home, even at 4,000 miles away. She gets it. She always has.

Donnelly makes me a better friend, effortlessly. Her friendship is as delightful as it is easy, a rare find. With her, there is no judgement, just unconditional love. And more importantly, unconditional fun.

Jill, Caroline and Jackie are my surrogate sisters, always hard at work, helping sort through the drama of my life and keeping me sane day to day. They are the rock I stand on to see above the waves.

And Kate, Kate is the other half of me. We still communicate in a language without words. We still have a relationship no one else can touch. She's the blood and I'm the heart. One doesn't work without the other.

All of these people help fill the holes in the respective puzzle of me, but there are little corners unoccupied even still. I feel like there are always spots left open, waiting, like a reserved parking space in a garage, left warm from the last car that it inhabited.

It would just be easier to choose who you love. Though I doubt it could be better.



Thank you, friends.