Wednesday, February 27, 2019

...Making Limoncello

I'm sitting in a Delta Sky Club watching the tiny bubbles rise in a glass of champagne while I watch business travelers and keep an eye on the time for my flight to London. A week ago I was unemployed and stewing after a breakup in a relatively new but exciting relationship.

This is making limoncello.

Let me back track a minute. I found myself "on the beach" (an old euphemism from my days in TV news that allowed reporters, anchors and the like to graciously say they were unemployed and available for work) after a corporate restructure eliminated my position. The transition felt like a raw punch that sucked the air out of my lungs, but in retrospect, there was a trail of breadcrumbs that indicated I was destined for this fate. And it's okay. Really. I enjoyed my time and many of the colleagues I worked with, but this unexpected change is forcing something good. I like what's on the horizon. At the risk of saying something that would jinx my future, I'm going to save the juicy details for the future.

As this chaos erupted in my professional life, my new beau was an unexpected source of support and encouragement. "I am the worst date ever," I groaned while sipping a tall Blue Moon at lunch on the day I was let go. My new beau smiled and was generous with his optimism and affection - two things I badly needed as I tried to climb out of a funk. But we had a difficult time finding common ground and connecting, and our relationship fizzled out nearly as quickly as it ignited.

The tricky thing about this relationship, which involved a heavy dose of Let's just go with it, shall we? is that we booked a weekend getaway to Miami/South Beach after our second date. I know, I know. "What were you thinking?" is the general consensus among my friends, but I really leaned in to that caution -> wind thing, and weekend getways with strangers is the kind of thing that happens under those circumstances.

Thankfully I have never had a problem coming up with backup plans.

I have a cute, little Kate Spade coin purse. It's a lemon and has gold lettering that says, "When life gives you lemons, make limoncello." I got it because of my annual springtime tradition of making limoncello when Meyer lemons are in season, but the little purse is a subtle nod to my resilience and fervent thing that we can overcome anything if we put in the work and maintain a positive perspective.

That's what I'm doing. Overcoming.

I'm not sure when I am going to have another stretch of time off like this, and I needed a way to make the Delta flights work in my favor. Lisa from Delta Sky Miles is my savior and the reason I am sipping champagne and awaiting a flight to London and Paris; she was kind enough to help me return the tickets I bought to Miami and figure out how to get them assigned to a flight across the pond.

So here I am. Blogging again. Going to Europe again. Making plans for big things again.

It's nearly time for me to pack up and head to the gate. Another solo adventure brimming with opportunity.

Man, this tastes sweet.

Creative Commons License by Katy Crossen is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Sunday, December 30, 2018

Be Impeccable With Your Word

Well, hello there. It's been a moment, hasn't it?

I loved blogging when I started way back nearly 15 years ago. But like most first adopters, I've ridden the wave of oversharing, over-connecting, and the inevitable digital hibernation that followed. I've curated, edited, followed, unfollowed, subtweeted, pseudotweeted, unplugged,  and otherwise engaged with social media in the stereotypical fashion.

This blog was a huge part of my life for many years, but I put it in a box with mothballs when I felt like I needed to be serious and credible. I was growing my career and didn't feel like product reviews or personal revelations correlated with my path. And in some ways, I was right. However, with wisdom and age, I realize that blogging can still have relevancy, even for people seeking a little self preservation.

This form of writing - or reporting, as I started this as a journalist wanting to tell stories in the infancy of blogging - is certainly more casual, and often more personal. I like those qualities. Casual writing gives us wordsmiths an opportunity to play and self-indulge - two things that I support. And personal stories - well, I prescribe to the tenet of gonzo journalism that says you can't write about things you don't know.

This is the point in the blog post where I would normally start with a non sequitur about my being the village idiot who learned a few things along the way. But one thing I learned over the years is to not degrade my self-worth. Self deprecation is one of my coping mechanisms, and people say it is endearing. However, too many cutting quips can create a reality that doesn't exist. So, I am going to say I can be clever on occasion. That's threading the needle, Isn't it?

I do miss writing about things I like and care about. Maybe it's a thing discovered on a trip, or maybe a thing discovered in myself. The human experience is great topic for storytelling, because sharing it has the potential to create bonds and establish connections that otherwise would go undiscovered. As a child I was taught that it was rude to ask personal questions - any personal questions - and so I overcompensated by oversharing; I deeply hoped a wisp of any of my stories would resonate with the person I sought to know.

Instead, it was often regarded as narcissism. It still is.

2019 brings with it new opportunities and goals, and one of mine is to read more books. I consume a lot of news online daily, but struggle keeping pace with my New York Times subscription; I have many electronic and printed books left unread. I've resolved to read more original content and my first goal is to read The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz the end of New Year's Day. I'm already a quarter of the way finished.

The book offers four pearls of wisdom that intend to make life simpler and more peaceful. The First Agreement is "Be Impeccable With Your Word." A strong correlation with the sentiments of the fifth paragraph above.

The other agreements are wise, too (Don't Take Anything Personally, Don't Make Assumptions, Always Do Your Best), and promise transformation and a life in the direction of truth and love.

This year, I am working on wordsmithing the hell out of what I say - to both others and myself.

I hope this new year brings you peace, opportunity, and adventure.

Creative Commons License by Katy Crossen is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Tuesday, December 27, 2016

Young Blood

"Who is going to take care of us?!"

My friend, Thomas, exclaimed this several months ago over a happy hour before karaoke. He said it half jokingly, but there was more than an element of cutting sincerity buried in the sentiment.

Thomas and I met 18 years ago when I was interning at what would be my first employer after college. He was a green news producer with a wee bit more newsroom experience under his belt. We had no idea we'd become such good friends over the years, celebrating weddings and births together, and later major career successes. Thomas and I even turned toward each other in a moment of deep grief a couple years ago, finding comfort in bonds that were cemented over bleats of a police scanner and cans of cheap Busch beer.

With some friendships, time can ebb and flow, but the connections remain as true and vibrant as they were in the good ol' days.

Today, we both have good jobs that belie our newsroom roots. Every so often we carve out some time to catch up, celebrate, and reminisce about a life that seems a world away.

During this months-ago happy hour, our conversation took a very nuanced tone. Most of the time we spin yarns about remember whens and whatever happened to so-and-so. We chuckle over tales about when we were young and poor and sometimes dumb asses.

But this time, we deeply measured what lies ahead for us over these next 40 or 50 years, and worried about how we singletons without children would make it through the rough times. Rough times come occasionally, measured with obituaries or doctor visits. But other times, they're counted in holidays without plans or celebratory occasions that pass with little fanfare.

Thomas and I both have strong social networks and great friends, but we wondered - who will come visit us on Christmas Day in the Old Folks Home when we're old and don't have children? Whose pictures will we hang on the refrigerator door?

He teased we needed to make friends with younger people - millennials who are 10 or more years our junior - so that we could at least count on cocktails with those younger, spry people in our golden years.

Most people have children for other reasons - the pride of raising a family, the love of seeing your genes in the next generation; crossing over to 40 has made me fiercely aware of the situation of elder care and the benefits of having kids.

This is the kind of thing I worry about - not whether my kid will get into a good college, or if my spouse will be healthy in our twilight years. I worry about how the choices I've made in my 20s and 30s will affect me in my 70s and 80s.

I have a dear friend with three sons. I believe those kids will come visit me when I'm in a nursing home, if for no other reason than to get a good story or two about their dad, who passed away in their youth. My niece and nephew might come visit, especially if they remain the beneficiaries of my assets.

My friends without children - we've talked before about how we're going to have to retire together to take care of each other. Aside from the benefits of communal living (nightly dinners together, activities like crafts and Cocktails 101), we'll be able to enhance our golden years by chipping in for an in-house masseuse, a pool boy, and maid/cook.

Okay, so maybe I won't have as many crayon-scrawled Picassos in my kitchen. But if Plan B allows me the jack to cover a maid and cook who will have homemade guacamole and a vodka martini ready for me at 4 pm, I think I'll make it just fine.

Creative Commons License by Katy Crossen is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Sunday, December 04, 2016

Slam Click

Being "on" all the time can suck the life out of you.

I am a textbook introvert; I have the capacity to be the life of the party, the wild one everyone wants to talk to. But after hours of giving up my best stuff - my passion, my self-deprecation, my ferocious joie de vivre - I relegate myself to a confined space with a good book or my Netflix feed.

Unless you are an introvert, there is a strong chance you misunderstand the concept. We are not anti-social. In some cases, we can be even more gregarious than those extroverts you know. Julia Roberts, Amy Schumer, and Tom Hanks are all introverts. Robin Williams was an introvert. This breed of people is not afraid of the stage or limelight. Introverts make excellent public speakers because they have a penchant for rehearsing and over-rehearsing their role, their lines, their script.

We plan. A lot.

Because, like the dying charge on an iPhone with a ravenous operating system, we need to know when we are going to be able to plug in for some downtime.

Where extroverts get their energy by being around others, charging up on conversations about new ideas or fun stories, introverts are the people who give up that energy to the crowd and have to go back home to revive their battery life.

As part of my introversion kink, I really need to think about whether I have the capacity to spend time with strangers.

The art of conversation with strangers is especially draining for me; I struggle with making idle chit chat with people I've never met.

I know this is a tricky proposition; strangers become lovers and best friends if you give them a chance and let them in.

A couple nights ago, my friends geared up to meet some people who live across from our vacation villa in Puerto Vallarta. The day had been a long one involving a trek to a rustic ocean side restaurant with a secluded beach. We dined on octopus and plantains and delicious herbal margaritas. A couple of us made an adventurous swim to an offshore floating island complete with a hammock and palm tree. The climb onto the float left me bruised and bloodied, and I was exhausted after a long day of sipping margaritas and cervezas.

(Ed note: I admit the above paragraph reads like obnoxious whining about First World problems. And that's exactly what it is.)

The entire day was full of sensory overload, and it sucked my energy dry. The last thing I wanted to do was make nice and play Cards Against Humanity with a bunch of people I'd never see again.

But I felt like an asshole. I was the only one in the group who didn't want to go. Rather than hit the wall and completely shut down in front of a crowd, I decided to stay behind with my book, some smokes, and a couple Tecates.

Ultimately, it was the best thing for everyone involved because by the time I reunited with the group I felt recharged and ready to happily reengage.

Years ago an old friend who worked for Delta Air Lines told me about the Slam-Click. This is a term flight attendants use for the occasions when they need to disengage and recharge after a day of serving others salty peanuts and flimsy plastic cups of Diet Coke.

Slam-Click is when you go to your hotel room, slam the door, and click the lock shut. Every flight attendant has had to slam-click at one time or another. It's a tactic that should no doubt be embraced far beyond the airline industry.

Everyone needs to pull back on occasion.

We all need to withdraw to the toys in our attic, think about things that are important, and how we can carry on to the next moment.

Here's to recharging and saving up the energy for the next great occasion.

Creative Commons License by Katy Crossen is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Thursday, December 01, 2016

40 Is The New Fabulous

Life is full of a series of coincidences.

Today marks my 40th birthday, and for the occasion I chose to enjoy a four-handed tantric massage. The masseuses mentioned the massage style was called Shiva's Dance, in honor of the Hindu god.

I learned about Shiva when I went to India five years ago, and he has become one of my favorite spiritual symbols.

Shiva is both a symbol of destruction and rebirth, a philosophy I've held to dearly  in the years since that trip. Change - whether planned or unexpected - can transform us in ways we can never anticipate.

In many ways, that trip to India was a dramatic catalyst for change within me. It was after that trip that I took up running; I've since run nine half marathons. I've grown professionally, personally, financially. I've formed new relationships with people who inspire me and push me to grow. 

I grew up quite a bit.

The 30s have been wonderful to me, and I'm excited about transitioning to this new decade. Right up to the very end, my 30s served up many beautiful surprises - and I can't wait to see what lies ahead in the next ten years.

Whatever they may include, I am certain the next ten years will be fabulous.

Agra, India - May 2011         /       Puerto Vallarta, Mexico - December 2016

Creative Commons License by Katy Crossen is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Saturday, November 26, 2016

My Last Week of Youth

Life doesn't stop at 40, but does our youth?

My 30s have been good to me. The last decade served a up a lot - moments of success, opportunities to learn, a hell of a lot of fun. I went to the West Coast for the first time ever, rode a camel in Dubai, and performed drag as a Bio Diva named Sh'needza Mann. (The song was I Will Survive. Of course it was.)

But for as much as I've thrown myself into the chase of gaining new experiences, there were a few elusive things I had to push to nail down before my 40th birthday.

  • Become a homeowner. This was a big deal; I'm grateful I decided to finally commit to some real estate. Here's to working for 30 more years to pay for it.
  • Get a tattoo. It's not big, but it has huge meaning. Three little letters that are close to my heart, symbolizing my love for my nieces and nephew.
  • Negotiate a promotion. It was scary, but I learned how to be my own best advocate.
  • Start flossing and taking daily calcium supplements. I started wearing SPF on my face daily when I turned 30, and it has greatly helped me stave off the wrinkles. Flossing and vitamins seemed like good habits for health.
  • Reading and writing daily. I have a couple books I want to write, and much to my chagrin, I realized they aren't going to write themselves. Here's to committing to a few moments each day that give my writing skills a workout.
  • Bring back the blog. So, let's get a drink sometime and I'll tell you why I have the new URL. I'm just glad I was able to keep my content and start blogging again. I have more to say, and this is where I'll say it.
  • Quit toxic relationships. How does a person make you feel? If the answer is sad and miserable, you don't need to keep them in your life.
  • Walk away from settling. I realized I deserve more than I allowed myself to have.
  • Fall in beautiful, all-encompassing love. I started chasing boys on the playground when I was in second grade. I've been chasing ever since. I finally found a man who chases me back just as hard.
The 30s have been phenomenal. And everyone tells me the 40s are even better. You have the wisdom and experience of your youth, and the bank account of someone with some miles on the odometer. 

Here's to another decade of making mistakes, having fun, and discovering more about this crazy trip we call life.

Creative Commons License by Katy Crossen is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Monday, November 21, 2016

Derby Pie

Thanksgiving is upon us, and Jeannie has tasked me with the job of bringing dessert. This is a job I really relish; I've been making Derby Pie from scratch for nearly 20 years.

Derby Pie is a traditional pecans-chocolate chips-bourbon confectionery (though Kern's Kitchen out of Louisville claims the official Derby Pie is made with walnuts) beloved across the Bluegrass State. I've perfected mine over the years and use two secret ingredients that make this a home run winner. I typically won't give up both of my secret ingredients in one sitting, but if you give me enough bourbon I might oblige.

And that reminds me of a third ingredient: wine. I always make every pie with a cup of wine. Or maybe two cups. It depends on how much you need to sip on while you're mixing ingredients and rolling out crust.

Food & Wine has a pretty solid Derby Pie recipe for those of you still mulling your holiday menu.
Tomorrow, I'll share a great recipe for those of you who crave a bit of pumpkin after your turkey.

Creative Commons License by Katy Crossen is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Wednesday, November 09, 2016

Thoughts On The Election

This post comes from a letter I sent to a friend in response to an email she sent in solidarity after the Presidential election. I was a strong, loud advocate for Hillary Clinton, and the loss served a crushing blow to my spirit and patriotism. But in my free-flow response, I found a glimmer of hope and an inkling of a plan. I hope you find the same. - KC

I am completely crushed - crushed for we working women, many of whom still deal with sexism, unequal pay, and higher standards of performance than our male peers.
I am crushed for my Latino, Asian and African American friends, whose skin serves as a permanent badge of courage and physical reason for discrimination.
I am crushed for my Muslim friends, who only seek lives of political peace and the freedom to worship – the same ideals sought by those who landed at Plymouth Rock in 1620.
I am crushed for my LGBTQ friends, who in the past year and a half have reveled in the freedom to marry and enjoy other legal protections that straight couples have taken for granted for centuries.
I am crushed for people with disabilities, people who are low income, seniors, and the children of our nation. These groups have the least influence and fewest resources, and because they do not greatly contribute to our nation’s ledger of business, their needs will be disregarded and raided to give the wealthiest even more.
But the sadness I felt last night, and the despondency I felt this morning, it is turning into a new feeling: anger. Anger because of things beyond my control like the Electoral College, and rage at a voting constituency – nearly half our nation – with whom I cannot identify.
But the Democratic Party is the group to which I have assigned the lion’s share of my ire. The party needs to wake up and really evaluate how we can achieve rousing success at the ballot box.
The Obama candidacy woke a nation – the millennials, the African Americans, the progressives, and it was because it provided the constituency with an awe inspiring alternative to the status quo. And as much as I will still say that “ImWithHer,” the HRC campaign was not nearly as emotional. It was smart and thoughtful, and Hillary Clinton did her best to include a few of Bernie Sanders’ planks in her platform, but this go around was still old guard, establishment politics at its finest.
I don’t know if someone completely outside of the establishment is what we need, but it is clear that’s what the people wanted this election. And so here we are, bracing and holding our collective breaths, waiting to see whether the end is really nigh.
This anger, though. I have a glimmer of a plan. I intend to get even more ingrained in local politics. Not as a candidate – but as a volunteer, advocate, and donor. I cannot sit back and let local politics experience a similar, fearful fate. And I hope my active neighbors will do the same. If we can revitalize our neighborhoods and street corners, perhaps we can ignite a small but mighty movement that carries on to Washington.
In two years, we will vote on every U.S. Representative seat, a third of all Senate seats, and 36 of 50 governorships. November 6, 2018 is a big day to hold Washington accountable for what transpires during the next two years. And after that race, I fully expect we’ll learn which Democratic candidate(s) want to take a run at taking back the White House.
And I will be ready to fight.
Until then I am going to try and save more of my money, keep an eye on the DJIA and add more to my 401(k) designation when the Dow drops. And I’m going to spend more time talking to my neighbors – really getting to know the people who live near me, shop at my neighborhood grocery, and work at the local businesses.
It’s time to mend fences, build relationships and discover that we have more in common with our neighbors than we have differences.

Creative Commons License by Katy Crossen is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Friday, August 07, 2015

What I've Learned In Eleven Years

Eleven is the thick of awkward.

Eleven is sleepovers and evolving social dynamics and fits and starts of confidence and insecurity.

If this blog was a kid, I'd be saving for college. Or paying for braces.

Eleven years ago this week, I dove head first into the murky water of weblogging.

I really had no idea what I was doing then; I might have more than an inkling these days, but I still don't know what to say. Or rather, I am a lot more guarded about what I say.

But after a spotty couple years of infrequent blogging, I am itching to tell some more stories.

Years ago, I loved blogging because it allowed me to connect with people I'd never met. We found common ground in shared thoughts and passions. Some of those connections and engagements were magical.

It's time to once again chase stardust and dreams.

The Queen City is panting and straining - thick in the middle of a funky, gorgeous growth spurt. Growth where size and citizenry are concerned, but also with regard to perspective and ideals.

It's sometimes painful. It's sometimes downright awkward.

But we are really growing up and getting comfortable in our own skin. It feels pretty magnificent.

Here's to sharing more special stories about our gal coming into her own.

I think I know a thing or two about that.

Creative Commons License
Kate's Random Musings by Katy Crossen is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Thank You, 2014

I was going to write about the blessings I'm reflecting on at the year's close.

A little financial freedom and a future a wee bit more rosy. A lot of adventure and new passport stamps. New found confidence... a revived interest in running and healthier habits.

Good friends I've known a long, long time. New friends who are fast becoming good friends.

Discovering the freedom of feeling good on your own, instead of selling out for someone who leaves you wanting something more and different.

I wanted to say a lot about how well 2014 has treated me. This isn't one of those years to shake out like a threadbare, dusty rug. This year is a friend who makes me linger at the door, begging them to stick around and share one more toast, one more memory, one more happy day.

As with most blog posts these days, I've decided I'd rather keep it all inside, and let 2014 be a bottle of something I sip on alone when I need to remind myself of opportunity and happiness and strength.

This was a beautiful year.

And it makes me so damn excited about what awaits in 2015.

Here's to even more security - financial or otherwise. Here's to new places and faces to see and love. Here's to growing into someone I like and whose company I enjoy all on my own.

It's taken me a long time to say that last line.

Thank you, 2014.

Creative Commons License
Kate's Random Musings by Katy Crossen is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Taste of the World

I don't know what the world tastes like, but I'm well on my way.

Last month my dear, daring friend Candace and I trekked off to China. It was a crazy, chaotic demanding trip that delighted tastebuds and inspired with amazing views.

The past few weeks have been hectic (read: the past few months have been hectic) and I've been remiss in sharing a few nuggets I learned in the Orient. I'll put pen to paper and share some stories soon, but in the meantime you can scan through my Flickr album to soak up a few sights yourself.

But I digress.

Travel is the best way to really indulge your culinary whimsy. It's true - croissants in Paris are a wee bit better than the versions we have Stateside. The curries of India carry a bit more zip and zing.

But you can't help but celebrate those chefs who inspire with flavors from far away.

The annual Taste of the World event takes over Newport Aquarium once again this Saturday night (7:30 to 11 pm). An annual fundraiser for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, this fete ranks in my personal Top 10 of yearly social events in Greater Cincinnati.

The event features the world's best winemakers, distillers and brewmasters, paired with top notch local chefs who serve dinner by-the-bite.

Guests nibble delicious food-and-drink pairings while mingling amidst the ocean's fiercest predators.

This year, the $125 ticket price includes access to the Top Shelf area, a VIP-style space with premium bar service and sweeping views of Cincinnati.

I'm told tickets are selling swiftly, so make haste and purchase yours soon!

Or, if you'd like to try your luck, I'm giving away a pair to Saturday's event.

Each of the following is worth one entry. Tickets will be given away Friday around lunchtime.

  • Tweet "I want to go to #TasteoftheWorld with @Kate_the_Great this Saturday night!"
  • Facebook: "I want to go to #TasteoftheWorld with #Kate_the_Great this Saturday night!"
  • Leave a comment below describing your favorite international delicacy

The Fine Print
All entrants must be residents of the United States and 21 years of age or older to enter. No purchase necessary, void where prohibited by law. You must enter by Friday, October 24 12 noon. EST. Entries must be posted following only the directions above. Your odds of winning are based on the number of entries. By entering, you provide me with the right to use your name in publicity materials and to use your email address to contact you, and to provide your name and address to my sponsors. I am not responsible for emails that bounce or lost mail. I reserve the right to disqualify any entry that contains defamatory or obscene language or otherwise does not abide by the rules. If the winner does not respond within 24 hours, I will pick another winner until one responds. 

Creative Commons License
Kate's Random Musings by Katy Crossen is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Wednesday, July 09, 2014

Give and Take

 "Nine times out of 10, I would never put that thing in my mouth."

So went the one-line monologue careening in my head as I passed a downtown cupcake shop.

Some folks are sweets freaks. They stash Fun Size Snickers bars in their desk drawers, scoop handfuls of brightly colored, cellophane wrapped candies out of the jar on the receptionist's desk. They might have a rock hard frozen 3 Musketeers bar buried in the freezer between their Lean Cuisines and frozen grapes.

Not me.

Given the choice between the most delicate, confectioners sugar-dusted dessert and a smartly plated cheese tray, I will always choose the cheese.

We all have preferences, and mine typically do not include sweets.

I mulled on the twee cupcake shop with the pink-and-brown frosted treats in the window and knew with conviction what I'd prefer, given a choice between cupcakes and almost anything else. A martini. A bowl of guacamole. A margarita. Bacon.

The cupcake always loses. Always.

The decision between the aforementioned items isn't as easy.

And that's the difference between preference and choice.

Life is full of preference and choice. With preferences, we tend to stick with what we know. We know the taste and feel of what we want, and we know how that selection makes us feel. We know what happens when that chemical reaction confronts our own physiology.

We can predict what happens if we sip from the bottle that says DRINK ME.

Preferences are almost always bankable.

Choices - and I'm talking now about something a bit more broad than a red velvet cupcake - are a bit more complicated.

Choices sometimes fly on the wings of whimsy. Choices involve decisions that are not always derived by reasoning. Other times choices are very calculated and intend to move us closer to a goal.

Sometimes we choose the unknown.

Regardless of the motivation, choice always involves giving up on one thing to have another.

Each of our lives are full of choices. I choose to invest in travel over buying belongings. I choose to live in a loud and dense urban community over the vast (editorial: scary) quiet peacefulness of the suburbs.

I choose investing over driving.

The thing about choices - they each present an either-or scenario, meaning you forgo one to have another.

I can't choose the margarita if I order the martini. I mean, not really. And if I do, for the love of God, please ask me if everything is okay, because it most likely isn't.

The beautiful thing about this opportunity is that in many cases we get to revisit the proposition. Who knows... Right now my 401(k) gets a healthy injection every paycheck. Maybe someday I may choose something with fuel injection and a steering wheel.

Someday I'll choose the margarita. Never the cupcake.

We give up on something when we make a choice, but it doesn't have to be something we lose forever.

The server will always be back around to take your order.

In my case, I prefer he skips the dessert menu.

Creative Commons License
Kate's Random Musings by Katy Crossen is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Thursday, May 29, 2014

Booty In the Black Dress

Life is hilarious at times.

I have a penchant for Little Black Dresses, or LBDs, as they're called by my female brethren. I like them because they are appropriate for dates, weddings, funerals, job interviews, galas, auctions, awards dinners, horse racing (well, the viewing part), conferences, family functions, church, traveling, and pretty much any other occasion you can consider.

My closet has maybe 12 LBDs - some for summer months, some for winter. Some are dressier than others. These dresses are my go-to body armor when I need to look my best.

This morning I chose a cute sleeveless version. It has a peplum that conceals my shrinking tummy and a grosgrain bow at the side of my waist. I love this dress. It fits like a glove and looks like dynamite.

I can channel my mojo with this dress.

Accessorized with one of my favorite Murphee scarves, I feel like I am polished and ready to deal with the highs and lows of Cincinnati humidity and blasting air conditioning.

My recent running jag and related FitBit obsession has encouraged me to add steps to my day whenever possible, and that means stepping away from the desk at least once an hour to fill my Tervis tumbler with water, run to the restroom or check my mailbox in the office.

All of the little trips add up to about 1,500 steps a day, or about 10 percent of my daily goal.

While in the restroom I checked my side profile, as most ladies do, and noticed something most unfortunate.

I had a hole in my dress - in the seam right around my bum.

The fabric puckered out a bit on my behind, and I knew that beyond standing stick straight, there was a good chance this niggling hole could gape open into a great game of peek-a-boo.

Does this happen in real life? Yes, why, yes it does.

I thought about running home, walking to Walgreen's - a number of solutions to mend this situation. None of them were speedy and all of them were an opportunity to give someone a sneak peek of my posterior.

A colleague of mine and I scrounged around the receptionist desk and found one needle and a tiny spool of white thread. I grabbed a Sharpie and headed back to the restroom-cum-seamstress shop and stitched up the hole, drawing marker on any noticeable white stitches.

LBD back in fighting form and ready for whatever the day serves up.

Tomorrow evening marks the start of Summerfair and the always enjoyable ladies-only Little Black Dress event. Tickets are going quickly; click here if you'd like to join Molly Wellman, Ginger Watson and me for a night of fun and fashion with some of your favorite ladies. See you there!

Creative Commons License
Kate's Random Musings by Katy Crossen is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Friday, May 23, 2014

The Long Run

Ever get the sense the universe is talking to you?

No gentle nudges, no hushed whispers. I'm talking shoulder-grabbing, ardent and arresting conversation.

The universe gave me a talking to these past few weeks, and it prompted a long pause.

The first agenda item involved my lifestyle - the one without a family and kids. A casual comment by a stranger reared up some hard feelings I'd buried in the wet and mealy sand covering my forgotten hopes and dreams.

The fact I do not have children is a census data point I wrestle with at every GYN appointment and during each new introduction. Yes, I am a 37-year-old singleton. No, I am not a member of one of Peter Pan's Lost Boys. Yes, I am a fully grown grown-up.

I make money and pay bills and manage a bunch of responsibilities like everyone else.

For some reason, this is a popular inquiry when women meet other women; I can't be certain but I don't think it's something men lead with. I suppose women ask in attempt to find an olive branch of commonality or commiseration, but sometimes my reply makes me feel less than adequate and, dare I say, less of a woman.

While so many women are quick to ask about my procreation history, I am painfully apprehensive about asking another woman about her profession. I worry about appearing dismissive or superior because I have a career; I know plenty of stay-at-home moms (my amazing sister Brigid is one of them) and am impressed by their ability to handle what may be the hardest job on the planet.

Moms werk.

And so, when in the company of a bunch of women I've never met, I tend to rely on the vaguely generic and hopefully benign, "How do you spend your time?"

Sometimes working women and SAHMs don't even mention their daily vocations, and instead lead with tales of wild athletic adventures, fascinating investment opportunities and Martha Stewart-worthy crafting talents.

And that kicks ass.

Because at the pith, we are a hell of a lot more than how we spend our days. I am not a marketer/PR pro. I am a world traveler. I am a fervent urbanist. I am a champion of the less fortunate.

That's how I hope people describe me long after I've turned back to dust.

Which brings me to the second agenda item for my deep conversation with the universe.

Our time on this rock is a long game.

I have the propensity for anxiousness and eagerness. I worry now about what will happen later, and sometimes I want now what I deserve later.

The universe offered up a few occasions recently that reminded me that life is a game with a long lead time; easy pay-offs prove to be fool's gold or uninformed disappointments.

Sometimes I have a running monologue in my brain that is peppered with a bunch of trite expressions like this one and this one and this one. They're strings of words I use to remind me to pace myself.

At 37, I'm in the middle of the second quarter of life. I can see half time, but there's plenty more to play before I get there.

My life might take the same path as my sisters, friends and neighbors. Or maybe not. But I am certain this journey is unique and will give rise to amazing adventure, unique opportunities and plenty of rich memories.

No better, no worse. Just different.

I'm ready.

Creative Commons License
Kate's Random Musings by Katy Crossen is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Friday, May 02, 2014

The Enemy of Good

I like getting my own way.

Most people, save for the martyrs, the masochists and the most sacrificial among us, probably feel the same way.

When things go as we expect or plan, we are prepared for the consequences. The road map takes us on a journey and to a destination we've chosen.

But in many ways, life rarely goes as planned. Instead, we're called upon to roll with calamity and divergent actions. We're forced to deal with someone else's preference.

And sometimes that sucks.

Last night I had the pleasure of hearing a German diplomat talk a bit about the narcissism of minor differences. The premise, coined by Sigmund Freud, says that people sometimes let the smallest of nuances act as a barrier between developing partnerships.

Germany's Minister of Economic Affairs Peter Fischer discussed the concept and how it sometimes acts as a barrier between Europe and the United States; it's a concept that sometimes acts as a barrier right here in Cincinnati, too.

With the narcissism of minor differences, it's possible to be blinded by our own plans, our own ideas, our own priorities. That blindness conceals the bigger picture and hides from us the many other angles and facets at play.

We fail to realize that another solution is a worthy one, even if it isn't ours.

I, for one, have been guilty of letting subjective preferences lead my drive.

On a few of those occasions, I've had to step back and let my passion subside so that I could look at an issue objectively and rationally. Those moments usually led to the admission that compromise was the best way to move forward.

I won't say it didn't sting, but it did feel good to commit to a decision the entire team could celebrate.

In politics, in our communities, in our work and in family - ego has a way of thwarting a connection. A strong person champions an idea or effort, but reason stands an even stronger person has the capacity to relinquish a bit of pride and lead a compromise that serves the cause over the person.

"Perfect is the enemy of good," is one of my favorite expressions for endeavors involving team work.

So often a group can get sidetracked by minutia when they should be focused on the end result. In many cases, the finished product is all that really counts, not the process that led the team there.

Fischer's talk reminded me that my own personal agenda can sometimes serve as a road block, when instead I should commit to looking at the bigger picture and the commonality I can find with others.


Creative Commons License
Kate's Random Musings by Katy Crossen is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

My Obsession

My mother picks her cuticles until they're bloody.

I remember watching her pull at her skin while we were on family vacations - long road trips with plenty of time to stew over one's troubles.

She is a nervous person, my mother. And I surmise she tugged at those dry and ragged bits of flesh out of absent minded worries. My supposition comes because these 25 years later I find myself doing the exact thing, pulling skin away from my nails until they're rimmed with raw and red flesh.

Nervousness is something I cope with.

Nail biting, scab picking. I have strange ways to physically cope with nervous energy when it creeps into my psyche.

I think at some point I realized there are things I can't control; I am quite deliberate with occasions I can manage.

I know full well there's plenty more of the former than the latter.

Control is an interesting thing. I don't think it's a learned behavior. I can go through my genealogy and single out relatives both older and younger who cope with control issues.

Some of us inherit freckles or a gaping overbite. Other ancestors pass down quirky behavior traits.

My relationship with psychology is confined to a Psychology 100 class way back in 1995 with Dr. Golding at UK. I'm no expert, but my hunch tells me many people with control issues also struggle with OCD.

And a little bit of that lives in me, too.

I have rituals. After showering, I dry off the exact same way every time. Face. Arms. Hair in a towel turban. The second towel takes care of everything else.

Apple's ear buds cause me trouble daily. No matter how hard I try, I can't let myself put the right-designated bud in my left ear. It's a quirk I've come to accept.

Every morning when I leave my apartment, I search my purse for my keys no less than three times. One time right after the other. Sometimes people in a rush don't like waiting for me, but I need to check to make sure they're there.

I don't know if it's my financial sensibilities (ringing up the landlord on the weekend to unlock the door carries a $75 fee) or the threat of inconvenience, but part of me suspects it's my OCD.

My ears likely present my greatest obsessive experience. I clean my ears maybe two, three times a day. If I don't have a q-tip handy, I'll resort to using a bobby pin. Intellectually I know this is not a healthy behavior, but I can't help it.

My worst moments of OCD typically involve losing something. Yesterday I double-backed two blocks to search for a missing glove. Sunday I tore apart my house for 20 minutes to find a missing scarf; my frantic search sidetracked me for an appointment with a friend.

I don't talk about my mental health often, but I know full well there's a great big world of other folks coping with their own idiosyncrasies, too.

My nervous ticks have been bothering me lately, and I thought a little bit of transparency and sharing might make me feel better, helping me remember everyone is dealing with their own brain gunk.

A friend reminded me this weekend that everyone has issues; the power is in owning them and figuring out how to overcome them or at the very least working to ensure they don't control us.

A perfect challenge for a control freak, eh?

Creative Commons License
Kate's Random Musings by Katy Crossen is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Friday, March 14, 2014

Wrap It Up

Sometimes a woman needs a coat of armor.

Whether it be work, dating or other sticky matters, situations arise that require confidence and grace, and sometimes we need to fake it until we make it to survive the moment at hand.

It's in situations like this when I turn to a few well loved items in my wardrobe, one of which is celebrating a monumental milestone.

Diane von Furstenberg's iconic wrap dress is turning 40; it was designed when more and more women were entering the workforce and seeking styles that were comfortable, professional and also flattering for the female form.

After the traditional LBD, the wrap dress is my favorite frock.

The classic design looks great on nearly every body type. Willowy women look sleek and slender. We curvy girls look dynamite in the dress that skims our shape and pulls together our well blessed chests.

The dress requires little maintenance, and can be untied in a jiffy on occasions that require quick undressing. It goes from day to night beautifully and is the perfect canvas to style with jewelry, jackets and jaunty scarves.

The wrap dress is a symbol of liberation and opportunity and beloved by women everywhere.

I wore a new wrap dress today, quite coincidentally (Banana Republic always has amazing wrap dresses and right now many are on sale), and was greeted with a compliment from a colleague first thing this morning. The props more appropriately belong to the dress than me; it is a great form that makes me feel like a million bucks.

Modern fashion dynamics typically don't involve chainmaille or breast plates made of steel, but we women sometimes still encounter situations that require suiting up for battle.

Thank goodness for DVF.

Creative Commons License
Kate's Random Musings by Katy Crossen is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Thursday, March 06, 2014

Five Minutes To Lend A Hand

Ever struggle with burn out?

It's the sensation you feel when your soul is exhausted. Just like a sore body after running a marathon, your emotional self can run out of gas when you feel like you have nothing left to give.

Burn out almost snuffed out my sparkle two years ago. My volunteering had hit a fever pitch just as I was training to run three half marathons and had embarked on more demanding work duties. My body ached, my spirit was defeated. I felt dull and weak, with no fire inside to keep me going.

I began to shut down.

So I made drastic changes.

I withdrew from all of my volunteering endeavors. By the end of it, I'd actually become a horrible volunteer because I wasn't committed. My sweet spot is life balance, and I found myself with a career and service obligations that both wanted a little bit more than what I could give.

Any good young professional keeps a hearty social calendar, too, and mine had been full of events - obligations with loose ties to philanthropy or politics. I love a good gala - the fun dresses, the cocktails. But the chit-chat can leave me feeling a bit empty. It may be a surprise to some, but I am a textbook introvert; I'd rather spend quality time with a solid group of 10 people or so and dig in to conversations that probe a bit. It's hard to do that when you're trapped in ballroom with 300 of your closest friends.

So I started weeding out the "have to" events and committed to the "want to" events.

Stoking the coals. That's what I did. I needed to find my fire.

Outsiders might surmise it looked like I was pushing people away, but rather, I was retreating to take care of myself. I guess it goes back to that introvert thing: I crave a little bit of downtime so I can ignite my light and shine a little bit when I'm with others.

I made a few changes and it led to a healthy harmony in my life: good professional efforts, short civic stints that don't burden and offer meaning, and social engagements that keep me connected to people and causes I adore.

But I still find myself wanting to do a wee bit more.

Enter the Five Minute Favor.

Adam Grant touched on this concept at last year's Bold Fusion event. The thought is that we can each afford five to 15 minutes to help someone - whether that be by making a connection, advocating for a cause, or otherwise doing something that is helpful but not burdensome.

Right now my career doesn't allow me to devote a lot of time to a given cause, but I can rock a 15 minute favor like it's my job. I love connecting two people who would benefit from each other. I can easily spend five minutes crafting a meaningful thank-you note to someone who has made an impact on my life in some way. I can meet with someone for a drink to brainstorm their next great idea.

I wish I could save the world.

I wish I could nurture a thousand, meaningful relationships.

But for now, I know I can count on myself to deliver five to 15 minutes to help someone, and that 15 minutes could maybe, just maybe, mean the world to someone else.

Creative Commons License
Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Friday, February 14, 2014

Thank You, You Know Who

It sounds so Hollywood.

The working woman arrives at her desk after a heady meeting and discovers a stunning floral arrangement.

Blood red rose petals, snowy white hydrangeas. A card. A mystery.


Every smart, beautiful woman deserves flowers on Valentine's Day!

Enjoy the day...
A friend."

My head swirled yesterday afternoon, running down the candidates who could send such a kind and encouraging message.

  • Someone I've kissed
  • Someone I want to kiss
  • A dear gal pal
  • One of my favorite, fabulous gays
  • The ever-present best guy
  • My parents
  • My sisters
  • My niece and nephew (with the help of their mother)
  • An admirer from afar
  • A friendly gentleman 
 I thought about ringing up the florist. A Spanish inquisition of sorts centering on the source of sentiment. But who sent it? I'd ask. A plea with the intention of returning such generosity.

But no. This kind stranger brought joy to me on a day that is wrangled with so many emotions and challenges for us single types. It can be quite difficult at times, seeing couples canoodle, and suffering through the berating in commercials cheering, "Every kiss begins with K."

Valentine's Day is great for lovers. It smites for those still seeking their one and only.

So thank you, mysterious benefactor of my bachelor girl heart. Thank you for making me feel just as special as someone who has another to call their own. You can't know how much it warmed me up.

The truth is any number of people could have sent me this lovely display of affection, and that reminds me I'm already loved well enough.

How do you express the gratitude for that?

Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Monday, January 06, 2014

Christmas Future

How would Auntie Mame celebrate the holidays?

The calendar says it's January 6, the 12th day of Christmas, or the Epiphany. And it's taken me this long to think about how I want to celebrate Christmas for years to come.

If there's one thing most folks know about it, it's that I am more than a little unconventional. And I suppose that sense of personality will translate to my future holiday festivities. Think more Eddie Izzard and less Jimmy Stewart.

It's a Wonderful Life is my favorite Christmas movie. The epitome of tradition, the film centers on a desperate man who thinks his family, his friends, his very community would would be in tact even without his existence.

It's a message we can all take to heart.

I don't know what tomorrow brings, and I've made it this far in life to let go of a little bit of the shoulds and wants to focus on the cans and haves.

And I know that I have some truly wonderful people in my life. The colorful, eccentric, flamboyant personalities. The big dreamers holding tight to deep ideals and lofty desires. The genuine relationships that revel in irreverent jokes and conversations of commiseration.

All of these people give rise to rich visions of Christmas Future.

Bring on the drag queens, the bottles of champagne and the giggles over contributions to the Naughty List. I want holidays full of raucous laughter, warm moments and unconventional experience. I know I can dip in and out of traditional holiday moments with family and friends, but I'm excited about making the holidays mean something unique and just for me.

Maybe sometimes that means leaving the ornaments in storage one year so that I can run away to a sandy beach with friends. Maybe sometimes that means bringing some of my flair to the traditions my family already has in place.

The holidays don't have to mean any less for us because we're sans a plus-one or without wee ones undertow. Christmas is about bringing together people we love - and that means everyone from your father, your best gay, your dearest confidant and those in between.

Life's a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death.

Soak it up.

Creative Commons License
Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Thursday, January 02, 2014

Ring My Bell, 2014

There's an old wives' tale that says the year ahead is dictated by how you celebrate New Year's Day.

And that's something I can get behind.

The clock struck midnight and I found myself wrapped in an embrace with a handsome, mysterious man. There we were in our party clothes, surrounded by hundreds of people in a casino ballroom with thumping music and flashing strobe lights, enamored with each other's lips.

If the kiss is an indication of what's ahead, I expect this year to fare far better than the last.

Shortly thereafter, I had an interesting conversation with an old friend. We talked about this blog. He said no one reads it anymore because it isn't as raw and real as it used to be. And he's right. I worry a lot about what I say, what people might think, and what I want to disclose.

But I shouldn't.

So - one of my resolutions for the year is to be a bit more transparent, a little bit more revealing, a little bit more open when I write. Every day I think about things and experience random situations that deserve sharing, and I shouldn't hold them in.

Brace yourselves.

After the ball dropped, I grabbed my coat and found a $5 poker chip on the floor near the escalator. A sign of riches to come in the new year? I strode toward a roulette wheel and was grateful the pit boss allowed me to drop the chip at a table with a $25 limit.

My bet on evens didn't work, but Lady Luck gave me a second chance.

I walked toward the exit when a man approached me. The Saudi was visiting Cincinnati with some of his friends and they hoped I'd join their table.

In 2014, one of my resolutions is to do more - and in broad strokes that means more exercise, more experiences, more travel, and more time with people I love.

Why not? I mused.

I'm always up for an experience that brings on new friends, and I especially like experiences that turn into a good time or a good story.

One of the gentlemen gave me his seat and took my coat. They smiled, offered warm hellos, and then dropped a stack of chips in front of me.

"These are for you to play," a man from Dubai mentioned off-hand, his friends' eyes simultaneously giving me a once-over as they watched the little white ball.

The $200 in chips caught me off guard. My trip to the UAE revealed how much Middle Eastern men love blondes, especially buxom blondes with Chanel red lipstick. I didn't mind standing in as the table arm candy, but I didn't know they were going to pay me for it.

The wheel spun and we all dropped $25 bets, the men explaining the rules of the game, as if it's hard for a woman to understand the dynamics of a ball spinning around a wheel and landing on red or black.

Every time I placed a bet, I lost.

I was good luck for the visitors from the Middle East, though. The men took their winnings and said they wanted to play poker. I smiled, offered my goodbyes, and then asked the dealer what to do with my leftover chips.

He gave me four $5 chips and wished me well.

And that brings me to another resolution - saving more. I need to get even more aggressive with my financial goals and have started a plan for both short term and long term savings. I don't think casinos will help me sock away a pile of cash, but hopefully the stock market is kind to me in the year ahead.

Another resolution on the books for 2014 - reading more. I need to feed my brain with less Netflix and more Nabokov.

I'm excited about the year ahead. Here's to longer embraces, more lucky poker chips, new friends from near and far, and riveting authenticity.

I dig.

Creative Commons License
Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Christmas Present

As a single 30-something, my holiday season is sometimes more about spirits and less about Santa.

I do not have any wee ones under foot, so I thankfully do not stress about any holiday high jinks involving elves on shelves, and I've never had to suffer through a session with Father Christmas and a whiny, wet toddler.

But that's not to say Christmas is any less meaningful and fun (and hectic) for us singletons.

It starts early - the grueling schedule of cocktail parties, festive happy hours and holiday open houses - they hit the schedule not long after Thanksgiving and have the potential to squeeze out every last bit of free time you might have anticipated.

While other folks are navigating the stress of quasi-professional holiday decor and forays in gingerbread architecture, my Christmas season involves a standing date with the irreverent. Every year I am invited to one of my favorite holiday parties - a White Elephant gift exchange that calls on all guests to bring clever, coveted and downright illicit mystery gifts. This tradition is the epitome of raucous, with nearly every guest in attendance enraptured in giddy laughter and good humor.

I think most single folks have a similar annual holiday gathering on their calendar. While our peers with children are extolling the virtues of good behavior, we independent types take advantage of the holiday season to flirt with the Naughty List.

And we wouldn't have it any other way.

Like lots of other people, I think the Christmas season means spending time with people you love. Even though the days are short this time of year and the day planners are full, we squeeze in lunches, cocktails or coffee dates with friends to catch up on the year that has passed and toast to the year ahead.

Life is too busy. We're all guilty of saying it, and these scheduled sessions often feel like clandestine meetings that let us steal away with friends for a moment away from the maelstrom of merriment. No present required - the occasion is gift enough.

Christmas wouldn't be the same without some quality time with the other people I love - my family. I adore my parents, my sisters and their respective families and/or significant others. Each Christmas season brings on remembrances of holidays past and favorite recipes including our beloved Welsh potch (a dish made of mashed rutabaga and potatoes. Trust me, it's good.).

And of course some Christmas Vacation, swaddled in blankets on the floor of my parents' bedroom.

But at this stage in life, family is so much more than the people who share your genetic code.

Family includes the people who share your dreams, your priorities, and your civic passions. We cling tight to people who accept us, inspire us and push us to be more. Our urban families are the people we first turn to when we hit roadblocks or minor milestones, at the ready for equal doses of commiseration and celebration.

And that includes Christmas celebration that carries through to the New Year.


Creative Commons License
Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Friday, December 20, 2013

Christmas Past

Our hearts would race the minute we heard the bells jingle.

Brigid and I were friends by circumstance. Sometimes we loved each other, and sometimes we hated each other, but looking back on it, my little sister was my first best friend. And while so many days were dotted with shouting and hair pulling and scratching (my arms have the scars to prove it), Christmas night was usually a bit more peaceful. Emphasis on a bit.

It was because we knew the Big Guy and his elves were watching.

My parents started this ruse early.

I remember Christmas in Minneapolis. The darkest nights that seemed to start in afternoon. Biting cold winds and thermometer mercury sliding in retrograde. There we were, about a mile away from one of the biggest lakes in the Twin Cities. Our family relations huddled in the family room with the ugly, orange shag carpet, the grown ups sipping on Manhattans and wine to stay warm and feel merry.

At this point Brigid and I were probably 3 and 5-years-old, respectively, and had a penchant for whining and other naughty behavior. And that's when we'd hear the elves knock.

From the sounds of it Santa's spies would bang on the windows and walls of the house, reminding us they were watching to see if we were behaving badly.

It didn't matter what we were doing. Whining about dinner, pinching each other, protesting bedtime - as soon as we heard that knocking, we would pause in mid-action and our heads would jerk around, eyes as wide as saucers. Santa's elves were watching and we were terrified they were going to submit our names to the Naughty List.

All negotiations ceased immediately and we would and agree to my parents' demands - a full-on submission into toy straightening, teeth brushing, and bedtime.

That's what happens when you are terrified by the threat of missing out on Christmas.

As we got older and wiser and more unruly, my parents, er, Santa upped the ante. The knocking subsided, and instead, Christmas night brought with it the terror of the jingle bells.

On Christmas, we got to wear special matching nightgowns. They were usually white flannel adorned with bows and lace. One year it was twee satin rosebuds and matching pink ribbons. I imagine we might have looked like the creepy twins in The Shining, but my mother thought we were adorable, and I guess that's all that matters.

Anyway, there we were, likely fully embroiled in bickering and bedtime procrastination, when my dad would silently slip out to chop wood or get more logs for the fireplace. He wore a big, bright yellow ski jacket held over from my parents' years in Edmonton, Alberta. The coat was probably designed for safety; it was nearly neon and the perfect outdoor apparel if you feared getting lost on a snowy Canadian mountain.

This jacket was the definition of conspicuous, and yet we were so enraptured in our own sisterly drama that we never saw him slip out the door.

Voices raised and protests delivered, my sister and I double teamed my mom begging to stay up a bit later on Christmas Eve. Amidst the relentless pleating and refusing, we'd hear the bells that would stop us mid-sentence. Bells that sounded exactly like the set that used to hang in my grandparents' garage in Youngstown.

What a coincidence.

The sleigh bells jingled and Santa would bellow a hearty "Ho! Ho! Ho!" and alarm flashed across my mother's face. Santa is in the neighborhood! I wonder whose house he's at, she'd exclaim.

I grew more excited and eager - I wanted to see the Big Guy in the flesh to witness a bit of his magic. Brigid, the more timid of the two of us, would beg to sleep in my room out of fear. She was afraid of this man who slid down the sooty chimney with a sack of toys and wanted to avoid an encounter at all costs, even if that meant shacking up with her big sister.

Mom didn't have to do much cajoling to get us to climb up the steps and pad our way to my bedroom where we would bundle up in my set of twin beds. Mom kissed us goodnight and Dad followed later, with cheeks still chilly from his chore outside.

To this day, we still talk about those nights and how the sound of the sleigh bells was a catalyst that turned me into a live wire. I loved Santa Claus, and his magic and the excitement of Christmas morning left an indelible mark on my heart.

30 years later, Santa has moved on to a new house in Atlanta. My niece and nephew are little tykes but Nora and Liam already know how wonderful Christmas is. Santa's elves knock on the walls and windows at their house, and the jingle bells ring at night before bedtime. And Nora in particular is just about as excited as her aunt was all those years ago.

And that makes my heart melt.

Creative Commons License
Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Friday, November 22, 2013

Season, Reason, Lifetime

For some reason, the friendships shared between women are bereft of simplicity.

I don't know why, but I suspect it's because we ladies are in many ways more emotional beings than our brawny counterparts.

I started thinking about this a few weeks ago upon hearing several different stories about best friends that had grown estranged. I've had my fair share of these bitter experiences and discovering it happened to other women gave me an odd sense of solace.

It seems any good gal pal duo can suffer a setback from time to time.

Suffering a split with a best friend can feel a bit like a break up. Missing that deep connection, that trusted confidant can feel like you've lost an arm or a leg; life isn't the same, but you know it will go on.

The hard part about breaking up with a best friend is thinking about what kept the friendship together. Did you bond over a period of your life, like meeting and surviving college together? Did you connect because you both shared a fleeting hobby like tap dancing?

It's a trite phrase, but I really do buy in to that reason, season, lifetime philosophy. Some friendships just aren't meant to last. Enduring friendships are hard work and require a deep commitment from both parties, and not everyone is up for that dedication.

It's fair to let a relationship wane when you make the discovery your connection wasn't as solid as you thought it was.

I've had male best friends and female best friends. My relationship with my male best friend is rock solid. He is my greatest cheerleader, my biggest confidant. He is reliable x infinity. He's also the one who pushes my buttons and challenges me to think differently or be better than I am.

And I think our relationship is pretty straightforward because he's a dude.

We've primarily hit bumpy spots when I've let my emotions get the better of me; he is pretty pragmatic and doesn't shrink away from my emotional moments. He knows I will turn into a five alarm bitch if I don't get enough sleep or food when we travel.

Friendships with women are trickier. Both parties think about things we never say. We feel things we never reveal. We hold on to past wounds we never heal.

Those offenses have a way of hijacking an otherwise solid relationship.

I am grateful for my closest female relationships. I've gotten to know women who feel as close to me as my own sisters, and those relationships can make a woman feel safe and stable when she doesn't have the reliability or foundation of a spouse and family.

Over the past few months I've reacquainted with one of my oldest, dearest friends. She and I live very different lives and grew apart, even though only six miles separate us. We spent almost three years with nary a word between us, but only Facebook 'likes' and sparse status comments.

A personal heartbreak revived our friendship, one that is founded on support, openness and a mutual adoration of fashion trends.

I am glad to have this friend back in my life. A really painful situation brought us back together, but I know more good memories and fun times are on the horizon.

Reuniting with a dear, old friend gives me hope for all of the estranged relationships out there - the strong ties that lay dormant, waiting for a reawakening.

Anything is possible when friends are involved.

Creative Commons License
Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Giveaway: Taste of the World


Congrats to Kelly H. for winning the pair of tickets to the Taste of the World event! Message me your mailing address so your tickets can be mailed to you!


I have always wanted a Round The World plane ticket.

We have a family friend in Connecticut who was gifted one of these tickets after graduation. He spent months traveling in one direction around the globe... working on farms in New Zealand and exploring European towns.

He showed up one day in Hartford and called his mom, asking if she had time to pick him up.

The wanderlust in me is always thinking about a dynamite trip, and the RTW ticket is one of the highest status symbols among travel junkies.

But they're pricey.

And that's where food comes in.

The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society is hosting its 10th annual Taste of the World event on Saturday, November 9 at 7:30 pm at Newport Aquarium.

A destination event for local foodies, this event will serve up some of the best bites in the region from restaurants including Stone Creek Dining Company, Taste of Belgium and Pit to Plate. Guests will also enjoy libations from the city's most accomplished mixologist Molly Wellmann, as well as beverages from partners including Four Roses Distillery, Cutting Edge Selection and Chas. Seligman.

Around 700 people are expected to enjoy event details like club-style seating to soak up Cincinnati's skyline, live music and of course the wonderful underwater world of Newport Aquarium.

This event is a great substitute for those of you itching for a jaunt to somewhere far.

Tickets are $150 per person, and a portion of that ticket price goes to support the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. Leukemia runs in my family and I am happy to promote a cause that is helping people with blood cancer.

Interested in going? I'm giving away a pair of tickets to the event. You have two ways to enter:
  • Leave a comment below telling me about your favorite animal at the Aquarium
  • Re-tweet this blog post and cc: me in your tweet (@kate_the_great)
If you leave a comment, please be sure I have a way to reply to you - either a registered profile with an email address, or an email address in your comment.

The contest will close at noon on Friday, November 1; I will randomly select a winner shortly thereafter.

Good luck and I hope to see you at Taste of the World!

The small print: NO PURCHASE NECESSARY. Winner must be 21 or over. All entrants must submit entry by Friday, November 1 at 12 noon. Entries may be submitted by blog comment or blog post retweet. Price consists of two (2) tickets to the Taste of the World event at Newport Aquarium on November 9, 2013. The number of eligible entries received determines the odds of winning. Editor is not responsible for technical failures, typographical errors, or identity disputes related to the winner. The winner will be randomly selected on Friday, November 1 and will have 24 hours to accept prize. Winner must provide an email address in their comment to ensure editor has the ability to notify them of their status. Double Chocolate Chip is my favorite flavor of Graeter's Ice Cream. If potential prize winner forfeits or does not claim prize within 24 hours, the prize will be re-awarded randomly at editor's discretion. All prizes will be awarded. Tickets will be mailed to winner by Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. By accepting prize, winner consents to publicity related to this blog post including their name and likeness. The editor and this blog in general accepts no liability should this prize or sweepstakes negatively impacts the winner in some way. VOID WHERE PROHIBITED BY LAW.

Creative Commons License
Kate's Random Musings by Kate the Great is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.