It’s a Crabby World

Crabby Redhead

Have you ever woken up and noticed, as you left the house, that everyone around you seems to be in a crabby mood? In Chicago, the city of ever-changing weather extremes, this happens most on rainy, dreary, and snowy mornings. Traffic is terrible, getting to work takes forever, everyone is crabby in their cars on the way there, and then everyone at work starts the day crabby as well. “It’s just one of those days,” everyone says while shaking their heads. “The weather is just terrible today,” someone else remarks. And so the crabbiness festers and infects those in its path who can’t fight it off.

Yesterday was such a day. I’m still a bit jet-lagged from our trip abroad in Ireland, as is Jim, which has made for some odd hours here at our home. I can sleep just about anywhere, anytime, but Jim has been crashing before 9:00 in the evening which has made a wakeup for him in the wee hours of the morning. It took a while to get both of us awake and ready to leave. We finally got ready and noticed that, unlike the sunny day before, the morning was grey, misting, and foggy. A little Irish weather following us home, perhaps? Jim put on his new Irish sweater and I dressed for my audition.

Lately, we have been listening to mantras and other positive influences in the car during the morning commute. I can’t recommend it enough since it starts the whole day right. We’re working through some mantras by Deepak Chopra currently and listened to them twice as Jim drove. They included thoughts about the effect of the ego. Chopra intoned about fear and anger creating tension in the body. We repeated back the mantras. As we drove, we noticed the traffic was pretty congested but consciously ignored the crabby energy rising in the cars around us. Jim yielded to a few drivers who waved their thanks. He pulled over near work to hop out and a UPS driver gave him a middle finger for pulling over, though there was plenty of room to get around. After laughing about how crabby everyone is, we parted.

The audition went well and I was off to the dermatologist for a laser treatment on a small scar (I call it “getting zapped”). I decided to get there early and make sure I found parking. Good thing I did, since the parking garage was at capacity. I got to the top without finding a spot, then circled down to the bottom. I got stuck behind a very slow and cautious driver and eventually turned around to head back up again. I stalked a lady coming out with her mother. She walked ahead and started the car while her mother slowly limped to the car. I had felt aggravation rising inside me like coals igniting a flame on this third pass for a parking space. I slapped down the fire quickly. This is a hospital  facility, Christiana! Every parking space is accounted for by either a hardworking physician and their helpers or someone who needs medical care. This is why you got here early. Of course everyone drove today because of the misting rain so of course things are full. I sent a silent prayer for the limping lady and reminded myself of my latest episode in foot pain, to be repeated this coming Friday.

The parking garage was down to one elevator. The elevator was full of damp and crabby people, some of whom were probably running late. It stopped at every floor. I eventually made it to the office. It was only once I checked in that I noticed how many people were in the waiting room. A few minutes later, a man crabbed to the receptionist that he had been waiting for more than 30 minutes to be seen. The office rarely runs behind by more than a few minutes and this treatment is quick, so I assumed the best and settled into reading tweets and Facebook comments. I was taken back to have numbing cream applied then sent back out to wait for the doctor to zap me. I settled into reading again and peripherally noticed the time pass. Eventually, I was the only person in the waiting room and had been for about 10 minutes. I realized that I had been at the office about an hour at that point so I inquired at the desk. “He’s running behind today,” I was told.

“He’s running really behind!” I responded. Now the general crabbiness was starting to infect ME! No one wants to sit in a waiting room for an hour; there are many more valuable things I could do with that time! My thoughts began to get more self-centered as the minutes ticked by. I could be blogging or responding to emails if I had my laptop. I could be reading a book. I’m getting really hungry! I have a million things to do! This long of a wait is so disrespectful! I should just leave and reschedule but I’m already here with numbing cream on and that’s almost a bigger waste of time to have to come back! ACK!

It was all I could do to listen to these thoughts and remember that they were, in the end, minor aggravations and not worth that much emotion. Yes, my time is valuable but I had nothing else pressing on the books for the rest of that morning. I could wait. Besides, who am I to know the exact reasons the doctor’s office is behind? Someone could have had an emergency. They could be short staffed. They might have had to squeeze someone in last minute who had a problem. Or, it could just be that everyone is infected with the general crabbiness that’s in the air.

The doctor sincerely apologized. He quickly zapped my scar while I imagined trying to tolerate that treatment on my face. Yikes. Finished, I checked out and left to get my ticket validated for parking. A woman larger than myself spun away from the window, bumped into me hard, sent me reeling, and nearly knocked me over. My mind rushed forward with about five snappy remarks to make but I chose stunned silence instead. Why contribute to the crabbiness? She didn’t apologize and marched into the parking garage. I caught my breath and approached the window with ticket in hand. The security officer smiled and started laughing. “Would you believe,” she said,”that someone just did the same exact thing to her? Someone just ran into her and now she ran into you. And she chewed that person out!”

Yes, I thought, I can believe that. “Well, I guess I’m just trying to be like water today,” I replied, “I’m going to move around the rocks in my path without resistance. Everyone is so crabby today and I’m determined to not get crabby myself!” The security officer smiled again and punched my ticket. “It sure is a crazy day. Hope you have a great one!”

I took inventory of my day so far. Let’s see: nice morning with my husband, mantras in the car together, misty weather that I rather like, good music on the classical music radio station. An audition that went well. A doctor’s appointment that was long but then again they aren’t charging me for it since they put that scar there last summer. That skin biopsy last summer was benign after all, too. Plenty of time left to run errands and, as the lightbulb went off, inspiration to write about. The crabbiness lifted for good.

“Thanks! I will!”

Sweaters Come To Those Who Wait

Patience is not my strong suit.

I’ve joked about it often but it remains true. And life, as it does, tests me in an effort to teach me the benefits of this virtue I’m lacking.

The only souvenir I wanted from this trip around Ireland is a knit woolen sweater. This is not an unusual choice so every single gift shop we’ve stopped in has them stocked. Some of the prices are outrageous, some are a little better. Some shops had a wide selection and others very slim. I saw a few things I liked and kept checking in with myself and Jim as well. Apart from aggravating my husband with sweater questions at every shop, I was losing patience with the search especially as our vacation entered its second half.

Every stop was the same. “Jim, what do your think of this one? Is the price too high? Is this a good style?” and so on. To his credit, Jim kept his patience and told me to continue to wait until I found the right one. In the past, I would have just bought something and inevitably chosen in haste. I was begrudgingly persuaded, mentally kicking the grass in my impatience.

Why are you so impatient? I asked myself over and over. Turns out, I had some irrational idea that Ireland would run out of sweaters before I got one or that the “only ones” left when the time came would be ones I didn’t like. Irrational, like I said. Fears can be like that.

I checked within myself and considered these fears. They are the work of the mind, not the heart. The mind is the one that worries and has to come up with all the answers. The mind frets about “how” and “why.” The heart, on the other hand, is without fear. It is trusting, strong, and wise. It’s not easy to separate the mind and the heart in life’s big situations and that’s why we are given smaller lessons for practice. Today, I am practicing patience with a sweater. Tomorrow it might be something else. I worked to untangle the two and examined their disparate voices. That’s when I found the irrational fears and had a laugh. I sent the fears packing with love and told my mind to take a vacation along with the rest of me. I detached from my mind and my desire and decided to just let things come to me. There will be a sign, I told myself.

I didn’t suspect that there would be an ACTUAL SIGN but indeed there was. Just as soon as I finally put it all to rest, and I mean within minutes, I saw a sign for a shop while exploring Galway city. “The Sweater Shop! Best prices and sales!” the sign declared. Thinking that that was just an effort to sucker tourists, I nonetheless looked to the left and saw the shop. I decided I might as well check it out.

I finally found a shop with great selection and plenty of room to spread out and consider my options. The prices were better than I’d seen anywhere else. I tried on a few things and found the sweater I wanted. Jim even found one for himself. The shopkeeper was a lovely lady who gave us a discount on top of the much better prices and took care of the tax free purchase we are entitled to as non-E.U. citizens.

Later that evening, as we sat in the middle of nowhere under the stars, the sweater kept me warm as I held a wild cat and chatted with our host. He said that when something has remained as unchanged as the Irish woolen sweater for hundreds if not a thousand years, it’s for good reason. He’s certainly right. The nights have been getting colder lately and wool has this amazing ability to keep warm but not hot, to breathe and adjust with you. I hadn’t needed its warmth until that night and the timing was, as always, perfect.


Hugging the oldest oak in Ireland, in my warm woolen sweater.

I now have my perfect souvenir that I will wear forever. The Emerald Isle will go with me in the dark green woolen sweater I found, along with a lesson in keeping patient.

The Ireland of My Dreams

As I type this, I am sitting in a hotel room in Ireland. We are about halfway through our vacation. I like that the Europeans call these trips “holidays” since the root of the term is “holy” and “day” and was reserved for church-sanctioned festivals and celebrations. Time off of real life is sacred and important, might we even call it holy?

I did minimal research about where to go and what to see before we arrived. For some reason, and the first time ever, I wanted the trip to come to me and reveal what I was supposed to see. When we went to Paris and London, I knew much of what to expect since I had been interested in visiting those cities since time immemorial. With Ireland, at least for me, it’s a bit different. There are some very famous sites that were recommended time and again. But there aren’t a lot of major landmarks; certainly there is nothing like the Eiffel Tower that is plastered on all sorts of home decor and clothing. I had little familiarity, also, with the geography beyond Dublin and Belfast. What I do have on my side is a good bit of study in the history of Ireland and the rest of the UK. But that was about it.

So I arrived in Ireland mostly interested in seeing what I think of when I think of Ireland: rolling green hills, crumbling ruins, ancient churches, white cottages along the seaside, and lots of sheep.

It took a few days into the trip to really see that kind of Ireland. I was not surprised by Dublin’s sprawl, worldliness, and development. It is the capital city after all and I had been told it would feel much the way many big cities do. We actually shaved a day off of Dublin activities in order to move further into the rest of our plans more quickly. Belfast didn’t surprise me, either. It reminds me of many of the big cities in the Rust Belt of the United States, just with bloody civil war thrown on top. Once a manufacturing giant and more recently trying to recover and find a new identity in the years of peace in the last decade and change. I enjoyed every minute in these old cities and will continue to enjoy the other bigger cities we stop in- Galway is next on the tour.

For whatever reason, though, my heart is drawn to the never-ending green of the country. We’ve been blessed with abundant sunshine and the colors are glorious. I’ve never seen more shades of green in my life and the blue of the sea and sky stops my breath. That is the Ireland of my dreams, the Ireland that has existed before time and perhaps part of the motivation to fight to claim such a special place. From Vikings to Romans, English crown, Scottish settlers, and even Hitler, it seems like everyone has wanted a piece of Ireland. And now I wanted my part but I wanted to tread forth with respect to the past, to take what the Emerald Isle was willing to give with appreciation.





A big part of the appeal of travel for me is the chance to feel connected to things that are simply beyond your previous grasp; beyond your thoughts of identity. I like feeling small, though I never feel insignificant. Standing on a mountaintop with few souls other than the sheep today, I felt at once ancient and newborn, small yet extraordinary in the role I get to play in this life. If every day is a gift because nothing is guaranteed, then what a massive gift-wrapped present to open!

I’ve heard the phrase “Erin Go Bragh” for my entire life and only in this trip have I come to understand, in a small taste, just what is meant by it. Generations of my ancestors have whispered it, shouted it in battle, and wished for their nation’s unity and peace. The Ireland of my dreams is alive and well. May she live forever.

A Year Ago Today Taught Me a Powerful Lesson

Do you remember where you were a year ago today? Maybe you do, maybe not. Sometimes we plan the days of great significance in our lives, like wedding dates and even planned c-sections. Other times, life rolls out a surprise and you mark down something on the calendar inside your head because you know you’ll remember it forever. You mentally record all the details as it unfolds in the hopes that someday you’ll appreciate all of it, learn from it, and share the story.

Last year, on this day, was one such day for me. And it has taken an entire year to be able to write about it here.

It started a few days before on a Friday. I was in the final stages of wedding preparations, making wedding favors at the kitchen counter. Jim had just left to pick up dinner. The phone rang and I picked it up only because it was my Mom. Anyone else would have had to wait. Before I even heard her voice, I knew something was wrong. When she started talking, I could tell she had been crying. She apologized for the “worst phone call with the worst timing ever” and told me that my beloved Grandma had collapsed hours before and had been taken to the hospital and then transferred to another, bigger one. I didn’t quite understand how bad things really were until she told me, “Honey, she is fighting for her life.”

Grandma was on life support and in a coma. All we could do is wait and see.

A rushing sound filled my ears, the walls closed in, and I fought to breathe. In that moment, I had the crystal-clear realization that she was already gone. She wasn’t coming back. What did she have to fight for? Her health was declining, she was the last of her siblings living, and she was exhausted every time I saw her. I could usually cheer her up in the past but it had gotten harder and harder. A thousand memories rushed by, along with all my hopes of what was still to be. I wanted her to be a great-grandmother. I wanted to visit her again and bring her photos of my honeymoon. I wanted her to frame a photo of me in my long, lace gown and tell me how happy she was at my wedding.

Jim came home shortly thereafter to find his devastated almost-wife. He promptly dropped the bags on the counter and cried with me. We bemoaned the cruel Universe and its terrible timing. Jim promised to drive me to her bedside to see her before the wedding. We hoped that she’d wake up before the wedding but in my heart of hearts I knew what would happen.

Eventually, I had to get up and keep working. Those wedding favors weren’t going to make themselves and it was the perfect mindless task to sink into and cry my way through. I muddled through the weekend, including a video shoot on the beach in Michigan, and even went to work. On Monday, I spent all day at the printer getting escort cards and programs ready. I looked like a zombie and I felt worse. I was grateful for big, dark sunglasses.

A year ago today, Tuesday morning dawned and as promised, Jim drove the 3 hours while I assembled programs on my lap. The whole family ended up coming down that day, and the only thing harder than my own grief was to see the pain etched in the faces of those I love most. I brought with me the embroidered handkerchief that was to be her wedding present from me and wept like a child. Grandma was confirmed brain dead by the neurologist just as we arrived and the crushing blow of that news reverberated through the room. The decision to remove life support was quickly and unanimously agreed upon and we all held hands and waited.

Grandma’s body had strength and fight left, though I believe her spirit had long departed. She continued breathing on her own, surprising all of us, until everyone had gone home. Eventually, she went home, too.

I still wish she had been able to come to the wedding. It has taken most of this past year to accept it and learn from it, even though the initial anger faded.

Some would point to this event as proof that timing is merely arbitrary and cruel, God doesn’t exist or at best is a mean old man, and there’s no reason to believe in anything beyond us.

I have taken quite the opposite approach. If you’re willing to learn, even from the seemingly cruel and awful things that happen in your life, you will be richer for it. I choose to take the long view and keep an optimistic perspective. Here’s what I’ve learned so far.

  1. If Grandma’s health was failing and she expressed desire to “go home,” how blessed and lucky am I that that timing was before my wedding and not in the midst of it? As hard as it was, I cannot imagine recovering from her collapsing during the celebrations.
  2. In some sense, she was there all along and I felt her with me stronger than ever. After we came home Tuesday night, I stayed up until almost 4 a.m. working on wedding preparations. At some point, I felt her nudge me and tell me to go to bed, which turned out was just around the same time her body finally stopped fighting and let go. I had a terrible time sleeping in the nights to come and begged for a good night’s sleep so I could physically survive the wedding. I felt her sit next to me on the bed, the way she did when I was small, and I slept soundly.
  3. Her death actually served to make the entire weekend more meaningful than I could have ever imagined. The ceremony was so special and deep that people still comment on it regularly. The speeches were incredible. Everyone bonded much closer together and rallied to make my day special. I learned just who really has my back when I need them and I won’t forget it. I am still so grateful and forever indebted to certain people.
  4. The gratitude I feel on an everyday basis is much higher than it was before. Every single day is a gift.
  5. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I was marrying the right person for the right reasons. It was a powerful reminder that I don’t take for granted. It is also incredible motivation to appreciate what we have every day and love each other better than before.
  6. Finally, I had focused entirely on manifesting the wedding of my dreams and I got it, down to the bagpipes and bridesmaids in green, wildflowers, and my long, lace gown. It was featured on Style Me Pretty, just as I had hoped. I got everything I asked for and beyond.

A year ago today, I knew I was about to learn something powerful. Grandma taught me a great many things, but none so great as this.


My last photo with Grandma at my wedding shower.



That Redhead Adventure: Jumping Off A Cliff in Jamaica

I jumped off a cliff last summer, right after my wedding.

I landed in the ocean, which I highly recommend. :)

Cliff Diving at Rick's Cafe Negril Jamaica | That Redhead

You can do it, too, if you ever happen to be at Rick’s Cafe in Negril, Jamaica. Rick’s Cafe is legendary for being one of the oldest establishments on the coast, having great sunset views, showcasing lots of live reggae music, and (of course) cliff diving. There are multiple spots to jump and always quite a crowd watching and cheering. Boats from resorts along 7 Mile Beach stop to take in the show as well.

Rick's Cafe in Negril, Jamaica. Cliff diving, reggae, sunsets.

image courtesy Things To Do In Jamaica

I thought about doing it on our previous trip to Negril and didn’t get around to it. On our honeymoon, though, I was bound and determined to check it out. I was feeling particularly fearless after a wedding week that included my grandmother suddenly dying and a thunderstorm that nearly tore apart the outdoor venue. I had walked through a personal hell the likes of which I’d never experienced before and I came to the reasonable conclusion that I was made of titanium. I also have a sick need to challenge my fears, which include deep water and heights.

Cliff Diving Rick's Cafe Negril Jamaica | That Redhead

“What am I thinking?”

I watched others jump and come up unscathed, including a man who resembled Santa Claus who jumped while wearing his strap-on sandals and made the most painful smack as he hit the water. Well, that was it. If he could do it, so could I. I gathered my courage and made my way up to the platform, with my husband wishing me well and hoping that this wasn’t the shortest marriage ever.

Cliff diving Rick's Cafe Negril Jamaica | That Redhead
Cliff Diving Rick's Cafe Negril Jamaica | That Redhead

There are skilled locals who jump from even higher points on trees and other areas but the highest place that most people jump off is 35 feet in the air. At 10.6 meters, this is slightly higher than the tallest platform that skilled athletes dive off of competitively. I have since told my doctor this story and he asked me if I’m crazy. Spoiler alert: YES.

There’s a warning sign just at the top of the cliff which basically warns you to turn back now or else:

Cliff diving warning sign at Rick's Cafe Negril | That Redhead

I asked the “lifeguard” up top what his advice was. He said to make sure to jump out, and try to get completely straight so that I’d go straight in the water and nothing went in at the wrong angle. Also, make sure not to follow the guys at the bottom into the caves for the “special tour.” Sound advice. I took one last deep breath and leapt.

Cliff Diving Rick's Cafe Jamaica | That Redhead
Cliff Diving Rick's Cafe Jamaica | That Redhead
Cliff Diving at Rick's Cafe Negril Jamaica | That Redhead

Quite the leap, eh? I’m pleased to say that I DID manage to get my legs together before I hit the water. There’s barely any time to realize you are falling before you hit the water. And then the impact is noticeable and stunning. I nearly lost my bathing suit top and even though I was holding my nose shut, water still got up my nose and into my head. Call it a free nasal rinse if you will. I managed to squirm back into my bikini before I surfaced. I ignored the offers to take the cave tour. Rumor has it it is dangerous and you will likely lose your valuables, not that I was wearing my wedding ring when I had this jump in mind! I left all that in the safe in our resort room for most of our adventures in Jamaica.

I emerged victorious, exhilarated and most importantly, unscathed. I felt great and I’m glad I did it. Would I do it again? Probably not. It was a once-in-a-lifetime daredevil move that suited where I was in my personal development. I don’t know that I’ll need to do that again and take that risk. Also, the rest of Rick’s Cafe wasn’t that impressive so I can’t imagine we’ll be back.

Cliff Diving Rick's Cafe Negril Jamaica | That Redhead

A note to the reader: In my reading to write this blog I have come across stories of other people who weren’t so lucky. People have been seriously injured and at least one person has died from bad jumping technique, the influence of alcohol, and the lack of preparedness for disaster at Rick’s and rural Jamaica in general. That Redhead in NO WAY advocates hurling yourself off of a cliff; you are responsible for your own choices. There are definitely risks involved in this adventure and my doctor says don’t do it. :)