Waiting for the sun

I’m nestled cozily in my chair, still wearing my pajamas, socks, and slippers. Hat and gloves ward off the damp chill of the early morning. My husband hands me a cup of coffee, and I take it gratefully, watching the steam rise, curl, and dissipate into the morning air.

The sky has that expectant pink hue to it. We are also expectant, having risen early from our little camping trailer to greet the sunrise. This was a planned thing, involving Google searches of when the sun would rise, earlier bedtime the night before, and several alarms set.

Relax, Reset, Recharge

Coming home to an empty house is eerie, even in broad daylight. There are strange creaks and clicks. Whistling drafts reveal themselves through cracks and doorways when there is no one else in the house.

I am accustomed to a house filled with voices and noise: laughter, instruments being practiced, “What’s for dinner?” being shouted, or the shower running for far too long. I’m used to hearing footsteps overhead, before they recede across the ceiling the way a shooting star appears in the corner of our eye, then disappear just as suddenly, leaving us to wonder if we only imagined it.

Putting Style on a Pedestal

Thankfully, in the office where I work as a communications specialist for a public library, I am surrounded by people who love the written word as much as I do. As our team creates copy for newsletters, brochures, and even social media, we get to ponder and discuss the placement of commas, apostrophes, and semicolons. We debate, and sometimes we argue. When all else fails, we go to the ultimate source: the Associated Press Stylebook.

The AP Stylebook is a substantial volume for journalists, students, and writers that, to me at least, deserves its own podium, open to the page about nonessential clauses, marked with a rich leather bookmark, a single light trained on its text.

Why Social Media is Boring Me to Pieces

I’d like to thank Elon Musk for purchasing Twitter. Ahem — I mean ‘X.’

As soon as Elon Musk walked into Twitter’s headquarters carrying a sink (the caption to the video read, “Walking into Twitter HQ. Let that sink in,”) it was clear that Musk was more concerned with crafting Dad-jokey quips than he was about making the platform better, or at the very least keeping it clear from hate speech and disinformation.

Since Musk’s takeover of Twitter X, it’s been steadily losing users, who are tired of the arbitrary changes and lack of content moderation.

Check Meowt in my Make-Believe Apartment

I was surprised and delighted to be asked to cat sit for the week over the holidays. Being in charge of two felines — two portly black and white kitties named “Chicken” and “Waffles” — sounded like fun to me. I accepted the gig, and promptly received an email detailing their requirements for the week. Unsurprisingly, they required food, water, and clean litter boxes.

Cats are so much easier than dogs, and Chicken and Waffles were no exception. They would meet me each day at the door by meowing and walking purposefully toward their food bowls, where they would sit and stare meaningfully from the bowl, to me, then back to the bowl again.

Getting Into Hot Water

Blame the cold of January or the bleak sun-less days that zap me of my energy and motivation, but I have become a full-time seeker of pleasures. Throughout the day, I’ll do what I need to do, whether it’s work or household chores, but if I don’t have a carrot dangling right before my nose, then what is it all for? Sure, I’ll vacuum the house, as long as afterwards, I can treat myself to a decadent cookie laced with chocolate.

One Drum at a Time

As a “band wife,” I’ve attended hundreds and hundreds of band concerts, band festivals, and marching band performances because my husband is a high school and college band director. I miss very few performances. I don’t go because I’m obligated, but because I love it.

In my estimation, it’s no exaggeration to say that Mr. Band Director’s job has two primary components: 1) leading and educating his students in pursuit of excellent musicianship; and 2) moving equipment. He wraps extension cords as expertly as a cowboy throwing a lasso.

Roses Still Bloom

On a cold day in mid-November, my husband came in from outside, his cheeks flushed with excitement. With a smile, he said, “The roses are still blooming!”

Long after the other plants in our garden faded and settled in for a winter nap, the rosebush on the southeast side of our house continued to grow and stretch toward our bedroom window so that when we awoke and pulled up the shades, the palest pink, delicate petals rested serenely with faces open wide, patiently waiting for us to begin our morning.

Permission to cry, permission to feel, permission to rest

Tragedy is the first thing that shows up when I turn on the news, or log in to social media. The cruelty that humans can perpetrate on other humans takes my breath away. In so many ways I want to retreat into the world that I believe existed when I was a young child, where everyone was a friend and anyone would offer help if you needed it.

Besides the spectacle of war, natural disaster, and crime broadcasted on our screens, tragedy has touched my own community, too.

Venturing into Vege-sorta-terianism

Last night I tried a new recipe for dinner: Vegan Sloppy Joes.

The “vegan” part of the recipe went straight out the window the moment I decided a trip to the grocery store for vegetable stock was out of the question: the beef stock in my cabinet would have to do.

This is precisely why I’ll never embrace veganism. I’m simply too lazy and don’t have the discipline required.

But vegetarianism? My fickle stomach might have the discipline to pull that off, at least for a while.

The Braasches struggled with infertility for seven years before happily conceiving after an IVF procedure in 2021.

The Cosmic Loophole of Pee-Wee’s Playhouse

The headline came to my phone while I was at work: “Pee-Wee Herman Actor Paul Reubens Dead at Age 70.” My heart sank. I waited for the world around me to take a collective moment to remember Paul Reubens. But in the office, phones kept ringing and computer keyboards kept clacking. My younger coworkers may not even know who Paul Reubens is. Was. But I knew.

I spent my tween and teen years in sighs and sulks, muttering under my breath all the ways I was being deprived of the over-the-top 80s childhood to which I felt entitled.

Labor of Love takes Pete to the Street

HUNTLEY — “Start something and stay dedicated to it”— that’s the lesson Peter Unverzagt, age 64, learned from his father while growing up. It’s part of the reason he has spent nearly every afternoon for the past five years as a street preacher in the Huntley community.

If you’ve driven past Deicke Park in Huntley, then perhaps you’ve seen him: standing with a cross and an American flag, waving to people as they travel along Highway 47.

When asked what moved him to start his street ministry in 2018, Unverzagt isn’t sure.

Snapshots of the Heart Last a Lifetime

After raising four children, I have certain mental snapshots I keep close to my heart. There was the day when my 5-year-old held my hand to cross the street. He paused to look up at me and said, “Momma, I love you so hard.”

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There are those first few seconds when, after glancing over their shoulder, the realization sets in: Dad has let go of the back of the seat and they are, in fact, riding a two-wheeled bike.

Weaving in the Imperfections

I slid a slightly crooked hand-woven bookmark into the envelope before sealing it and mailing it to a friend. I attached a note:

My newest fascination is hand weaving on a loom. I made this bookmark for you. It’s one of my first, but I’ll send another one after I’ve had more practice. Hopefully you’ll see my progress. Happy Reading!

A hands-on fiber arts exhibit at an art museum in Wisconsin was where I first tried a loom —— just a wooden frame strung with cotton thread.

Taking a 10-Minute Mini Vacation

Even though my school years are long behind me, I still expect that once the calendar flips to June, summer vacation is supposed to magically appear. Remember those delicious days of summer vacation as a kid? Sprinklers on the lawn? Dreamsicles from the ice cream truck? Long days at the city pool, counting out change at the concession stand to buy nachos and a slurpee while the grownups commandeered the pool during Adult Swim?

Somehow I can’t let go of those endless summer days.

A Second Chance at Hello

You never get a second chance to make a first impression.

—Will Rogers

As much as I’d like you to think that my Gentleman Friend and I have been married blissfully and perfectly happy for the past several decades, I’m going to take a risk and tell you that sometimes, we fight. Our fights aren’t typically the loud, plate-throwing variety. We’ve mastered the art of subtle tiffs, starting out as a tiny slight that grows into a stand-off —— and I am the half of us most guilty of this —— in an all-encompassing silence that can be louder than a freight train.

Uninvited: Man vs. Fowl

My husband is in a week-long standoff with a robin who insists on building a nest on the crossbeam of our porch.

We are a bird-friendly family. We don’t put chemicals on our lawn, put out birdseed in the winter, and we are delighted when our bird friends chirp happily from the branches of our crabapple tree out our front window. But even our bird loving has limits.

Most weeknights, I’m out on the front porch catching up on the day with my husband or daughter.

Too Difficult to Even Try: A Conspiracy

This week I made spanakopita for the first time. It is a savory spinach pie consisting of spinach, feta cheese, egg, and fresh herbs, surrounded by flaky layers of phyllo dough. I love it.

Given the choice, I will always choose a spanakopita appetizer or entree at a restaurant or party.

Anyway, I never made it before. It was too hard to make at home; at least that’s what I’d heard. I envisioned a scene wiping away the sweat at my temples with the back of my hand, flyaway strands of hair escaping my ponytail.

Loving in Specifics, not Platitudes

I may have mentioned before in this column about my love of true-crime shows and podcasts. I enjoy hearing about the evidence, the motives, the sometimes-arbitrary clue that will reveal itself by chance, leading to some top-shelf detective work. All of this, plus the final swift arm of justice that comes down on the perpetrator, are all satisfying parts of these shows.

But there is one segment that always comes up short for me: the point when a family member or two describe their loved one.

“Everything’s Good” at the Irie Cup

HUNTLEY — "Irie” is a Jamaican greeting and response that means “everything’s good.” It’s how Joe and LaShanda Lewis hope their customers feel when brewing and sipping some of their high-quality tea.

The Irie Cup, their new tea shop located on Main St. in Huntley, is a place where the couple hopes to share their knowledge and love for tea and herbal blends born out of their family roots.

Both Joe and LaShanda grew up in families of Jamaican heritage, where tea and herbs were woven into the fabric of everyday life.

Making Do: The Food of Discovery

Every household probably has a go-to meal they whip up when there’s “no food in the house.” Maybe for you it’s a pb&j. A bowl of cereal can be nice. Some pasta with a little olive oil, garlic, and lemon, perhaps?

For our family it’s egg bread. When you’re just about out of everything, hopefully you can at least scrounge up an egg and a slice of bread. We heat up our favorite tiny cast iron skillet, dab it with a bit of butter or oil, then crack an egg and drop it onto the hot skillet.

THE DOORWAY TO OUR COMMUNITY