tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65583456498764221212024-03-13T15:18:44.009-05:00LIFE IN A chestNUTSHELLAndee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.comBlogger51125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-35481957526118431632023-05-18T10:35:00.003-05:002023-05-18T10:53:05.556-05:00I May Never Forgive the Cubs<p>Soooo, it’s been a while since I posted. I can’t really explain why, except that I write when the spirit moves me, and I guess I haven’t been moved to write anything. I’m not sure what that means, but the important thing, for me anyway, is I’m back!</p><p>I also realize one thing that moves me to write is being pissed off, and yep, I’m pissed. It’s about being a Cubs fan, and one would think I’d get over this, but I can’t. I’m a longtime Cubs fan, win or lose, love them anyway, love all the players, and in my entire life (until 2016), I didn’t hate them, even if (for the love of God!) they couldn’t win a World Series. </p><p>So, as most people know, the Cubbies FINALLY won a World Series in 2016, the first time in more than 100 years. It was one of the greatest moments of my life (excluding kids being born, grandkids, finally getting Medicare, blah, blah, blah). It really was such a great moment, and one I wasn’t sure I’d ever experience. One of the things that made it so special was the people who made it happen. There were so many incredible stars, the coach was amazing, the fans were delirious. You just can’t dream up a better scenario.</p><p>And then …. a few years later, what bonehead decision did the Cubs organization make? They got rid of nearly all the people who made that possible. Let me say again, the people who were beloved for what they had accomplished, because apparently, they weren’t winning as expected after their big year, and also (we all know what it’s really about), because they cost too much. Let me also point out, the money they were making for the people at the top was coming in because the fans who loved them were buying tickets, merchandise, and everything else that honored those beloved Cubs. Nobody at the top seemed to give a rat’s ass about the class acts they were kicking to the curb. It didn’t matter at all that they were such great role models. No one cared that several of them dreamed of retiring as a Cub. It all came down to money.</p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7-eOsZmWtFmevINtElbaRaehyZQT1GmcQ9EdDpTfN3Rr9BEXlRZhrgW5TCZ_HY9hpKAU5ENKWlfeHbT9mgNQq6QjoI2cBTEuCW3ptuQjQ6_FOf39uKE_lqyEyaWdEuDtwXbGfLT_nHbft-nH0jx3_GkPRpcQd7HMvmLAWlLH1CF1PZYtApVTDesUBA/s1080/Rizzo.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7-eOsZmWtFmevINtElbaRaehyZQT1GmcQ9EdDpTfN3Rr9BEXlRZhrgW5TCZ_HY9hpKAU5ENKWlfeHbT9mgNQq6QjoI2cBTEuCW3ptuQjQ6_FOf39uKE_lqyEyaWdEuDtwXbGfLT_nHbft-nH0jx3_GkPRpcQd7HMvmLAWlLH1CF1PZYtApVTDesUBA/w173-h173/Rizzo.jpeg" width="173" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>He did this as a Yankee.</i></td></tr></tbody></table>This is what REALLY fries me about losing Anthony Rizzo. Besides being a major part of the core who won the World Series, besides winning so many awards over and over, besides being a team leader who once even apologized to an umpire because he regretted his outburst, besides all of those things and more, he is a cancer survivor who has given millions of dollars …. MILLIONS OF DOLLARS … through his foundation to fund research for a cure and to benefit families with children fighting cancer. Not only that, but he regularly visited sick kids at the Lurie Children’s Hospital in Chicago. Did he have to do any of this? He did not. Even writing this now I’m sure I’m raising my blood pressure.</p><p>Here's the thing I loved the most about him though. When my grandson and I would talk about life while driving in the car (those are some of my favorite moments), I told him why I was so inspired by Rizzo. I said of course, he was a brilliant and gifted ball player. That was very cool. Also he had earned a lot of money for his skills and talent. And that was all awesome, but the reason I really loved him, and the thing I wanted our kiddo to remember, was that he donated millions of dollars, again, MILLIONS OF DOLLARS, to the children’s hospital to help kids with cancer. I wanted my grandson to remember that more than anything else.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA1AIY8kSds7mfFggInoLhvEU2K7k3SWNrlxrrIFJ8xG-_M7yWh2j8-zArYy_5Kb47b6jtNqKm3wlv5b_LWrb-E6Bvho3c91xE-G22i8STsuWcz4epEwgPQdf03OeD1Jx_qhQZNI5mhTv8Qq1l9drHi3uB_eOxeOOSEtR679-boy-QOs1pJAotDenyZQ/s1161/Rizzo2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1090" data-original-width="1161" height="117" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA1AIY8kSds7mfFggInoLhvEU2K7k3SWNrlxrrIFJ8xG-_M7yWh2j8-zArYy_5Kb47b6jtNqKm3wlv5b_LWrb-E6Bvho3c91xE-G22i8STsuWcz4epEwgPQdf03OeD1Jx_qhQZNI5mhTv8Qq1l9drHi3uB_eOxeOOSEtR679-boy-QOs1pJAotDenyZQ/w124-h117/Rizzo2.jpg" width="124" /></a></div>Ok, then came the Anthony Rizzo Baseball Camp, and I begged my grandson’s parents to let me take him. I mean shamelessly begged them (“I’ll take him, I’ll take him, I’ll take him, Can I take him??”). Sooo, out of the blue, they asked me if I would take him, and I thought for a while and then finally agreed I would. This didn’t really go with the rest of the post except it involved Anthony Rizzo, and they let me take him to the camp, which was so cool, so I felt it needed to be included.<p></p><p>Moving on, I will always believe this, although some others on social media don’t seem to understand, it’s about more than winning. I want people to remember all the kids who are watching and looking for role models. I want ball players, of course to be good, but also to be class acts who maybe are inspiring kids. And I want kids to know, although lots of money is great and I don’t fault anyone who has a lot of money, but I want them to know, what they do to make the world better with their money and their time is really what matters. </p><p>Boy, did the Cubs organization blow this.</p>Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-1632223629522483242021-07-29T09:55:00.007-05:002022-09-05T14:15:20.357-05:00So Grateful to Simone<p>When my girls and I watched the Olympic Gymnastics Team Trials in St. Louis, we were worried for Simone Biles. We weren’t worried about her gymnastics skills or abilities. We weren’t <b><i>ever </i></b>worried that she would disappoint us. We were worried because all the focus was on her. I mean, <b><i>all</i></b> the focus.</p><p>I tried to be diplomatic in my Facebook post. The whole time, we were really bothered that it seemed no one else even mattered, but we didn’t want it to appear we were badmouthing Simone:</p><p></p><blockquote><blockquote>We are in St Louis at the US Olympic Gymnastics Team Trials! We're two days in, and I can't even find enough words. Obviously, Simone Biles is a star of stars, but we watched the men last night and the women tonight, and every single one of these athletes could represent the USA, and they would rock the world.</blockquote></blockquote><p></p><p>There were 15 other gymnasts competing for spots on the US Women’s Team. Every single one of them was amazing, but they were pretty much ignored … and not because Simone encouraged any of it. She never seemed to be a diva. She just seemed to want to be part of the team. She cheered for others. She was everything you would want in a great teammate … except she wasn’t allowed to be that teammate. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjehgmoaf1WtUeyWasHL8rI87pIhyphenhyphenoUn2DBl3PUCdZZpiKs2axm2LnkJdn2FNeFcV-ULxgfgvPf_FOUJyqWYs0_zrXoKqmFNdhHZEksvgs4OUtRejuVmMMESdKuH9MnHVvrF_CTQaOJXV1y/s1785/IMG_3610.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1785" data-original-width="1335" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjehgmoaf1WtUeyWasHL8rI87pIhyphenhyphenoUn2DBl3PUCdZZpiKs2axm2LnkJdn2FNeFcV-ULxgfgvPf_FOUJyqWYs0_zrXoKqmFNdhHZEksvgs4OUtRejuVmMMESdKuH9MnHVvrF_CTQaOJXV1y/w192-h256/IMG_3610.jpeg" width="192" /></a></div>Her only fault? She was the greatest of all time, and everyone wanted a piece of her. I caught this picture to show how ridiculous it was. She was quietly taking a moment to walk into the locker room area. I don’t know why she was heading there, but I think I can guess. And she couldn’t even do that privately. When this picture was taken, there was still a gymnastics trial going on behind her. Young women were still trying to make the US team. But this camera was stuck on Simone … practically in her face.<p></p><p>And it wasn’t just the media. Some of the “fans” in our area were disgusting in their rudeness. A woman walked her teenage-ish daughter down to the first row while Simone was competing on uneven parallel bars, so she could get a picture of her daughter watching Simone Biles. Clearly, she didn’t give a damn about Simone. She just wanted a picture of her daughter in front of the star. She also didn’t give a rip about all the people who had paid for their seats and couldn’t see Simone because she had to get a picture of her daughter. Believe me, those people were not happy either.</p><p>A woman in our row stepped on us as she went running down with her child to get a close-up of Simone. Yes, she actually stepped on us. And it was very clear the picture was for her, not her daughter.</p><p>These were not young girls who idolize Simone Biles for the amazing gymnast she is. These were adults! These were adults setting the example for their children on how to treat another human being.</p><p>In 1991, our family got to watch the World Gymnastics Championships in Indianapolis. Of course, it was amazing. Seeing the best in the world can’t be anything but amazing, and we felt so privileged just to be there. We were a gymnastics family (and I’ve always been a gymnastics geek), so we knew Kim Zmeskal was the star to watch that year. I just remember she took my breath away, and I believe she ended up winning the all-around.</p><p>Fast forward to the Barcelona Olympics in 1992. Prior to the games, Kim was on the covers of major magazines. She was the odds-on favorite. Everyone <b><i>expected</i></b> her to win. And then the unthinkable happened. She fell off the balance beam, and she stepped out of bounds on her floor routine. Sound familiar? We felt so horrible for her … not for us, not for our country … but for her. This human being, with the weight of the world on her shoulders, had some struggles in her routines. The thing that really upset me though, was the attitude of many Americans. Another gymnastics parent said to me, “Kim Zmeskal really let us down, didn’t she?”</p><p>She let <b><i>us</i></b> down?? She let us down as we sat on our couches watching this athlete who had spent her whole life training for this moment?? This was 30 years ago, and it still upsets me. How dare this woman think this young athlete let anyone down??</p><p>And now here we are. Simone Biles is struggling because the weight of the world has been placed on her as everyone <b><i>expected</i></b> her to win everything. Forget the fact that she’s human. Forget the fact that her teammates love her and vowed to step up for her. Forget the fact that, heaven forbid, they won a silver medal. </p><p>Yes, it’s fabulous to win a gold medal! We all love hearing the national anthem as the US flag rises to the top. But these athletes are people. Most of them are very young people. They are crazy good at their sports, but that doesn’t make them robots. </p><p>I am grateful to Simone for stepping back. I am grateful to her for saying it's for her mental health. I am grateful that she will always be one of the greatest athletes of all time, and I am especially grateful that perhaps this is the wake-up call our country needs …. so we can focus on the humans who also happen to be great athletes. </p><p>This much I know … our country needs to do better. </p>Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-714941909200668262021-05-26T19:46:00.003-05:002021-05-27T21:49:14.316-05:00Anxiety is Real<p>If you’ve read my blog in the past, you know sometimes I let subjects percolate for a while before I put hands to the keyboard. This one has really spent some time in the percolating department, and I wasn’t even sure if I would write it ... but here we are.</p><p>I, unfortunately, know a lot about anxiety. I have it – not every minute and not every day – but it’s a part of me, and this past year has been a challenge keeping it in check. I have had to draw on every self-care strategy I have ever learned, and I’ve managed pretty well, but still, it’s a fact of my life. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7DSA4Y_etZUQRpg922smHGbnAJnkvMueW_ijD-mD9grl2daw5Us_CIBfjKTYhaOxrDwVmKV_mUiBisPUw5Ky2IJXDjK6yyn04e1Vleq8nnbL9uix0NvA0z7hZrvvj_Eeczpn8nKiyipFy/s495/Anxiety3.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="495" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7DSA4Y_etZUQRpg922smHGbnAJnkvMueW_ijD-mD9grl2daw5Us_CIBfjKTYhaOxrDwVmKV_mUiBisPUw5Ky2IJXDjK6yyn04e1Vleq8nnbL9uix0NvA0z7hZrvvj_Eeczpn8nKiyipFy/w200-h181/Anxiety3.png" width="200" /></a></div><p></p><p>Looking back, I realize I had encounters with it starting in the 70s when I was in college. But back then, it was diagnosed as “colon issues.” No one mentioned anxiety, and I remember once watching a show that I think was Oprah, but it may have been Phil Donahue, where everyone in the audience was an anxiety sufferer. I remember becoming tearful watching it because I could relate to almost everything anyone said. I finally realized I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t a hypochondriac. I wasn’t hopeless. Although the treatment I got wasn’t great back then, at least I knew what I had was a real thing. </p><p>I also remember my mom calling me, and I told her I was watching this show about panic attacks and anxiety, and she said, “Oh, don’t watch that!” I can smile about it now because she came from a different era, and in her world, talking about it would make it happen so she was trying to protect me. I do remember saying to her, “Mom, I have panic attacks.” Again, that didn’t help me progress to not having them, but I was able to say the words, and that was huge.</p><p>So, life went on, and in my twenties, I began to have full-blown panic attacks – heart-pounding, sweat-pouring, hyperventilating panic attacks. If you have never had one, well, lucky for you, because they are horrible. <b>HORRIBLE</b><i>.</i> Mine were so bad at that time, I could barely leave my house for fear of having another one. Even going to get the mail was scary, and going to the grocery store was out of the question. It sounds crazy, right? It was crazy, but it was my world.</p><p>Many of you reading this are probably in two categories. Some of you have no idea how someone could let that happen to them, but I know there are others who get it completely. You’ve been there or maybe are there now, and you know horrible all too well.</p><p>Fast forward (through postpartum depressions and other difficult times) to today. There is treatment for anxiety. Not only that, but doctors no longer say, “Just relax. You’ll be fine.” There are still some other people who say that, but I know better than to let that upset me, because they just don’t understand. </p><p>My personal treatment was medication, therapy, and surrounding myself with supportive people. I learned many techniques, such as slow, deep breathing; going for a walk; eating right-ish; avoiding the news; and not talking to myself in a negative way (sounds funny, but one therapist told me I had to replace the tapes I was playing in my head, and that made sense to me – another post for another day). I tried to use all of these techniques, but meds for anxiety weren’t extremely helpful to me. When my doctor and therapist worked together, though, and decided I was also suffering from depression, they agreed I needed to be on anti-depressants, and finally, the serious anxiety went away.</p><p>Here are some fun facts for those of you who may not know:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Anxiety can be a symptom of depression.</li><li>Anti-depressants are not happy pills and do not make stressors go away. As a friend once said, anti-depressants help you get back up to ground level, so you have the ability to take on the tough things happening.</li><li>Anxiety and depression are not invented by the person suffering from them. They are, in many cases, due to a long family history, and many people have a biological predisposition to them. </li></ul><p></p><p><a href="http://mayoclinic.org" target="_blank">Mayo Clinic</a> has a really good website for medical information. When I visit Dr. Google, this is usually my go-to site. I am on anti-depressants called SSRIs, which are selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors. There is science behind the treatment. Mayo Clinic says this:</p><p></p><blockquote><p>“SSRIs treat depression by increasing levels of serotonin in the brain. Serotonin is one of the chemical messengers (neurotransmitters) that carry signals between brain nerve cells (neurons).</p><p>SSRIs block the reabsorption (reuptake) of serotonin into neurons. This makes more serotonin available to improve transmission of messages between neurons. SSRIs are called selective because they mainly affect serotonin, not other neurotransmitters.</p><p>SSRIs may also be used to treat conditions other than depression, such as anxiety disorders.</p></blockquote><p>So, it’s really pretty basic. Serotonin, or lack thereof, is a huge part of depression and anxiety, which means these conditions are often due to a chemical imbalance. That is really important to know, especially for the naysayers. </p><p><b>Serotonin Matters</b></p><p>And here’s the thing. You can’t just get meds, although they have been a lifesaver for me. You also need to get help to see what things sent you into the spiral so you can deal with them and have a happier life. I went on meds in 1991, and they turned my life around. A doc once asked me if I wanted to try to go off of them at some point. I gave her a big “hell no,” and if asked today, I would say the same thing.</p><p>Back to the reason I decided to write this, I’m sharing this part of myself in case someone else may recognize themselves and not know where to turn, or someone knows a person suffering from this and will hopefully be a bit more compassionate. </p><p>Now that I’ve opened the flood gates, I realize I have more to say, but this is enough for now.</p><p><br /><i>If you need help and don’t know where to turn:<br /><a href="https://www.nami.org/Support-Education/NAMI-HelpLine/Top-HelpLine-Resources">https://www.nami.org/Support-Education/NAMI-HelpLine/Top-HelpLine-Resources</a></i></p><div><br /></div>Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-23254274722555809542020-12-04T15:06:00.000-06:002020-12-04T15:06:18.866-06:00I Like PBS, and I Cannot Lie<p>There I said it. I cannot believe I have to fess up to this, but here it is. I’m sure many of you are thinking, “Yeahhhh, so what’s the big deal?” Well, I’ll tell you. Picture it … Peoria … 1971. (You’ll have to excuse me. I just binged all 180 episodes of The Golden Girls.) </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLbv6mjt4NDa8r-BG_iHQiE7uXcreEJ6o4iupSfT5G2yJI_plMbyohG0McJzI6ASSe0FK_BlV9XcmiFxf_SjtoHgyFMBMAi0o9DCXbMQrmRDWiT7sdiGdgOLc80TIi89iHxVryIy0tFtvJ/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLbv6mjt4NDa8r-BG_iHQiE7uXcreEJ6o4iupSfT5G2yJI_plMbyohG0McJzI6ASSe0FK_BlV9XcmiFxf_SjtoHgyFMBMAi0o9DCXbMQrmRDWiT7sdiGdgOLc80TIi89iHxVryIy0tFtvJ/w142-h142/image.png" width="142" /></a></div>So, my dad actually brought public television to Peoria. He believed the Peoria area would benefit from educational programming, and once Phil Weinberg set his sights on something, it would pretty much happen. He worked very hard to make it happen, and I have to give him credit for this and his many other accomplishments. So there. I did, and on with the story. <p></p><p>How did this affect me, you ask? Let me nutshell it for you. There was one station we were allowed to watch in our house when my dad was home. I’ll just bet you can figure out which one it was. Yep, all the other kids got to watch Sanford and Son, but I had to watch PBS. All the other kids got to watch The Brady Bunch, but I had to watch PBS. All the other kids … well, you see the pattern. It goes on FOREVER.</p><p>I loved all those years of watching PBS, as you can imagine (she said with sarcasm and attitude). I loved them so much that I swore when I left home, I would never watch PBS again, and if people asked why, I would say, “I was forced to watch it as a child.” </p><p>Disclaimer: I broke this rule when my girls were young because Sesame Street was on two times a day in Champaign … on PBS … and for two hours a day, I could plop my children in front of the TV and have some sanity for myself. Yes, I used Sesame Street as a babysitter, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.</p><p>So, now that you know the background, here’s the update. When the pandemic started, the governor held a press conference every day, and I liked to watch them because I geek out on press conferences. It’s a fact. That was something I worked with in my professional life, and I liked to watch them to see how well they were run, how well the questions were answered, whether they used correct grammar, etc. I even enjoyed the sign language guy.</p><p>The Chicago area PBS station, WTTW, posted the full conferences on their website every day, so I was able to watch them whenever I wanted. At some point I realized to my shock and dismay (remember I’m still sort of new up here), that I was watching PBS. Not a happy day for Andee, but there it was. After several months I thought I really should make a donation to this station that had provided so much viewing pleasure for me, so I got a Passport Membership.</p><p>That was the gateway. There’s always a gateway. And before I knew it, I was getting emails about various shows for Passport Members. I thought I would at least read the emails, and before I knew it, I was looking at their website for more information. Let this be a lesson to you. That’s how they get you.</p><p>Turns out there are many shows I want to watch. I just looked for a few to mention here, and there are SO MANY. I can’t even begin to list them, but they have documentaries about everything, historical dramas, informational shows, shows about the arts. Ugh, there are so many shows! I was invited to a zoom-type presentation called Behind-the-Scenes of Chicago from the Air. I love Behind-the-Scenes shows, so I read more. Before I knew it, I had registered. I didn’t even know there was a Chicago from the Air program until I saw the email with the Behind-the-Scenes invitation. So, I watched that. It was quite fascinating. So now, of course, I have to watch the actual Chicago from the Air show. </p><p>Fun Fact: Did you know Chicago was built on a grid? AND … the diagonal streets were constructed following the trails used by Native Americans! I learned this by watching … God help me … PBS. I told my girls about this and where I learned it, and they laughed a lot and said, “Bet Grandpa is laughing right now too!” </p><p>Dammit. That’s all I have to say.</p>Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-27741450894857547282020-08-10T10:04:00.002-05:002020-08-10T10:04:44.280-05:00The Day My White Bubble ShatteredI have struggled with writing this for a very long time, and now that the Black Lives Matter movement is at the forefront, this has come back to me once again. It’s about the day, I think it was three years ago, when I was stunned to learn that white privilege does exist, and I witnessed it personally.<br />
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There were five of us at a nice restaurant in Baltimore. Two of the others were my daughter, Lindsay, and her love, Monroe. I normally wouldn’t make this distinction, but I am for purposes of this post … Monroe is Black.<br />
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So we went into this restaurant, and Monroe went to the host stand and asked for a table for five. They said we should wait in the bar until they called us, and we were fine with that. We went to the bar, which was right next to the dining area, and had drinks while we waited. The entire time we were there, we could see, maybe 10 feet away from us, an empty table that could accommodate us. After a short while, Monroe went back to the stand and asked about it. He was told something that didn’t really make sense. It wasn’t reserved, but they wanted to keep it open to balance the table service, something like that.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjizkpnXt4UnVYz-G1ieisyR5dNFWtlsGMj3i9IoNqQe4VDkKBiiLdHzLOkp-qbzc9R_kudVP17G3kslocQDuDesNxeCiTJHvNVkP5v8AoYxXOJqCgZrEpVsq6045_X2ppWgoY87XUZYHKp/s1600/Truth.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="567" data-original-width="478" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjizkpnXt4UnVYz-G1ieisyR5dNFWtlsGMj3i9IoNqQe4VDkKBiiLdHzLOkp-qbzc9R_kudVP17G3kslocQDuDesNxeCiTJHvNVkP5v8AoYxXOJqCgZrEpVsq6045_X2ppWgoY87XUZYHKp/s200/Truth.jpeg" width="168" /></a>So we waited some more as we looked at the same open table. Monroe again went back and asked about the table. Again, we were told something that didn’t make sense.<br />
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We waited at least 30 minutes, and after I went over to ask, they finally sat us at THAT SAME TABLE and acted like it had been waiting for us all along.<br />
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Side note – my former boss and mentor often said if something wasn’t logical, there’s probably another reason for it. This definitely did not make sense. There had to be another reason for it.<br />
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At some point I had this horrific realization that I wouldn’t allow myself to believe. Eventually, I had to ask Monroe. I said something like, “Please tell me this didn’t happen because you checked us in and you’re Black.”<br />
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In his typically kind manner, with a little half smile, he said, “Just another day in the life.”<br />
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That was three years ago, and it still haunts me. That was the day my nice little bubble was shattered. I thought I didn’t have white privilege. I thought the whole concept was exaggerated. I mean, I’m Jewish, so I’ve certainly had some struggles over the years. I understood what a member of a minority could go through. I was in a minority. I got it … until the day I didn’t. I’d had no idea.<br />
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I’m still stunned that this happened. I haven’t even talked about it much because I haven’t known what to say. I don’t even know if the other two people in our group had the same perception. But I know this. It was not logical.<br />
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Now that several horrific actions have senselessly taken the lives of Black people, my comparatively minor experience has come back to me once again. It wasn’t just a fluke. It has been made very clear that horrible things have happened to people for no reason other than the color of their skin. And let me say this - I’m not angry at all police officers. I’m angry at a society that has turned a blind eye over and over and over again.<br />
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This has to change, and it has to change now. And yes, I will be a part of it.Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-41988402154207133272020-03-14T14:21:00.000-05:002020-03-14T14:46:09.517-05:00When Did I Become Old?I have a lot of time on my hands now since I’m trying to stay home to avoid the coronavirus. I’m still not quite sure as to when I became old. I was living my life just fine, and now, all of a sudden, I’m not just what I refer to as an “active retiree.” The Center for Disease Control has pronounced me “old.”<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk4q4zkxYe0p2VBDnPh1ZivDtbvxqkm8eNKWkMdMpffB3M_vI1bIwPmMfcquYbp86miDx76dk_POaMFSAUFlVRnZ7jNnV2jfj1j3cH3wrc8hUP2ivVrCb8Czgm2nJ0LbdSgn08X_N5LZvK/s1600/Kayak+Cartoon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1108" data-original-width="1600" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk4q4zkxYe0p2VBDnPh1ZivDtbvxqkm8eNKWkMdMpffB3M_vI1bIwPmMfcquYbp86miDx76dk_POaMFSAUFlVRnZ7jNnV2jfj1j3cH3wrc8hUP2ivVrCb8Czgm2nJ0LbdSgn08X_N5LZvK/s200/Kayak+Cartoon.jpg" width="200" /></a>My grandson likes to say it and give me a hard time about it, but it’s all been in fun mostly. One day we were talking about how much I loved him, and I told him I loved him so much that if a bus were speeding toward him, I would jump in front of it to try to save him, and without missing a beat and in all seriousness, he looked at me and said “…because you’re old.”<br />
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My immediate response to him was, “No, it’s because I love you, you little shit!” It’s possible I cleaned it up a little, but that’s exactly what I was saying in my head.<br />
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Of my group of friends in Huntley, I’m the youngest, and they’ve always called me the baby. I’ve also been called the nighttime Uber driver. Again, it’s all been in fun.<br />
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Until now.<br />
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I’m over 60, and I’m suddenly old. I have to hunker down, not just because I’m diabetic. I get that one, although it’s weird to think that being diabetic could cause me to be taken out when I feel fine. But until now, 60 just meant I was 60 (ok, 63 to be exact). I’ve always heard, and said, that age was just a number. You’re only as old as you feel. Remember all those sayings? Where are they now?<br />
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Now I’m in an old demographic, and I have to say, I’m slightly offended. A friend in our high school graduating class posted, “So, isn’t it nice to know that the CDC says we are officially old?” It made me laugh a lot because that was exactly what I was feeling! I knew it wasn’t just me, and others agreed.<br />
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Inside I’m still the same ‘70s girl who had the ‘70s experience and all that went with it. Well, I’m definitely wiser, I feel much better about myself, and I’m way more responsible; but still. I think I’m the same Andee, only better. I know getting up off the floor takes a little longer; there are hairs that pop out where they never used to be; and I often forget why I walked into a room. But other than that, I’m still me!<br />
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I guess I don’t have an important point to make here. Just be kind to all of us newly-old people, please. We were not prepared for this.</div>
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Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-44623155986396540302019-08-19T19:34:00.001-05:002019-08-19T19:37:01.618-05:00Diabetes Was Not In My Life PlanWhen I was in my 20s and pregnant with my first baby, life was going along just fine thank you, and out of the blue, my doctor told me I had diabetes. He blew me out of the water, telling me I had flunked the test with flying colors. I had heard of diabetes. I remember a girl in high school passed out and then learned she was diabetic. Other than that, I knew nothing. And this was in the middle of my first pregnancy where I already was realizing I knew less than nothing, and then they threw that at me!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRvXCQKVILqzkD-yryitQRfbokwB1VRG1a_HZJzoMxx17MP3i4Ke2NsdrPf39c_VToQNKtxwR3oRHPAZqf9T7Yl9OmyEKkcyaSzwdEPr9g1LvseOHzotMCi0CQKTC1VJYI_1UBtuvwIqje/s1600/Diabetes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="796" data-original-width="1300" height="121" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRvXCQKVILqzkD-yryitQRfbokwB1VRG1a_HZJzoMxx17MP3i4Ke2NsdrPf39c_VToQNKtxwR3oRHPAZqf9T7Yl9OmyEKkcyaSzwdEPr9g1LvseOHzotMCi0CQKTC1VJYI_1UBtuvwIqje/s200/Diabetes.jpg" width="200" /></a>I was told it was likely gestational, which means it happens during pregnancy, and it would probably go away after the baby was born. I was given a diet to follow, and when I asked if there was more I needed to know, I was told, “Just follow the diet.” That was not much help, and it certainly didn’t ease my fears.<br />
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Then I heard all the horror stories from various people who really knew nothing. I was told this happened because I ate a lot of candy (not true – well, the candy part was true, but that didn’t cause this). I was told I would probably lose my feet … because that’s what a nurse should tell a pregnant woman who is newly diagnosed with a scary disease. I often got the serious pity look when I told people my news … the look that really helps a person newly diagnosed with anything. One person said, “Oh no! You’re pregnant?? Does your doctor know??”<br />
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So as you can probably imagine, it was a very difficult time for me. I was terrified that I would not be able to have a healthy baby. I was pretty scared anyway just trying to bring a baby into the world, and this definitely did not help. Then they told me I had to go into the hospital for a week so I could get my bloodsugar under control and learn how to give myself insulin shots. I tried to pretend I was cool about the whole thing, but I’m sure I wasn’t very convincing.<br />
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Moving forward a little bit, I had two healthy babies from diabetic pregnancies. The diabetes was not gestational, and although I was taken off insulin between the pregnancies and for five years after the second one, I was put back on insulin and had to accept I would not be going off of it. It was again upsetting and something I had to come to terms with. I finally did when I read a book called <i>Diabetes Without Fear</i>, and the author wrote about a friend of his who had stomach cancer and said something like, “I’d give anything to be able to give myself shots to stay alive.” That was a big moment. I realized I didn’t have it so bad, and I needed to suck it up and stop feeling sorry for myself.<br />
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Ok, fast forward to today, some 30+ years later. I know so much more, technology has come so far, and I've left my state of denial for good. I now have the latest insulin pump, which is referred to as an “artificial pancreas” because it acts the way my pancreas should act but doesn’t. I call her Harriet. I decided if I was going to be so intimately attached to something, it should have a name, and for reasons I do not know, she seemed like a Harriet.<br />
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Some days, Harriet pisses me off with all her vibrating alerts, and some days I’m pretty sure I piss her off as well. But most days, we get along pretty well. She lets me know if my bloodsugar is going too high or too low, she tells me if I need to test it, and I’ve learned if I listen to her, my numbers are much better, which means my diabetes is in better control.<br />
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Some days, but only on occasion, I tell her to kiss off. Last week, for example, I got to go to Lawry’s The Prime Rib in downtown Chicago, a place I had wanted to go for a very long time, and yeah, that was definitely one of those days. She wasn’t happy about it, and she got a little bitchy, but I told her she needed to simmer down. I enjoyed one of the best meals I’ve ever had, and except for her bitching the rest of the evening, I had no regrets. I knew, though, that the next morning, I needed to clean up my act, because the bottom line is the more I control my diabetes, the less I have to worry about complications.<br />
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I have a fabulous doctor now who cheers me on every step of the way. I’ve worked with other great medical professionals over the years as well, who far outweigh the few really awful ones like the nurse mentioned above. Overall I've been very fortunate. One wonderful educator told me to avoid thinking of myself as a diabetic and instead think of myself as a person living with diabetes. That was another big moment. Instead of thinking of myself as a sicko who had to be deprived of so many things, I began to think more that I was someone who could handle this diagnosis and not let it get in my way. When it became more about my decisions and my control, I did a whole lot better. I have never responded well to being told what to do. Some might think I have an attitude, and to that, I say, “No shit.” I do much better when I have been given good information and know the consequences of an action and then choose to behave accordingly.<br />
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The amazing thing I have learned is I can keep living my life and take care of my diabetes at the same time. It really doesn’t get in my way most days. I now also have a sensor that monitors my blood sugar and talks to Harriet so she can keep me in line.<br />
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I’m so grateful for researchers and new technologies that are getting better all the time. Recently, I talked to a woman who was upset that her young granddaughter had been diagnosed and was using the same pump I have. The girl’s mother can monitor the pump on her smartphone and contact the school when adjustments are needed. I can hardly believe we have come so far! I told the grandma that I wouldn’t wish diabetes on anyone, especially a child, but her granddaughter was diagnosed at the right time. The researchers are making so many advances that I believe diabetes will be cured, if not in my lifetime, certainly in her granddaughter’s.<br />
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So, all in all, it doesn’t suck too much. I’d definitely rather not have it, but I’m grateful that it’s something I can live with. I will hopefully get better at not pissing Harriet off, even though sometimes she really is uptight.<br />
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This is what I’ve learned about life plans. They don’t usually go as planned. I planned my whole life to be a teacher, and I changed careers after four years. I planned to never be divorced. Oops. I also planned to have four children and willingly stopped after two. But with all of these unplanned things, it really just meant I was going in a different direction. So add this to the list. It wasn’t what I planned, but I’m doing just fine in this different direction.Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-41407673121864218402019-06-26T09:25:00.002-05:002019-06-26T09:25:24.552-05:00Ireland!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvIQiAG9n0X6Pgln0txBV12wBMFhq_vKmdRMXbrB-NjQLhnDT0ALU36wvUD72KlR_hNXIxQAKTJ_hWH-2bsCIEL2cu-0moIoeFRUDgGADTNH6gB1tSWfjwIo92ew2WYMnaeHiK9ZuaNmqF/s1600/Kerry1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvIQiAG9n0X6Pgln0txBV12wBMFhq_vKmdRMXbrB-NjQLhnDT0ALU36wvUD72KlR_hNXIxQAKTJ_hWH-2bsCIEL2cu-0moIoeFRUDgGADTNH6gB1tSWfjwIo92ew2WYMnaeHiK9ZuaNmqF/s200/Kerry1.jpg" width="200" /></a>You knew this was coming, didn’t you? Oh my gosh, my dream trip to Ireland was beyond anything I even imagined. It checked off every box. Here’s my biggest takeaway – if you have a dream trip and you have the chance to take it, please do it. Just please do it if you can. And having said that, I will also say, I’ll try not to be too sappy with this post, but I’m not sure I can do it. I am even more in love with Ireland now, and I’m already thinking about my next trip there.<br />
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I should probably tell you the background as to why visiting Ireland was #1 on my bucket list. But first of all, this always makes me chuckle. When I told my mom years ago that I wanted to visit Ireland, she said, “But they drink in Ireland.” She clearly had blocked out all the years I worked in a bar, and that I had already been exposed to drinking because I was an adult... Oh, that lovely woman still makes me smile every day, and this one is definitely a keeper. One of the things I had dreamed about was sitting in an Irish pub (yes, they just call them “pubs” there) and listening to Irish music and watching Irish dancers, but I decided Mom probably didn’t need all those pub details. I didn’t want to scar her.<br />
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Years ago, I started reading books by Maeve Binchy, an Irish author who wrote stories I just loved. I called them my comfort food because I felt so good after reading them. All her stories took place in Ireland, and she made Ireland sound so wonderful that I knew I had to visit someday. Ms. Binchy passed away in 2012, and I was so saddened by her loss that I decided to hold off reading her last book (which she finished three weeks before her death), because if I read it, I wouldn’t have another book of hers to look forward to.<br />
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Then when the opportunity for this trip came up, I thought two things: (1) Hell yes, I’m going; and (2) I think it’s time to read that book. So I signed on for the trip, and I bought what would actually be two books because her husband had found enough notes in her desk that her editors could put it into one more book (and how funny is this, it’s called Chestnut Street). Anyway, there’s my love story for Maeve Binchy and my dream to see Ireland.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_i2_ari3DW95U6eAs4wqIvt4o-Nhm_jTFHpJwo4aziKmQPLYEPwxzOMGjzT_m6uU7iPHV7oESzXX8Zn17276AU2MQbrE7i8kV42NzRPME9Fa8MYS5_stsxlrR0T3hQOV5kH8CiVNXhquj/s1600/Ireland+Castle+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="898" data-original-width="1280" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_i2_ari3DW95U6eAs4wqIvt4o-Nhm_jTFHpJwo4aziKmQPLYEPwxzOMGjzT_m6uU7iPHV7oESzXX8Zn17276AU2MQbrE7i8kV42NzRPME9Fa8MYS5_stsxlrR0T3hQOV5kH8CiVNXhquj/s200/Ireland+Castle+2.JPG" width="200" /></a>Here’s the nutshell version of my trip: I saw so many shades of green; the cliffs and the castles are beyond amazing; I didn’t meet one grumpy Irish person; the food was delicious; and as is always the case when I travel, I learned I have a lot more to learn. I will spare you every detail (you’re welcome), but here are some of the highlights:<br />
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The lovely couple I sat next to on the plane insisted I look out their window when we were flying in. I gasped because I was so surprised to see what I had always heard about – the many, many shades of green. There they were! They were not kidding about it! So, my first impression of Ireland was a great one.<br />
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Then when we got there, we did a lot of touring, and we really did live out of our suitcases. I think we stayed in maybe eight hotels in twelve days. But I knew we had no choice so even Andee was up every morning on time and ready to face the day. Those of you who know me personally know what an accomplishment that is, and really, I just wrote this part to give myself a little shout out, because, well, it’s my blog, and I can.<br />
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I had heard from several people that the food would be bland. Well, fortunately and unfortunately, the food was delicious. Every bite … for twelve days … every soup, every salad, every stew, every side dish, every dessert, every bite of someone else’s dessert. We did a lot of eating, and I don’t regret a single bite. I’m having to deal with that now, but I still don’t regret it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrIXWgGN3r9l7Y31ChrJqfjG6lJyuejMGWlq2L6Ps4dLVeYs59JYOB9_5n4UugSNULPQSB_MjcfqdVZn6Rx771CrIByq1BFULu6_iuTVq_QSHM0Xv0tIdxL4U0u-V9U41AIHJj74C4e1xU/s1600/Ireland+Dancer+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="924" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrIXWgGN3r9l7Y31ChrJqfjG6lJyuejMGWlq2L6Ps4dLVeYs59JYOB9_5n4UugSNULPQSB_MjcfqdVZn6Rx771CrIByq1BFULu6_iuTVq_QSHM0Xv0tIdxL4U0u-V9U41AIHJj74C4e1xU/s200/Ireland+Dancer+2.jpg" width="144" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhVw8aV9kWYTswe3pJCBBRriAftBTqQHao1VrBUiyVuEQb8rFmrQ-AhtQuPCVDERQgZQ1Mh22vI2wh7lZODcOKfl4XQShdAl-FhElVBbAHnGFa9gvdiybDdxnmL4vfxk1_WGQO8XAl9IkG/s1600/Ireland+Dancer+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1476" data-original-width="983" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhVw8aV9kWYTswe3pJCBBRriAftBTqQHao1VrBUiyVuEQb8rFmrQ-AhtQuPCVDERQgZQ1Mh22vI2wh7lZODcOKfl4XQShdAl-FhElVBbAHnGFa9gvdiybDdxnmL4vfxk1_WGQO8XAl9IkG/s200/Ireland+Dancer+1.jpg" width="133" /></a>We went to a show one night with Irish musicians and Irish dancers, and I could tell I smiled the entire time because my face hurt. As we were leaving, the performers came out to thank us, and when I told them how much I loved it, I got all choked up because it was the pure joy moment I had dreamed of, so I thanked them and hustled out of there before I started blubbering. When my friends came out, they said, “What did you say back there that made them cry?” (Ugh, it was really not my intention, but then I was moved that they were moved, and so … well, okay, that could go on forever.)<br />
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A few randoms:<br />
•<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Pictures do not capture the beauty we saw. They don’t even come close.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZFpx3sv9iz0vwfE54mUK55V8BOJfaITfEqUjOLvN4zeOfqbQmmCD1wAEr_uv8e6xu6WooJkisF4Kx6H8PKjNGLFgzIDzMyO0e-FBHGj8-sb0OVyQYwX5AJ1TaTvk3hFE8Wngmi9VQMFmm/s1600/Ireland+Sheep+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="904" data-original-width="1280" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZFpx3sv9iz0vwfE54mUK55V8BOJfaITfEqUjOLvN4zeOfqbQmmCD1wAEr_uv8e6xu6WooJkisF4Kx6H8PKjNGLFgzIDzMyO0e-FBHGj8-sb0OVyQYwX5AJ1TaTvk3hFE8Wngmi9VQMFmm/s200/Ireland+Sheep+2.jpg" width="200" /></a>•<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Irish sheep out in the fields are really adorable. As hard as I tried, I could get not one decent picture of them.<br />
•<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Guinness is not my favorite drink, but I did drink a pint; I learned all those years I had poured it, we were doing it wrong; and the Irish tip of asking for a little black currant in the bottom of the glass was a lovely way of taking out “the bitter.”<br />
•<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Driving on the left side of the road may be more than I'll choose to undertake.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqZZ7eLt1QZHr8tMMKWHawdTFJTHlO01dvhuUp4cEGPIYJOrm1giKGWsYe6L0B3-tZk3CMis7v_YC6rMeez5udkXutfeJD4JId3tCwH1IL8EzPgyV-3o0AfCnrFkvftBBX-464PlBlTWGA/s1600/Ireland+Sheep+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="599" data-original-width="963" height="124" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqZZ7eLt1QZHr8tMMKWHawdTFJTHlO01dvhuUp4cEGPIYJOrm1giKGWsYe6L0B3-tZk3CMis7v_YC6rMeez5udkXutfeJD4JId3tCwH1IL8EzPgyV-3o0AfCnrFkvftBBX-464PlBlTWGA/s200/Ireland+Sheep+1.jpg" width="200" /></a>As I said, I did not meet one grumpy Irish person. And yes, I know they want to sell things to tourists. I know what working the crowd is, and I have a pretty good bullshit meter, but I felt with everyone I met, that they were genuine. They were funny and kind and happy to welcome us, and they’re working people and parents and grandparents just like we are, and I enjoyed them all very much. A shop owner and I had a fun conversation about spoiling grandchildren, which of course, neither one of us did. Another shop owner laughed with joy when I returned for the package I had left behind. He then put my items in a large, bright green bag so I would not lose them again, and he told my two (older) friends (insert Irish accent), “Ladies, you just can’t take these old people around with you, can you?”<br />
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We visited Northern Ireland as well, and that’s where I really learned how much I didn’t know. All I knew was there had been fighting there in the 70s & 80s, and Belfast was mentioned on the news a lot. They all refer to that time as “the troubles,” and they’re very happy there’s peace in their world. More than once we heard how grateful they were that their children were growing up seeing American visitors instead of soldiers with guns. They’re worried about Brexit and how it might affect them. Like nearly every parent I’ve ever known, they just want a better world for their children.<br />
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I was very touched by their sincerity. In one of our walking tours, we had to go down a stairway. There was another one nearby, and our guide said, yes, we could use that one too. He joked and said the Catholics could go down one, and the Protestants could go down the other. I asked, “Where do the Jews go?” We laughed, and he said I could go down one, and his Hindu-Irish self would go down the other. As we met at the bottom, he held out his hand to me, and we walked off together. You may call it corny, and okay, it was corny, but I also felt the beauty of the moment, and that’s how I will remember it.<br />
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As I said, I will spare you all the details of my trip, but again I want to say this. If you have the chance to do something you really, really want to do, please do it. I want everyone to experience those “Oh my God, I’m in Ireland!” moments.<br />
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Now that I’m home, I will say this. I have had three experiences in my life where I had the privilege of visiting another country outside North America. Each one was unique, each was a learning experience, and each made me more appreciative of other cultures. And as this trip ended, I got to experience another one of my true joys that never, ever gets old – touching down on American soil and hearing the words, “Welcome to the United States.” There truly is no place like home, and for better or worse, I never forget how lucky I am that this is mine. 🇺🇸Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-324468671943569072019-02-21T14:57:00.000-06:002019-02-21T15:50:54.491-06:00Celebrating a WinI talked with one of my former students this week. If you didn’t know, I was once a teacher. In the late 70s, early 80s, I taught emotionally disturbed adolescents in Springfield, Illinois; and I did it by choice even. Funny story, at least to me … I once ran into a teacher I had known while student teaching, and she asked me where I was working. I told her I was teaching at McFarland Mental Health Center, and she responded, “Oh, you couldn’t get anything else?”<br />
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The thing was … that was exactly where I wanted to be. I loved working with teenagers, first of all, and secondly, I got to work with kids who had had a really tough time in life. Yes, it was a challenge. Yes, some of them were a little rough around the edges. And no, I didn’t have an extreme amount of patience (I got that one a lot).<br />
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I loved the idea that maybe I could make a difference, that I might help point them in the right direction, and that when they left me, at least they would know that someone cared about them. In a tragic number of cases, I learned I was often one of the first people who did show they cared.<br />
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McFarland was a short-term residential facility for the Springfield region. Kids who came to us were enrolled in their regular schools, and I would teach whatever classes they were taking back home. In the best situations, their home teachers and I would work together to keep them on track, but it didn’t always work out that way. A lot of times I had to wing it, trying my best to keep them current.<br />
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My goal was always for kids to feel safe in my classroom and to feel good about themselves. My philosophy was if kids felt safe and happy, they could learn. I still believe that, although my first supervisor and I butted heads on that a lot. She wanted me to push academics harder, and although I did emphasize academics (um, yeah, because I was a teacher ... and I might still be annoyed by that), I still believe the kids who were the most successful in my classroom were the ones who, in many cases for the first time, felt good about themselves.<br />
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I didn’t have a long time with my kids. Once they were functioning better in their lives (or as would soon become the case, once the insurance companies cut them off), they were discharged, and most of the time they were sent back to the same awful situations that had brought them to us in the first place.<br />
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That was the heartbreaking part. There was often little support for them once they left, and we had to hope that at some point, they would be able to find their way. There were some girls I suspected had been sexually abused, and I wish I had been able to get them to open up. I wish I had known more about schizophrenia so I could have been more helpful to kids struggling with that. I wish I hadn’t listened to someone over me who told me not to make waves and instead I’d spoken up for kids I suspected were going back to abusive homes. I had never heard of the term “mandated reporter” back then, so there was little I could do. Dave and I even talked for a bit about becoming licensed as a foster home so we could take in a few kids, but we realized we were babies ourselves and probably couldn’t provide what they needed.<br />
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So I learned to let go, and I hoped for the best. I will say there were a few instances where it seemed that the parents had done everything they could. These same parents were also the ones who were active in the treatment program by participating in family therapy. I could see real improvement in their kids’ situations, and I felt that when they left the program, they were all heading in the right direction.<br />
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My former student – I’ll call her Lisa – did not have one of those families. Her situation was so bad that she became a ward of the state and was “in the system” as they say. She’d had a horrible upbringing and then lived through some awful foster situations, so the odds were certainly against her.<br />
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She was able to track me down recently, and we had a phone conversation that lasted …. I am not kidding …. 6-1/2 hours. We did not stop talking the whole time, and we could have continued if we’d had more time. All these years later, we were no longer teacher and student. We were friends …. the kind of friends who don’t see each other for years and years and then pick up right where they left off.<br />
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She is a beautiful human who believes in doing everything she can to make the world a kinder place. She is someone I would be friends with even if I had not already known her. She is smart and funny and talented and happy with herself and her life. I need to say that again. She’s happy!<br />
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She is grateful to the people who helped her along the way. I’m honored beyond words to be on that list, but I am far from being the only one. I’m also grateful to the people who were there for her. Cunningham Children’s Home in Urbana, Illinois gets a big shout out as well.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_vcpObszI_hAtkeXH4jtJ-sRkvSHODsiu1yAqWQVCcblkyJwtBlgncgw8YpoLL_UdKhfKD4Y0pNA2z_qiRGH9plZpzl89Kie7MWSmNiEK2l5Dd_0FcdHdJ1zFPLgzsz2hki1vDSueiA7/s1600/sun-peeking-over-rainbow.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="286" data-original-width="550" height="103" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_vcpObszI_hAtkeXH4jtJ-sRkvSHODsiu1yAqWQVCcblkyJwtBlgncgw8YpoLL_UdKhfKD4Y0pNA2z_qiRGH9plZpzl89Kie7MWSmNiEK2l5Dd_0FcdHdJ1zFPLgzsz2hki1vDSueiA7/s200/sun-peeking-over-rainbow.png" width="200" /></a>So after giving up hope in most cases because the system failed so many kids, after hearing of some awful outcomes I won’t discuss here, after experiencing so much anger at our broken mental health system which is even worse now than it was then … I learned that Lisa had made it. In spite of everything, so many awful things, she made it.<br />
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As I learned back then, I had to try my best to let go of the losses and celebrate the wins. Well, today I can celebrate a big win. Even with all the people Lisa credits for helping her, she had to have a tremendous amount of inner strength to be where she is now. I couldn’t be prouder, and I couldn’t be more grateful. What a joy it is to be able to celebrate her!Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-61653013667364748992019-01-25T11:06:00.000-06:002019-01-25T11:07:19.760-06:00The Head NutMy father-in-law died unexpectedly last week. He had a heart attack, and as the texts were making the rounds with that news, it wasn’t long before the worst news arrived. He was gone.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix-d5koIiZq2YU6i7tkPE1YPAJnS2-YOe5hyphenhyphenOCj4HvR6lJHTnK_iaJsl4bgzKR-r1MfQF3kffb50PU4Xn9MilaGNu1wz9kV651s8766r-wg826A_t_th-3hHp8bKEpb98tiIhD5HlN5OjQ/s1600/Bill+%2526+Dave+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="376" data-original-width="232" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix-d5koIiZq2YU6i7tkPE1YPAJnS2-YOe5hyphenhyphenOCj4HvR6lJHTnK_iaJsl4bgzKR-r1MfQF3kffb50PU4Xn9MilaGNu1wz9kV651s8766r-wg826A_t_th-3hHp8bKEpb98tiIhD5HlN5OjQ/s200/Bill+%2526+Dave+3.jpg" width="123" /></a>I was not at all prepared like I had somewhat been when losing my own parents. Not only had I never envisioned Bill, Sr. dying (he had quite the stubborn streak), but I was a bit surprised at how awful I felt.<br />
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I had grown pretty fond of him over the years. He had come a very long way from the man I first met in the late ‘70s – a proud graduate of the school of hard knocks and a firm believer in tough love. I won’t dwell on those years except to say as gruff as he could be, he did love a good comeback. Every time I was a smartass in return to something he said, he would laugh and take it in stride, almost like he was hoping for that response.<br />
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As you may know, he’s actually my ex father-in-law. Dave and I are divorced, but because we are good friends, the Chestnuts still include me in the family, which makes me tear up sometimes, especially this past week when they listed me as one of the surviving family members. And then when I told them how stunned and honored I was, they reacted like they didn’t know why I would expect otherwise, which of course, made me tear up again.<br />
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From a blog post I wrote a few years ago:<br />
“My father-in-law, who likes for people to think he’s a grump (and to his credit, he’s very good at it), told me that even if Dave or I remarried, I would always be a Chestnut. That’s probably the biggest speech I’ve ever heard him make. It may not be a lot by most people’s standards, but it was a major statement from this man of very few words. Then my mother-in-law (never a grump) said pretty much the same thing to me, that no matter what, I’d always be a Chestnut.”<br />
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So I was included in just about everything the family did this week to give him a great send-off. I was so touched. As you can imagine, the stories were flying. One of the hottest topics was his home improvement exploits, which were legendary. The man never met a level. He would just eye something and pronounce it ok (and it never was). These were not little projects, mind you. We’re talking stairs, porches, a sun room … every year we all couldn’t wait to see what the new addition would be. It always made for great laughs and still does.<br />
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He loved to organize items in his house. Spreadsheets and labels were some of his favorite things. So of course, that had to be acknowledged. Check out the front of his urn:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTynBlDgfg1xNmNAhMd2nZK7SC9dxmMccUw5d2nM5UYwsmXMNT2WfaOPND9ofJ7V0uJYMHjDkenJmVP_wmqEZfYr8qb907jbckFpsrpJVUKzB0MbB3BhR8davVCc8OVW4MqOiiN59SXPIh/s1600/Urn+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="358" data-original-width="536" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTynBlDgfg1xNmNAhMd2nZK7SC9dxmMccUw5d2nM5UYwsmXMNT2WfaOPND9ofJ7V0uJYMHjDkenJmVP_wmqEZfYr8qb907jbckFpsrpJVUKzB0MbB3BhR8davVCc8OVW4MqOiiN59SXPIh/s320/Urn+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I can’t look at this without laughing. He would have LOVED this! I don’t know who actually thought of it, but this was excellent.<br />
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You can’t see it, but the yellow ribbon in front, in elegant print, says, “Head Nut.” Again, perfect.<br />
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Dave gave the eulogy. He was so spot on, telling many funny stories and describing him perfectly. When he sat down, there was a slight pause, and then we all broke into a loud round of applause. The pastor, laughing, said, “I’ve been doing this for 25 years, and that’s the first time anyone’s ever applauded!” Yep, welcome to a day with the Chestnuts.<br />
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I have to add this little tidbit because I know it would have made him laugh. When we were at the cemetery, under the tent, during the prayers, a huge wind came up, and it sounded like the tent was going to blow over. It scared me, and before I could stop myself, I said, “Jesus!” I didn’t think it was that noticeable, but after the service, several Chestnuts were asking who yelled “Jesus” when the wind blew. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t know, so I owned up to it. Yes, it was the Jewish family member … another very proud moment for me. Fortunately, this crowd thought it was funny, and I have a feeling it will be brought up again for a very long time.<br />
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Although always a character, Bill mellowed over the years, I think in large part due to his ever-expanding family. What started with the seven original siblings has now grown to include 20 grandchildren and 16 great grandchildren. When you add in the spouses, cousins, and a few assorted others (like me), that’s quite a group.<br />
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Leah posted these beautiful words:<br />
“It's a special thing to be a member of the loud, quirky Chestnut family, something that I appreciate more and more as I get older. Today we said our final goodbye to Grandpa Nut - the patriarch of our crew.<br />
There are MANY stories that could be shared, but I keep going back to a quiet moment (which is rare in our family). The last few years at Chestnut Christmas, I'd catch a glimpse of Grandpa sitting contently as he watched family sharing stories and laughter. There's a lot of that going on with 60+ people in one house! I think he enjoyed these gatherings and having everyone in one place. It turns out that I do too.<br />
There will be a missing piece at our next gathering, but his presence will still be there. I'll miss you, Grandpa.”<br />
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I’m so glad we were together for Chestnut Christmas.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOwwKINWPGbAadhkTzM8ncUb4DqvpdRSxlpvC7cFdDchqFPGk8WKKXMlHCVXlnS_LS1QLCrTBm2m5QJPI6d2u9Swbm-8-wzcfYgf3_jVQAdn_b631BgBQINk0fNRF3VaNicdb3z6oqYqlx/s1600/Bill+%2526+Flo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOwwKINWPGbAadhkTzM8ncUb4DqvpdRSxlpvC7cFdDchqFPGk8WKKXMlHCVXlnS_LS1QLCrTBm2m5QJPI6d2u9Swbm-8-wzcfYgf3_jVQAdn_b631BgBQINk0fNRF3VaNicdb3z6oqYqlx/s200/Bill+%2526+Flo.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>My favorite picture</i></td></tr>
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I’m glad Bill and Flo (my mother-in-law, the family matriarch and Bill’s wife of 63 years) recently went on a long road trip that included a lot of casino visits, and they also went on a cruise.<br />
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I’m glad he got to see the Cubs win the World Series.<br />
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I guess mostly I’m glad I get to be a Chestnut, and that I was a part of the loud, rambunctious group that sent him off in style this week.<br />
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I think he would have loved it all.<br />
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Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-82128293533869554102019-01-12T15:32:00.000-06:002019-01-12T15:54:40.201-06:00Kindness Does Matter!In December, when my dear friend, Nancy, asked us to again honor her beautiful daughter, Ashley, with acts of kindness during her birthday month, I started to think about what I could do this year. Shortly after that, I went to Walmart, and I did my usual – saying “excuse me” or “thank you” while moving around other shoppers, letting people go ahead of me, smiling at others – what I consider to be standard adult behavior, but I saw so many grumpy people, people who didn’t respond and many who didn’t even acknowledge me. I chuckled to myself thinking, well this year would be easy. I practically did a month’s worth of random acts of kindness on one shopping trip. Now don’t start the usual Walmart jokes (which I’ve been guilty of also). It had nothing to do with that. This is a pretty friendly store normally, and the town I live in now, Huntley, is generally friendly also.<br />
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I thought it might be a one-time thing, that people were having bad days, but in another store the next day, the same thing happened. People were just not happy, or kind, or at peace … whatever it was. Again, I continued to be kind, doing what I could to make someone’s day a little better. But I also was concerned this might be the new normal. I decided it must be the stress of the holidays, and I let it go at that.<br />
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Fast forward to a recent trip to a grocery store in Florida. I thought people had to be as full of joy as I was to be where it was warm and the sun was shining. Again, though, most people were not smiling, did not appear happy, and sometimes weren’t even polite. And this was in Florida!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEida-csWXGdSE6PIcPJ6rv-zHp78nBn8NwtodMzMqmf21NzwKNvJDaJDPBkvmPhJsOiNowD2M3qbF6ql4DiJX-PET3pcUCZj7NCZ7bNnFNwZHvuT4uZov1YMAhiNS0SbYC1QiXmqcGKFYh-/s1600/Kindness+Matters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="766" data-original-width="1600" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEida-csWXGdSE6PIcPJ6rv-zHp78nBn8NwtodMzMqmf21NzwKNvJDaJDPBkvmPhJsOiNowD2M3qbF6ql4DiJX-PET3pcUCZj7NCZ7bNnFNwZHvuT4uZov1YMAhiNS0SbYC1QiXmqcGKFYh-/s320/Kindness+Matters.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
So now I’m officially concerned. I’m afraid the tone of the country in general has affected us all. I know when things are stressful and people are unhappy or angry, we all tend to pull back from others. I was in a very toxic work situation a few years ago, and as the “divide and conquer” mentality continued to beat us down, we all realized we were so busy protecting ourselves that we lost our wonderful ability to be a great team. We all still cared for each other, for sure, but when the tone of the organization changed, we all changed with it.<br />
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I am afraid that this is what’s happened to our country in general. People who promote fear are affecting all of us, and we cannot let that happen. <b><i>We cannot let that happen! </i></b>That’s how “divide and conquer” triumphs. I know that now …. whether it’s in the workplace or in our country, turning us against each other will cause all of us to lose. It affects everyone.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPg-QP7M5yfLGiKPi8Jx0HXCHXDhM3VUc3szhGr8oZ5HeUvsX2fDSDoAvLx1NRM-I2zU865S1xMukSOkSG6pZ2ITlzbVzupw6InKaICocn8i_Mn-owBH33TipqLWDVyqj30ento7DYM5l1/s1600/Ashley+%2526+Avery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPg-QP7M5yfLGiKPi8Jx0HXCHXDhM3VUc3szhGr8oZ5HeUvsX2fDSDoAvLx1NRM-I2zU865S1xMukSOkSG6pZ2ITlzbVzupw6InKaICocn8i_Mn-owBH33TipqLWDVyqj30ento7DYM5l1/s200/Ashley+%2526+Avery.jpg" width="175" /></a>Earlier today, I read the article about George H.W. Bush in People Magazine. It told how modest he was, how compassionate and kind he was, how much empathy he had for others. I think I knew all this, but it really hit home because that’s how the world should work. He never let anything affect how he behaved toward others. If you know me at all, you know I almost never agreed with him politically, but I did always like and admire him, in large part for his compassion. We need to remember how that’s done.<br />
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Regardless of how others choose to be, I will continue to choose to be kind, to go out of my way to make someone’s day a little brighter, to act in the way Ashley chose to be, even when she was fighting that damn cancer. If she could do it, there’s no excuse for the rest of us not to.Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-13257936730244100682018-04-14T12:34:00.001-05:002018-04-15T11:53:18.351-05:00Living in the Land North of I-80I have something I should really be doing right now, so as usual, I’m writing a blog post instead! This is my sad history. I could probably rename my blog “I Should Be Doing Something Else.” Actually that’s kind of funny, and I would consider it, but it wouldn’t have that cute play on words with Chestnut. Well, I think it’s cute.<br />
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Moving on, I’ve been wanting to do a review, if you will, of my move up to the land north of I-80, what I used to just call “Chicago.” I am about an hour and 15 minutes west of Chicago, which is not at all considered Chicago up here, but back where I come from….. I say that a lot, usually with a twang, because it’s fun, and many people here think it’s real.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Credit Below</td></tr>
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I now live in the part of Illinois where a lot of people think of the Peoria, Champaign and Springfield areas as “Southern Illinois” which always amuses me because If they would look at a map, they would see there’s half of a state below those cities, and there really is a Southern Illinois, but it’s actually in ….. yes, Southern Illinois.<br />
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Now that I live here, though, I realize I can’t call everything north of I-80 Chicago. For those of you who don’t know, I’m in the far western suburb of Huntley, a place many people here call “the country.” That really amuses me because back where I come from, this is definitely not the country. There are some farms, though, within smelling distance, which was discussed online all day a couple of days ago.<br />
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I am part of an online group of people who live in Huntley, and the other day, my Facebook was lighting up with all the posts about the horrible smell that (1) I didn’t notice; (2) kept people from even going outside; (3) had many people calling Public Works; (4) gave people headaches; and (5) made some people wonder if they were being poisoned. I’m guessing many of you reading this, especially the downstaters, are already chuckling because you know the smell just means that farmers finally had a nice day and were fertilizing their fields.<br />
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What really cracked me up were all the comments about living in the country. I love that people think this is the country. I suppose it all depends on where you started, but back where I come from, trust me, this is not the country. I went to school at Western Illinois University, which is located, I think by all accounts, in the country. It was my first experience living in a rural area, but it was not unfamiliar to me. Unlike some of the kids from the Chicago area, I did know there was such a thing as a farm report on TV because it was broadcast every day on the noon news, and I had actually seen cows before. I do remember, though, my small-town friends called me the city girl, which confused me greatly because I was just from Peoria, which to me was kind of a small town. All my relatives in New York sure thought it was!<br />
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All of this was a very long tangent from what I had intended to say, which was, I am relieved that although it’s a bit different living up here, it’s not as different as I was afraid it might be. I will always think of myself as a downstate girl, and I was a little concerned I wouldn’t like it here because I would feel too out of place. Fortunately, I like it just fine. I almost never have to fly commuter flights to get to a hub airport; I just drive down the road. I’m not intimidated by “Chicago” drivers; I can hold my own, and frankly, most drivers here are not rude as I imagined they would be. Although I do miss my downstate friends and family A LOT, I am closer to old college roommates and other friends I finally get to see, I’ve made new friends here, AND of course, there are those grandbabies.<br />
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<u>Shopping</u><br />
The shopping, well, that advantage goes without saying. Of course, I can find just about everything I want, but I have to tell you about this fabulous grocery store here called Woodman’s. It is huge. There’s a little backstory first. When we had our two Romanian gymnasts stay with us back in 1992, we took them to a Schnucks grocery store, and I have this great memory of them when they walked in. They were holding hands, and they just stopped and stared. Their eyes were wide open, and their mouths were wide open, and we quickly realized they had never seen anything even remotely like that before. On my first visit to Woodman’s, I had to message my girls to tell them I was feeling very much like the Romanians must have felt that day at Schnucks.<br />
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I’ll do my best to describe it for my downstate friends. It’s as wide as two Mahomet IGAs (minus the sloping floors), and they have everything … seriously, everything. There is an entire aisle of chips and other munchies. I mean not just a regular aisle … an aisle that spans the entire width of the store. I think they have every gluten-free product ever invented, which, if that matters to you as it does to me, is huge, and rare. With that, I’ll stop on the description because I’m not doing it justice, and I really just wanted to throw in the comment about the sloping floors at the IGA, which always made me laugh as I’d watch my cart roll away. But here’s what I quickly learned. You have to have a smart plan of attack to get through in any reasonable amount of time, and you definitely do not want to start at the frozen food section because by the time you go to check out, your frozen food will be halfway thawed. True story.<br />
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<u>More About Food (Surprise)</u><br />
As I once wrote, one of the perks to moving up north was that I would be able to eat at Portillo’s or Giordano’s whenever I wanted. I lived in Champaign County for 26 years. For 26 years, if I wanted Portillo’s or Giordano’s or Red Robin or Oberweis, I could only do that after a three-hour drive north. I swear as soon as I announced my move, all four of these restaurants decided to open in Champaign. Not one, but all four. Twenty-six years, people!<br />
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<u>Go, Cubs, Go</u><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsx0SVvpolEe5-iNuABrGL5QKay2hYIhW_yuRpBo_jk_-7KfunjepUBfaxeXPjMvITntla9-6DU8y49d8q6LW10xIqdTwiXTz3uU0jVxMBHw8RbCoQp0kfKubFb3sv7cERF2cL7ic5kNRk/s1600/FlytheW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="358" data-original-width="358" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsx0SVvpolEe5-iNuABrGL5QKay2hYIhW_yuRpBo_jk_-7KfunjepUBfaxeXPjMvITntla9-6DU8y49d8q6LW10xIqdTwiXTz3uU0jVxMBHw8RbCoQp0kfKubFb3sv7cERF2cL7ic5kNRk/s200/FlytheW.jpg" width="200" /></a>I had to save the best for last. Let’s think back to that fabulous day in 2016 when the Cubs won the World Series. (I still can’t say that without smiling.) You know, back where I come from, there is a fierce rivalry between the Cubs and the Cardinals. Even the Chestnuts are divided about half and half. So watching that beautiful win up here ….. well, it was even sweeter than sweet. It seemed like everybody here was happy. The next day, teachers understood that most of their students had been up past midnight. Schools even played “Go, Cubs, Go” over the intercom as the kids walked in. And as grateful as I was to witness the win, I have to say I was even more grateful that I was able to watch it up here in the land of horn honking and fireworks.<br />
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So there you have it. You know, sometimes I finish a post, and I think, “Maybe this can make a difference.” I would just like to say this is not one of those times. But I did have fun, so if you’re still here, thanks for sticking with me. I hope maybe you chuckled a little bit too.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Graphic Credit - https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4573261</i></span></div>
Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-3929658923163497512018-04-02T11:06:00.002-05:002018-04-02T11:06:31.569-05:00Our Expanded FamilyIt's probably a strange thing to hear that I like my ex-husband, Dave, and probably what’s really strange to hear is I like his wife, Cindy. She once said she thought if we had met under different circumstances, we would have been friends anyway, and I totally agreed. I guess we’re lucky, but we also all behave like grownups, so there’s that.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-d3QqkVxuOlW9CItf67uBlY7bO7sfYse6c7SH61b4VneYa5FJKHpT3IIyOSzcpSyVmAN_gKI95ADYeCu1qUFvLIrRqrYSIuYUfhOTBCCUL5Mn-V-NG-3FJ5_znFqPdT1RHy3cQYJpMD-0/s1600/My4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="701" data-original-width="1079" height="129" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-d3QqkVxuOlW9CItf67uBlY7bO7sfYse6c7SH61b4VneYa5FJKHpT3IIyOSzcpSyVmAN_gKI95ADYeCu1qUFvLIrRqrYSIuYUfhOTBCCUL5Mn-V-NG-3FJ5_znFqPdT1RHy3cQYJpMD-0/s200/My4.jpg" width="200" /></a>When Dave and I had “the talk” about 11 years ago, we agreed we would always put the needs of the kids and any potential grandchildren before our own, we would not fight over time spent with them, and we would stay in each other’s lives so our kids’ and grandkids’ lives would not be completely disrupted. We have stuck to that, and it has worked.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW1vF4droQ0vYLzB-PN5gqA_B3V6NwZrmmSN7ga4ImTDF-hfkysPpj59hI1WMQfwiTUmqAzbk0DuKk9_EtRnGYZhjghZ1nq7trlZdMVhyTnmV5H9QvlOPZDCx2G5E3M0LHM1jV_LicYXYD/s1600/2017-03-26+11.10.43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW1vF4droQ0vYLzB-PN5gqA_B3V6NwZrmmSN7ga4ImTDF-hfkysPpj59hI1WMQfwiTUmqAzbk0DuKk9_EtRnGYZhjghZ1nq7trlZdMVhyTnmV5H9QvlOPZDCx2G5E3M0LHM1jV_LicYXYD/s200/2017-03-26+11.10.43.jpg" width="150" /></a>Leah, the boys and I just took a trip east to see Lindsay in Baltimore and to see Dave and Cindy in the DC area, and we all had a great time! Here’s the thing …. when we all work together, we outnumber the littles, and that, my friends, is a big win. Seriously, those two little boys will take us down in a heartbeat if they sense any sign of weakness. I am only slightly joking here!<br />
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I guess we are proof that divorce doesn’t have to be horrible. In fact, I can list so many ways we have all benefited from the expanding of our family that now includes mine, Dave’s and Cindy’s. One important moment comes to mind. I don’t remember all the details, but Lindsay was in a bind moving between apartments and having to leave town for something, and she texted me this: “I’m at the airport. All my stuff is in a storage unit, thanks to Cindy. She came up and helped and got me to the airport. Don’t think I could’ve done it without her.”<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBPy0YVls1rzJ0E3S8yTy73436pA6yzHjq6I8jy00n1UB_cmFpFA1UhBZBBViHAzaAY3nxKN52o3_ql66CXBxUX_M0dB0gWWKANsxVEsPeCcB9Drg24yxp6LZJGxDGLuK7ibMv3eqjR6Xf/s1600/Cindy%2526Meb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBPy0YVls1rzJ0E3S8yTy73436pA6yzHjq6I8jy00n1UB_cmFpFA1UhBZBBViHAzaAY3nxKN52o3_ql66CXBxUX_M0dB0gWWKANsxVEsPeCcB9Drg24yxp6LZJGxDGLuK7ibMv3eqjR6Xf/s200/Cindy%2526Meb.jpg" width="199" /></a><br />
It warmed my heart more than I can tell you that Cindy stepped up to help Lindsay while I was 800 miles away and could do nothing. At one point, long before Dave and Cindy were a couple, I remember thinking that no other woman could be a big part of my girls' lives, that I was their mom, and that was that. Looking back, wow, how mature was that? Obviously I got over it, but I have to admit those were my first thoughts as we were starting to plan our new normal. <br />
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Unfortunately, in order to be, as I call us, “happily divorced,” it takes both exes behaving like grownups (are you sensing a theme?). I know of a case where one “side” has done everything to make their divorced relationship work, but the other side refuses to. I know of another case where I’m not sure either parent has worked to keep the kids out of the middle. It’s especially heartbreaking to see children pay the price for something they had nothing to do with.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz94iPmupu4ar5n3xb1n0kuR1HvPusuXF9vCqjOY9AdlZdfDOeSebdAaNAzR14Zp6qKcwieGhbBlC_4Oaau6EiuBG5Q1Ac9OY6YaFWK5wkdWDDx4McYq1qzB5hoz8HCGDPQHxd51SfqiV3/s1600/Girls+%2526+Dave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz94iPmupu4ar5n3xb1n0kuR1HvPusuXF9vCqjOY9AdlZdfDOeSebdAaNAzR14Zp6qKcwieGhbBlC_4Oaau6EiuBG5Q1Ac9OY6YaFWK5wkdWDDx4McYq1qzB5hoz8HCGDPQHxd51SfqiV3/s200/Girls+%2526+Dave.jpg" width="200" /></a>If I could advise those parents, I would say this. Even if Dave were a total jerk, which is absolutely not the case, he is the father of my children, and for that alone, I should be respectful when talking to him or about him. It really isn’t that difficult. You just need to … say it with me, will you? …. behave like grownups!<br />
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Ok, I’ll get off my soapbox now. My kids would say at this point, “Mom, you’re watching too much Dr. Phil.” And they may be right (he and Judge Judy are my guilty pleasures), but seriously, if you’re reading this and thinking I may have described you, then you need to do better. Be nice, be respectful, and be a grownup. If you don’t want to do it for your ex, do it for your children and all the others who are affected by your fighting. Life is way too short.Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-5884972295992099672018-03-03T16:16:00.002-06:002018-03-03T22:16:40.751-06:00The Crying Woman in FloridaSomething happened recently, and I can't get it out of my mind. While I was in Florida, I was going to start my walk (yes, naysayers who know me too well, I was going to walk!), and I was close to the starting point, when I heard a sort of commotion. I realized pretty quickly that what I heard was an elderly woman crying. I saw people walk by her, and when I got closer, I heard her asking if anyone had seen Bill. She saw me and asked if I knew where he was, and because I had spent a lot of time with my parents in their last years, I realized pretty quickly that she probably had dementia, and there probably was no Bill.<br />
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So I stopped to talk with her. She was very upset because she didn't know where he was. I could tell she probably didn't know where <u>she</u> was, and I noted that although it was in the afternoon, she had a bathrobe on over pajamas.<br />
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I asked her if I could help her, and she asked me if I knew where Bill was. I told her I didn't, and I asked if she was staying near there. She pointed to one of the cottages not far away, and I said, "Tell you what. Why don't we go sit down over there, and we'll figure this out." She continued to cry, but I could tell she was relieved that someone was helping her. She said her feet hurt, and that's when I realized she was just wearing socks. So I gave her my arm, like I used to do for my mama, and she thanked me, and we slowly walked back to the chair in front of her cottage. The front door was wide open, and I asked her if I could go inside to see if I could find anyone. She didn't care, I could tell, so I walked through saying "Hello?" repeatedly. I could see there was no one else there, but it was definitely lived in, so I went back to her and suggested we could sit there and visit for a while because I guessed someone was just running an errand and would be back soon. By this time she was calm, so we sat and chatted. I was getting my game plan together in my head. I knew eventually, I'd have to call the police, but I could tell she hadn't been neglected for long, so my gut told me someone who knew her would arrive shortly.<br />
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I told her my name, and she told me her name was Phyllis. I told her I was just out for a walk, but I would love to sit with her instead (a little more believable, right?). We chatted for a few minutes about nothing I can really remember. She said something and motioned to the upstairs of the cottage, and I asked her if she knew people staying upstairs. She sort of nodded and didn't really answer, which I knew meant she couldn't remember, and I told her I was going to go up the outside stairs to see if there was anyone up there. She seemed to think that was a good idea and agreed to stay where she was and wait for me.<br />
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When I knocked on the first upstairs door, someone opened one of the other doors. I asked her if she knew a woman named Phyllis, that she was downstairs and had been crying and looking for Bill, and she nodded and said that was her mother. She put on her shoes and followed me downstairs. As we walked, I first told her I don't normally walk through houses of people I don't know (I wanted to clear that up right away), and also from the past few years of my life with both my parents, I realized pretty quickly her mom had dementia. She acknowledged she did and said, "My sister went to the store, and Mom was taking a nap." I had a feeling that was the case. I also was thinking that as nice as this woman was, it was probably her sister who cared for their mother, and this woman had left her mom alone way too long assuming she was still asleep. At the same time, I was grateful to my own sister who would not have spaced out and forgotten to check on our mother.<br />
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When we got back to Phyllis, my new friend looked up at her daughter, and said, "Where the hell have you been?" I couldn't help but laugh. It brought back some memories. Her daughter said, "I was just upstairs doing some work. Come on, Mom. Let's get you dressed." Her mother replied that she <u>was</u> dressed and pointed to her clothes. Again, I chuckled. You go, Phyllis!<br />
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At this point, I knew I could leave, and I told Phyllis I had had the best time hanging out with her. She held on to my hand for a little bit longer as she said she had enjoyed our visit also. I wanted to hug her, but I didn't know how she'd react, so I didn't. Her daughter was very grateful and really appreciated my help; so this moment had a happy ending, and I left them alone.<br />
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This was about two weeks ago, and I still am thinking of Phyllis and her daughters. I hope this was a wakeup call for them to pay close attention to their mother. I did feel like Phyllis was getting good care, so I wasn't worried about that.<br />
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I think the thing that keeps bothering me is the number of people who walked by her while she was obviously in distress. All the experts are saying that the number of people with dementia will continue to rise, and I think incidents like this will continue to increase.<br />
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So I guess my point with all this is if you see an elderly person who is clearly disoriented or upset, please don't keep walking by. Granted, I have experience in this area and knew instantly she had dementia; but anyone paying attention would know something was not right.<br />
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I guess maybe I can use this as a teachable moment. That's what my daughters call it. Maybe I need to make people aware that there's a good chance they'll be in a situation like this, and although I am in no way an expert on dementia, I do know from experience that in most cases, when someone elderly is angry or upset, they are most likely just scared, and a simple conversation will usually help calm them. And if it doesn't, we need to call people who do know how to help.<br />
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I was telling my friends about this, saying I didn't feel like a hero or anything, but instead I believed I was placed there at the right time. I said, "Call it God or the universe or whatever you want, but I feel like I was supposed to be there when I was, that I was meant to help someone like I would have wanted someone to help my mama."<br />
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My wise friend, Tonya, said, "Maybe it was your mom who sent you there." Wow. I sure did like the thought of that. And right now, I sure am smiling just thinking about her. Maybe Tonya was right. Let's just go with that.<br />
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Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-92080349876211516162017-12-04T11:00:00.000-06:002017-12-04T13:44:38.804-06:0034 Acts of KindnessHey, I’m still here. I know it’s been awhile, and I’m flattered that some of you have actually asked about me and whether I’d ever write another blog post. (It wasn’t said quite like that, but I got the message.) I really am flattered. I keep saying I have a lot of posts percolating (because I really do), and I’ve thought about just starting to write to see where it goes, but something has kept me from it, and I couldn’t figure out what.<br />
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The last post I wrote was a difficult one, not the writing part, but the subject. It was my love letter, I guess we could call it, to Ashley, who passed away in June after an incredibly hard-fought battle with stage 4 breast cancer. I poured my heart out to her, her beautiful little girl, Avery, and her amazing parents, Nancy and Rex.<br />
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It took more out of me than I expected. I didn’t realize how hard Ashley’s death would hit me. It’s not that I was honored enough to be one of her close friends or family. I won’t even pretend to be in that circle, which is also why I didn’t feel I had the right to hurt as they all must be. I really know Nancy more than anyone, and I got to know Ashley a bit more during her fight, but mostly because of my friendship with her mom and also because Ashley and I shared a love for writing, and we each appreciated the other’s blog. And I admired her so much. SO much.<br />
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Besides the fight she vowed to fight, and the strength she showed the world, the thing that I really, really admired about her was that she chose to be happy. She had such a horrendous diagnosis, and she knew it would be a fight like no other, but in spite of all that, she chose to be happy. Every day. You know she had to have been in pain. You know there were days she got horrible news. The surgeries and the treatments had to have been beyond awful. But she chose to be happy. She did everything she could to make her time with her Avery as wonderful as it could be. She did everything for Avery.<br />
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When she died, I vowed to live every day to honor her, and I really meant it. So what the hell, Andee? What gave you the right to go into a slump? How is that honoring anyone?<br />
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Of course, the answer to that is it honors no one. But I didn’t quite realize any of this until Ashley’s birthday a few days ago. I didn’t even know it was her birthday until her mom posted the most beautiful words about her, and asked everyone to honor her 34th birthday by spending the month of December doing 34 acts of kindness for Ashley.<br />
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Seriously, I’m being mopey, and Nancy faces what had to have been one of the worst days since she lost her girl by writing the most beautiful post, and I have to say, not only was it beautiful, but it kind of kicked my ass.<br />
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I need to say this, though, and I know I’m not the only one thinking it. And let me preface it by saying I know it’s not in any of our control to decide who lives and who doesn’t, and as the pastor said at Ashley’s celebration (and I believe too), God doesn’t give anyone cancer or cause horrible things to happen to someone. I get all that, and I believe all that. But here’s the thing that keeps eating at me. I can’t stand that it happened to Ashley and her family. I still have my girls, and Nancy lost one of hers. My grandsons have their mommy, and Avery doesn’t have hers. Every day they have to live with their loss, and I hate that for them. I hate it. It breaks my heart every day. I have another good friend who also had breast cancer and got through all her treatments and is doing well, and she said, “I don’t understand why I’m still here, and Ashley isn’t.” So it’s not just me. So many of us feel the same way, and although we all know it’s not in our control, it still totally stinks.<br />
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I’m pretty sure the Jensens know this, but I’m going to say it anyway. We all hurt for them. We all would wish anything for them but this. We all hope and pray that Avery lives a happy life, keeping her mommy with her every day. And we hurt for all the parents who have lost children, and the children who have lost their parents, especially the young ones. It’s nothing even remotely close to the pain of losing someone so important to you, and I wouldn’t even begin to say that it is. But it’s hard to see people you love have such a horrible thing happen, and know there’s really not much you can do to make it better.<br />
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EXCEPT, Andee, you could do 34 acts of kindness to honor Ashley and her family. There’s a thought for your mopey, sad self.<br />
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So, I am hereby no longer feeling mopey and sad. Ok, well right now I’m crying, but when I’m done, I will find 34 ways to put kindness out into the world. Of course, because I’m Andee, I think we all know I’ll not do something every day (because I’m already a few days behind), and I’ll wait until the last minute because I do my best work on a deadline, so somewhere toward the end of December, I am going to kindness my ass off for Ms. Ashley and her family!<br />
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That’s it. As of right now, I am officially choosing to be happy. So let the kindness begin!Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-19461150873627393292017-06-17T15:56:00.000-05:002017-06-17T15:57:30.228-05:00Beautiful AshleyMy heart is among many hearts hurting today. Ashley has died. I’ve written about her before. She played softball with my girls, she fought as hard as anyone who ever fought against cancer, and she left a beautiful little girl. I’ve tried really hard to be positive like Ashley always was, but frankly, it’s hard not to be pissed off. All she wanted … <b>ALL. SHE. WANTED. </b>… was to have time with her little girl … to have more time with her precious Avery … but that despicable cancer took her away.<br />
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Why does a young mother get stage 4 breast cancer? She had so much to give the world. She was so strong, so smart, so funny, kind and brave. We needed more of her. But cancer isn’t kind … or fair. I think we all know that one.<br />
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Her mom, Nancy, is my friend. She’s an incredible woman, and instead of allowing herself to fall apart, she stayed strong because she knew she had to help her daughter die. I know, again, that cancer isn’t fair, but her family doesn’t deserve this either! Her dad, Rex, would have traded places with Ashley in a second if he could. Both of them would have. No two parents could possibly love a child more.<br />
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I really thought Ashley would be one of the miracles … that if anyone could beat it, she would. She did everything she possibly could. <b>EVERYTHING</b>. And so many people prayed so hard for her. Every night I prayed for her, and I asked God to give her some extra strength from all of us. I thought maybe a little extra from all the people who loved her could help. And maybe it did. In the end, though, it wasn’t enough.<br />
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But this I know. She will be remembered. She did make a difference. The time she did get to spend with her family, and especially with her little one, was so valuable. She made every second count. I can’t help thinking of Princess Diana and her two amazing sons who are now honoring her memory in such beautiful ways. I believe Avery will also grow up to be like her mama, an incredible woman who will make a difference in the world.<br />
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Ashley was and always will be my inspiration. In the space of a year, her teaching job was cut, her marriage ended, she had a baby, and she was diagnosed with cancer. And what did she say on her daughter’s first birthday? She said it was the best year of her life because of her beautiful Avery.<br />
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That is what I will remember most. I will honor her every day of the rest of my life by trying to live up to that. I will remember what’s important, and I will appreciate every day. I will do what I can to make the world better, and I will always keep with me the spirit of this amazing young woman. I am so grateful that she lived, and Ashley, you really did make the world better. <br />
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Rest in peace, beautiful angel.<br />
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Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-49412195213608498202017-02-01T14:12:00.001-06:002017-02-01T14:13:31.015-06:00I Bought a Car! (or How Not to Sell a Car to a Woman)How to lose a car sale to a woman in five easy lessons: Assume she’s stupid. Assume she doesn’t have money. Ask her if she’s married or single. Pressure her after she says she’s just test-driving. Then get pissed off when she says she’s going to sleep on it.<br />
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So I did a little bit of car buying this past weekend while visiting my friend in Florida. I ended up buying a new car, which I hadn’t planned to do (I’m a used car kind of gal), and I bought it from the second dealer I visited; and I visited that dealer because yes, everything above really happened………in 2017. Seriously.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizVEqVyEMnfXSQOMQDnRZpxjysfOm6QUcwDS1pEvD4q-GF3jd2MRvNvVBolDstlNa7rsuQjtbGKuYEiI-KGm2Rr5AUGd_tWasND4rb0fs7jQ-CsC72WVnPacn1SRxq-kpzNglPZmyQFSoH/s1600/T%2526Ab.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizVEqVyEMnfXSQOMQDnRZpxjysfOm6QUcwDS1pEvD4q-GF3jd2MRvNvVBolDstlNa7rsuQjtbGKuYEiI-KGm2Rr5AUGd_tWasND4rb0fs7jQ-CsC72WVnPacn1SRxq-kpzNglPZmyQFSoH/s200/T%2526Ab.jpg" width="200" /></a>Friend Tonya went with me to test drive cars. I was trying to decide between a sedan or SUV. I was in no hurry to buy, just thought I’d start looking, but I was ready in case “that car” appeared.<br />
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We went to the above dealer. There was a nice guy who was new, and a pushy guy who was training him. Nice Guy went with us on the test drives. We liked him.<br />
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Side Story: When the dealer guy asks for your license, it is not all that funny when your “friend” says, “Oh no, you need her license? She has a DUI.” Well, I have to qualify what I said. <i><b>She</b></i> thought it was stinking hilarious as I was sputtering, “I do NOT have a DUI! I’ve never had a DUI! I’ve never even caused an accident! I’ve only gotten one ticket, and that was in Grundy County in Illinois, and everybody gets tickets in Grundy County (as I was told by everyone after I got the ticket – thanks for nothing),” and fortunately, with no thanks to her, he believed me.<br />
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I’m getting off the subject, but as you can imagine, I’m still a bit scarred. She says someday I’ll laugh about it.<br />
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So I decide I’m definitely interested in a sedan, but not necessarily that one. Enter Pushy Guy. He asks me if I’m single or married. At that point, Tonya, who is slightly in front of me and closer to him, turns so that I can see her and he can’t, and she has this really funny smirk on her face that I know is saying, “Ohhhh nooooo. She’s gonna take him down!” I can’t even look at her because we have this amazing way of reading each other’s minds and collapsing into giggles, and I asked the obvious (I thought), “Why does it matter if I’m single or married?” He then went on about how he’s all about saving me money, and he wants me to get something with payments I can afford, etc, etc, to which I responded, “You don’t even know if I <i>need</i> financing,” and he went on some more, and when he stopped talking, I said, “and why does it matter if I’m single or married?” He said if I didn’t have a husband who could take care of my car, I would want an extended warranty. I can tell Tonya is in <b><i>pain</i></b> trying to keep her head from exploding, as I said, “How do you know I’m not a badass car mechanic?” He started to lose his game and asked, “Did I say something wrong?” Oh, Pushy Guy, where do I begin? And not today, please. It's not my day to educate you.<br />
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So when your experience starts like that, you’re on guard. Tonya found a car at another dealership not far away, and for reasons I can’t explain, I took her driving with me again. We show up at the other place, expecting the same kind of treatment, and I have to say I was a bit startled when a guy came out to greet me by introducing himself as he shook my hand and looked me in the eye. Huh. I wonder what’s up with that?<br />
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I went on a test drive with our new friend, Dan, along with Tonya and her husband, Peege (funny story for another day). Tonya is cracking herself up telling him the DUI story. Then I told him she forgot to mention that I had just bailed those two out of jail. And what does he say? “It's ok. We all make mistakes.” Seriously?<b><i> Seriously???</i></b><br />
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Another Side Story: Leah’s car has a heated steering wheel, and it has been my dream to have one of those. It’s not something they tend to point out in Florida, because well, Florida, so I look down and see a picture of a steering wheel with heat rising, and I whispered to Tonya, "If I push this and my steering wheel starts to heat up, this baby is <i><b>mine</b></i>!" It did, and it was, and the long, drawn-out moral of this story is, if you treat people respectfully, they tend to respond well. They did, and I did, and I have a car with a heated steering wheel!!<br />
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I apologize for the ramblingness (ramblinguity?) of this post, but there is a serious point here somewhere. Ooh, here it is. Don’t be a jerk and assume you know something about someone else when you don’t. The End.Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-21807787194685918322016-11-20T11:28:00.002-06:002016-11-20T11:42:15.514-06:00Standing UpI don’t think my choice in the recent election would be a surprise to most people. To my friends who voted for Trump, I want to be clear. I still like most of you. A few of you, I never really thought much of to begin with, so if our relationship doesn’t survive, I think we’ll both be ok. And if you are wondering if you’re one of the ones I don’t like, you’re probably not one, because you should already know it, and you should pretty much know why.<br />
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Anyway, my point is, we have to move forward. I am going to try very hard not to be offensive in my comments and actions over the next few years, and I hope you can do the same. But here’s the thing. I have to stand up for what is right.<br />
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I’m not really happy about having to do this. Finally…..FINALLY…..I sold my Mahomet house, and we just closed on our parents’ Peoria house, and I’m somewhat settled in the only house I have left (Lindsay refers to it as my shedding of houses), and I’m finally…..FINALLY……at a point where perhaps I can slow down a little bit, crochet a blanket, attack my bucket list, or read a good book, and BAM, instead, I’m forced to stand up.<br />
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I have to believe those of you I still like do not support mistreatment of people for any reason, but especially based on the color of their skin, or their religion, or their sexual preference, or their gender or abilities. I have to believe you are not racists or bullies and wouldn’t stand for someone else being a racist or bully.<br />
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And maybe a lot of you can look the other way or close your eyes. Believe me, for about a week or so, I totally planned on doing that. I’ve learned I don’t have to take on every problem in the world, that I don’t have to read in great detail about every horrible news event, that it’s ok to walk away on some things, and I absolutely planned to do that.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKMUx-ZRZS7ZayOMdErjkt9jOU7VeMUEHuWafTJ8KwnhvQoubf-juyLOHuxBucHqWynD-tZVdJ2GYgarldNqxaTwImKDeYxXlhQWBCI7IO-fBOxzXpmSLU0DXQs2Rp5vp7TvEflh5chx-I/s1600/ArmsJoined.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKMUx-ZRZS7ZayOMdErjkt9jOU7VeMUEHuWafTJ8KwnhvQoubf-juyLOHuxBucHqWynD-tZVdJ2GYgarldNqxaTwImKDeYxXlhQWBCI7IO-fBOxzXpmSLU0DXQs2Rp5vp7TvEflh5chx-I/s200/ArmsJoined.jpg" width="200" /></a>But dammit all to hell, I grew up in a Jewish home and a Jewish community, and if I take one thing away from my upbringing, it is to stand up for what is right. It is to NEVER let mistreatment of people happen again. That’s what I remember hearing: “NEVER AGAIN.” If you didn’t grow up in my world, you might not understand how important this is. But it’s huge. It’s a commitment I owe my parents and their parents and the millions of innocent people, some of whom were my family, who were slaughtered in the Holocaust.<br />
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I would not even exist if it weren’t for the foresight of my grandparents who left Eastern Europe because they knew they would be safe in America. They knew they would have the freedom to worship the way they chose, that they could live safely and raise their families, and they would not have to worry about horrible things happening to them, because they would be living in America. My mom often would say how very grateful she was to have been born in this country.<br />
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When you have that in your background, how can you remain silent? The last time a lot of people remained silent and turned their heads, it didn’t end well. And I cannot be one of those people.<br />
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I’m not at all happy about this. When I was back in the working world, right outside my office was a huge tower that had about 100 steps in it. One day there were some kids up in the top bouncing golf balls to the ground below. You can imagine the horrible outcome if they happened to hit someone. So, I had to climb the stairs to stop them and explain to their grownups why it wasn’t safe (seriously). I was not amused. When I got to the top, I told them they were in trouble for two reasons. One was for the golf ball throwing, and more importantly, they had made me climb up to the top.<br />
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In a much more serious way, I feel again, like I have to climb up to the top. I am not at all happy about this, for the record, but I gotta do what I gotta do.Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-77910765288667439942016-11-06T09:54:00.001-06:002016-11-06T09:54:33.087-06:00Our Parents’ House: A Happy Ending & Happy Beginning<div>
Four dumpsters, a truckload plus five trips to drop off electronics for recycling, at least 20 trips to drop off other recycling, at least 10 bags delivered for shredding, maybe 15 trips to the used book collection box, two truckloads of furniture to the Habitat ReStore, four trips to the EPA household waste drop-off in Naperville, at least ten carloads to Goodwill, other assorted items picked up from the curb, and just like that, we finished emptying our parents’ house. Piece of cake! </div>
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I’m still somewhat amazed we actually finished. I really kind of felt we would just be working on it forever. But it did finally end, a year and a half later, and as my sister and I were looking at our options to put the house on the market, the most wonderful thing happened. The next-door neighbors told us they would like to buy it. </div>
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The neighbors had moved into their house a few years ago, and they were very nice. They would say hello to Mom when she was sitting out back, and they said she would always smile and wave to them. Their son would take the mail to Mom when the weather was bad. We learned the mother’s parents were coming to live with them, and we quickly found that they were also a lovely, kind couple. They called Mom “Lola Rose” which means Grandma Rose in the Filipino language. We saw their Lola at the mailboxes one day last summer, and she very hopefully asked if Lola Rose was coming home soon? We told her Mom had passed away, and she very sadly said, “Noooo!” as she clasped both my arms. I sort of fell in love with her right then. She told us she had planned to come spend time with Lola Rose when she came home because she felt that was something she could do for her. I knew it was completely sincere, even though I didn’t know her well, but some things you just know, and I knew she was truly saddened for our loss.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvz4_1AVjF4mYrtaBTPfhjxZ0z-Zpi1pSkVV3t-a-mKJVOuyTUITTnzSvvogD_KI8qi58_gxPQJuvMKSgjToXhle-PQK07IB-rzPq-md6A0epAPlqhqKgd4IfbeWFzxUgJ3VdRkPgBDSfQ/s1600/TreePeoLeah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvz4_1AVjF4mYrtaBTPfhjxZ0z-Zpi1pSkVV3t-a-mKJVOuyTUITTnzSvvogD_KI8qi58_gxPQJuvMKSgjToXhle-PQK07IB-rzPq-md6A0epAPlqhqKgd4IfbeWFzxUgJ3VdRkPgBDSfQ/s200/TreePeoLeah.jpg" width="150" /></a>A year went by, and we saw them from time to time as we worked on the house. Then, as I said, when we were trying to decide what needed to be done to sell the house, the daughter told us her parents were interested in buying it. We learned their Lola had fallen in love with the house and had even named the huge front yard tree “Orlando” after the street it was on, and she had photos of it in every season. Well, I can guarantee you our Lola Rose would have <b><i>loved</i></b> that! She loved the tree they had planted when they built the house, and hearing this really warmed our hearts.</div>
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We spent more time with this beautiful family over the next few months as we worked to make this happen. The house needs a lot of attention, and they are excited to get started on it. Their Lola promised us she would take good care of Lola Rose’s house. That touched me immensely. I have no doubt she will care for it with love. And they will be living next to their children and grandson. Mom would have been thrilled about that also.</div>
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One of the times Lindsay was there, we all got to spend some time talking. They said when they met Lindsay and me, they knew right away we were good people. The funny thing was we had just said the very same thing about them. Sometimes you just know.</div>
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After my last visit to the house, when I went through and made sure all the personal things were removed, I sort of did a “Thanks for giving Mom so much happiness” as I closed the door with a smile, and I went to the cemetery to take one of Mom’s garden pinwheels to her. That seemed to be a fitting thing to do. While I was there, I was telling them about what we were doing with the house, and I smiled because the whole thing – selling the house to neighbors who were kind and would love it and begin their own happy memories – had seemed meant to be from the beginning. Call it what you will, it was more than a little coincidental. I started to chuckle and said, “Why am I telling you all this when I have a funny feeling you probably know more about it than I do?” </div>
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I could picture my mama smiling as I walked to my car.</div>
Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-76644377158031149042016-08-15T10:29:00.001-05:002016-08-15T10:33:03.647-05:00Choosing KindnessI didn’t realize how affected I was by hatred and anger until I stopped following the election so closely and started watching the Olympics. Suddenly, instead of knotting up with anger, I was bursting with pride. I was shedding tears of joy, and I was watching opposing athletes show incredible class, congratulating each other, acknowledging the others’ skills, and celebrating. There was so much celebrating!<br />
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It reminded me of something important. I knew this, of course, but I appreciated the timely reminder. I can choose what I want to feel, and I can decide how I want to behave. And as simple as this is, I feel it’s important to say it. I am choosing kindness.<br />
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As I’ve mentioned before, a huge part of my childhood was spent with my best friends, Jackie and Janet. Their house was my safe place. I always felt welcome. I knew I was loved unconditionally. And their house was a place of joy and respect and laughter and kindness. A lot of the good in me came from all the time I spent there. This awkward kid with zero self worth became better because of their family’s kindness, not just to me, but to everyone.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiToT3M3HZ1BC0FyhBflRkAUgZVZJ-olgQxQmYQeE_IXi6S9y3Nc5eOtgyw_340MIiG9RcbNdUFElO8qD2pmumYNFvwl6VGg-qSIFcV879wPHHjq9EjCPEvvyoYo4FYp0StzMETI6e28rtY/s1600/kindness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiToT3M3HZ1BC0FyhBflRkAUgZVZJ-olgQxQmYQeE_IXi6S9y3Nc5eOtgyw_340MIiG9RcbNdUFElO8qD2pmumYNFvwl6VGg-qSIFcV879wPHHjq9EjCPEvvyoYo4FYp0StzMETI6e28rtY/s200/kindness.jpg" width="200" /></a>I have realized over the years that the people who inspire me the most are the people who are kind. They can be friends who are lovingly raising stepchildren, ex-husbands (yes, that’s what she said) who were kind and patient with their children and the teams they coached, mamas like the one I was lucky enough to have, preschool teachers who still call my girls every year on their birthdays, volunteer firefighters who are out in the middle of the night racing to help people while I’m snug in my bed, a boss who knows you learned from your screw-up and doesn’t feel the need to chew you out, caregivers and medical professionals who give of themselves to help others who are hurting and scared…<br />
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How nice is it that I could think of so many kind people in the space of a few minutes? That says a lot for my world, a world I need to always remember to appreciate.<br />
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Recently someone I know wrote something cruel and insensitive on Facebook. I questioned her because I was so stunned. She got back in my virtual face, and then as I was “leaving” I said something snarky that I regretted not long afterward. It wasn’t terrible, she certainly was deserving, and I am still horrified by what she wrote, but I didn’t need to get caught up in her anger. She has the anger issue, and I have the freedom and the ability to walk away. I can choose kindness.<br />
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Dee Brown, the former Illinois basketball player who, in my opinion, is one of the greatest athletes of all time, demonstrated kindness at every turn. He was an incredible point guard, the “one-man fast break,” but the thing I truly loved about him was the way he always picked up a player he had collided with. It was the way he showed class and respect and yes, kindness, that put him above the rest.<br />
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My friend, Mindy, who fought against a very aggressive leukemia, was always kind. Even after her diagnosis, she was always kind……and funny……but always polite and kind. And my inspiration, Ashley, who is fighting breast cancer, demonstrates every day that she has kindness and gratitude in her heart. You know there have to be times when she feels kicked and beaten down, but she never lets it take over. She chooses kindness and joy, so she can give her daughter the best life possible, because that’s what matters.<br />
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With Ashley setting such an amazing example, how can I get pissy over silly things? How can I react to being offended by a comment that doesn’t really matter? I have had a good reminder recently as I celebrate Team USA, that the small stuff is just small stuff, and I can walk away.<br />
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So I will continue to say please and thank you, to hold doors for others, to wave other drivers ahead of me. As my mama liked to say, “Take a piece of the world and make it shine.” I don’t have to move mountains or break a world record. I can, in my own small way, make my piece of the world shine.<br />
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This doesn't mean I will be a doormat. I will always stand up for what is right. But I will do it while being kind. That is something I control, and I’ll do my bit to make the world nicer.<br />
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I am choosing kindness.Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-12912476716216321882016-07-31T16:39:00.002-05:002016-07-31T16:39:46.010-05:00I'm In! Well, Sort of....Ohhh, so much to do in my new house! My office is full of boxes, papers, more boxes and files, and that’s just the top level. Two side tables just arrived, and I need to put them together. And I can’t even get through all the address changes, new bill pays, new everything! So, because I’m Andee, I’ll write a blog post instead!<br />
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I am seriously shaking my head at myself as I write this. But here’s the thing. I was so focused on moving out of my Mahomet house. I downsized so much … furniture to ReStore, smaller things to Goodwill, trash in a rented dumpster and things recycled when I could. I loaded up tubs … ok, this is even putting me to sleep. My point is I really worked hard to get ready for my move. I totally forgot that once I did move, I’d have to actually move in. All of a sudden the movers were gone, and I had boxes EVERYWHERE. And I swear they multiply when I’m sleeping!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWe0ocFBt3UltHanHo8d-__B9PE14OtLemsfsW8wm1IaEv_VAKQIqQlYg7jDDDZG-kyhPoXCZCWD6SQmtclAEUjHfEysNA_PtDGVQDulXigGbXioyod935dVs1Js9V2eHfa0FBato_wEO/s1600/Moving+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWe0ocFBt3UltHanHo8d-__B9PE14OtLemsfsW8wm1IaEv_VAKQIqQlYg7jDDDZG-kyhPoXCZCWD6SQmtclAEUjHfEysNA_PtDGVQDulXigGbXioyod935dVs1Js9V2eHfa0FBato_wEO/s320/Moving+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
So I’ll tell you about my new neighborhood. As was pointed out to me after my last post, I didn’t actually say where I was moving. <b><i>I</i></b> knew where it was, so I figured everyone did. Or I just forgot. It could have been that. Anyway, I am in Huntley, Illinois, in a Del Webb community, which is a development built specifically for people over 55 (yes, I was carded). It has 5500 homes, two pools, gym facilities, an indoor track and outdoor trails, a golf course, a restaurant, clubs for every interest and then some, day trips, classes, recreation and exercise activities … I could go on. Let’s just say I’m going to do some serious damage to my bucket list … just as soon as I finish unpacking.<br />
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I’ve met some neighbors, and more importantly, I’ve liked them. One of the first nights I was here, I was actually unpacking, when my doorbell rang. It was a neighbor telling me I needed to stop working and come over to the bi-weekly neighborhood happy hour. I said I would go to the next one, but he was not going to accept that. So what was I to do? I made a cocktail and walked across the street to meet my new neighbors. I apologized for being gross and sweaty, and the arm-twister who had invited me said, “We’re all retired. We don’t give a rat’s ass what you look like!” And I knew I was home.<br />
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Not long after that, my next door neighbor came over to introduce herself, and she brought me a box of Frango Mints. Cue happy music. One of the great moments of any trip to Marshall Field’s in Chicago was a bite into a Frango Mint. It was as if she knew me! I think we’ll be good neighbors, and not just because of my sweet tooth. We actually had a fair amount in common.<br />
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This is my biggest move since our move from Springfield to Champaign almost 30 years ago. This is definitely a happier one. I am just down the road from my grandbabies, and it also helps to not be suffering from depression. One of these days I’ll post about that, but not today. Today the sun is shining, and I’m happy and full of energy. And now that I’ve said that, seriously, I really need to go unpack.Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-40099564372995723092016-06-22T14:36:00.001-05:002016-06-22T14:36:41.396-05:00I'm Moving!I’m moving! I’m actually moving very soon – 10 days-ish – and I should be getting things organized, getting rid of things, etc, etc. So I’m doing what is so typical for me – anything but what I should be doing. This morning my mind said, “I know! I’ll write a blog post! I haven’t posted in more than two months, so I will do it today!” Does anyone wonder why I was the queen of the all-nighter in getting through school?<br />
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I always thought one day I would be more prepared, plan appropriately and follow through accordingly. One of my college roommates would study for a few hours every evening, then smoke a bong (it was the 70s), then watch Johnny Carson’s monologue, and then go to bed. Every night. She was so organized, and I was so in awe. I knew one day I would be just like her.<br />
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I’m almost 60 now. I’m beginning to think my behavior can’t be changed. But I’m still holding out some hope…..<br />
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Here’s the story. I’ve mentioned this before. For a very long time, I’ve wanted to someday move closer to my children, and especially to my grandchildren. Everyone else has flown the coop. Leah is in Elgin. Lindsay is currently in New Orleans after moving from New York City and about to move back to Baltimore, but most importantly, she’s not in Mahomet. Even Dave and Cindy left town! This was not part of my plan! They’re in Washington DC. So, I’m the last of our Chestnut family in Champaign County. And with Mom now gone, I don’t have a reason to live near Peoria. Soooo…..<br />
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It was easy to say that someday I’d be closer to my babies. It’s a bit harder to actually make it happen. I’m mostly excited, but not completely. I have good friends here. I love my little house here. I’ve spent almost 30 years of my life here. I’ve loved living in a major university community, where I’ve bled orange and blue and always will (some years have been bloodier than others). I loved most of the 20 years I worked for the Champaign County Forest Preserve District and will always love most of my coworkers (you know who you are, and just a few know why you aren’t). I’ve always lived south of I-80 and really think of myself as a downstate girl. I’ve loved deliveries from Filippo’s on more nights than I care to admit. Ok, when I start on the food, I know I need to move it along…..<br />
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Twenty-nine years ago, when Dave said, “I really want to take that job in Champaign,” I knew we needed to go because when I said, “I really want to be with my babies and not go back to teaching,” he had agreed to that. It was a very painful move for me. I loved Springfield…….LOVED Springfield. It was the first place I had felt like a real person. I had felt successful as a teacher. I had made many fabulous friends. I had the Barrel Head, where everyone really did know my name. And I was finishing up a master’s degree in Governmental Public Relations in the state capital where jobs were just waiting for me to apply for them! (It’s possible the jobs part was just in my head.)<br />
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So, I moved AWAY from the state capital! Excellent career move! We had a four-year-old, and we also had a two-week old colicky baby, AND I was in the midst of some pretty horrible post-partum depression, which then developed into some paralyzing panic attacks. Sure, moving to a new city sounds good! Let’s do it!<br />
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I told myself we were only going for a couple of years, and then we’d move back, although I knew in my heart that wouldn’t be the case. It did help me avoid many goodbyes though, so I went with it. Turns out I suck at goodbyes. Still do. Fortunately, now the world is much smaller, and I have learned that the friends I’m meant to keep, I will keep, no matter where they are, or how far away from them I am. At the time, though, it helped me a lot to think and say it wasn’t a permanent move.<br />
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Every time I drove back to Springfield, which was a lot because of the always-growing number of Chestnuts who still live there, I’d see the capitol dome and get a stomach ache because I missed living where I had been so happy. Then one day, after about two years, I realized I felt like a visitor to Springfield, that Champaign County was my home, and I actually was happy.<br />
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So, I know I can do this. I will make friends, and I’m not worried about that anyway, because I already have incredible friends. I will find new doctors, new restaurants, new shortcuts, new parks, new stores, other fun places to go, blah, blah. I can do it! And I have the added benefit of my grandsons (and their parents) being just 20 minutes away. No more three-hour drives. I’ll be 20 minutes down the road. AND I’ll be 50-ish minutes to an airplane that can take me to whichever city Lindsay happens to reside in on whatever day.<br />
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Love you, Champaign County, and especially Mahomet. I really do. You were good to us all. I will have fond memories of you, just as I do of Springfield, but I know it’s time. So, here’s to the next adventure….Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-796282788538624802016-04-01T11:04:00.001-05:002016-04-01T11:04:03.650-05:00The Woman in the AirportA few weeks ago, I went to pick Lindsay up at O’Hare. I took Matt with me and told him I had to pick up a special package. It was great fun anticipating his joy when he would see it was actually Aunt Boo.<br />
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While we were waiting, we wandered around to try to find some planes to watch, which we soon learned was not possible from our location. I was remembering all the times plane-watching at an airport was a fun, and low-cost, activity back in the day, and although I understand the need for security in this new age, I am sad for all the kids who won’t get that experience anymore.<br />
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So we got some food and decided to sit on a bench in baggage claim to wait for our special delivery. A woman sat down next to us after a while. We chit-chatted as waiting people tend to do, nothing I can really remember, just small talk. She was quite taken with Matt, thought he was adorable, and talked with him also. He, being Matt, had plenty of things to tell her as well. After a bit, she asked me to watch her things while she went to the food kiosk. I said it would be no problem. As she walked away, in the back of my mind, I was thinking I didn’t really know her and I probably shouldn’t be so trusting, so I watched her. Sure enough, she did go to the food kiosk and came back with a fruity yogurt thing.<br />
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We continued to chat, and she told me the woman behind her at the kiosk asked if she was hungry, and she said she was. She went on to say the woman told her to pick whatever she wanted, and she would buy it for her.<br />
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While we were both saying how nice that was, I was realizing with shock (that I hopefully kept to myself), this very nice woman sitting with me must be homeless. I was trying to work all this out in my head. Why would a homeless woman be at the airport? Isn’t everyone at the airport either traveling or waiting for someone traveling? I scolded myself for being so comfortable in my world that this was all so surprising to me.<br />
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Her name was Linda. I let her in on the secret special delivery, and she was completely tickled by it. She told me about her three grown children. They check on her often, calling her on the phone they have provided for her. They want her to live with one of them, but she said, “Why should I impose on other people when I’m the one who has made such a mess of my life?”<br />
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She said she came in to get warm for a while. I asked her where she would sleep. She pointed to the bench we were on, but she said “they” have to wait until later when there aren’t as many people in the airport. I was surprised they were allowed to sleep there at all, and she said the police were actually very nice to them. That was good to hear because I have seen some not-so-nice authorities at that particular airport (another post for another time).<br />
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Back to Linda, she said around midnight the foot traffic really slowed down, and she could go to sleep. Then, she said, around five in the morning, the police would come around, shake them gently to wake them, and tell them it was time to get moving. She said one morning, she woke up with a $20 bill in her hand. I was very touched by all this, still scolding myself for living in my comfy little world where I’ve never worried about where to sleep or if I would get to eat that day.<br />
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She asked me if she could sit with us until Aunt Boo got there so she could watch the surprise. I said of course she could. She told Matt how she would often sit there waiting for packages also.<br />
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We talked about the latest political campaigns. She was well spoken and clearly knew what was happening in the world. We talked more about our children. There was no question she had been involved in raising hers, and they loved her very much. She said one of her daughters was in charge of her money. I’m sure there was some mental illness keeping her out on the streets, but I also saw this was a good person with a kind heart.<br />
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Then Lindsay arrived. I pointed to the “special delivery” so Matt would see her (he didn’t). She was finally standing right in front of him, saying, “I hear someone here is waiting for a special package.” It still took him a few seconds before he shouted, “Aunt Boo!!!” and jumped into her arms. Linda shared in our joy and was especially touched by Matt’s reaction because instead of asking if Lindsay had brought him anything, he asked how many days she would be there.<br />
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I introduced Lindsay to our new friend, and Lindsay responded warmly to Linda’s big hug. (I love that my girls are so kind.) And then it was time to go. I gave Linda the other half of my sandwich and a little bit of money. I didn’t want to be insulting to her, but she was happy to have it.<br />
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Then we hugged like old friends, and I knew this was a woman I would long remember with fondness. Little did I know the surprise that day would be on me.Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-45137043362928368332016-03-04T15:41:00.002-06:002016-03-04T16:51:34.360-06:0057 Years of StuffSince Mom died, we have been attempting to clean out our parents’ house. We knew this time would come, and we knew it would be a challenge. We were correct.<br />
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Our parents were always packrats, which I’ve learned is very typical of people who lived through the Depression. That, along with the hoarding behaviors that often accompany Alzheimer’s, left us with, for lack of better words, a hell of a lot of stuff (3,000+ VHS tapes, 1000+ books, papers from the 1960s…….you get the picture).<br />
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When Dad passed away in 2012, my sister and I started on his things. His office was the worst. We couldn’t even walk into the room. Things were piled on piles upon piles. We removed bags of papers and other “stuff,” and it didn’t make a dent. Seriously. No one else would have known anyone had even touched that room, so we had to celebrate our small victories between each other, just so we could keep going.<br />
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Shortly into this process, we realized this was taking us away from precious Mom time, which we already knew was somewhat limited. So we stopped. We closed the door to the office, and we spent whatever quality time we could with Mom, knowing the stuff would not go away. Again we were correct. Now that Mom is gone, we are so grateful we grabbed that time with her. And the stuff didn’t go away. We joked sometimes that it actually multiplied when we weren’t looking.<br />
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I’ve learned a few things along the way – some from people who have been through this and some as we have been going through it ourselves. For what it’s worth, I hope this may help someone else.<br />
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I should note that I think an estate sale is a very good option, but Mom had always said, even before the Alzheimer’s, that the idea of people picking through her things was unbearable to her. I think this had something to do with her fears as a child as she watched families and their things being put out on the street. I’m not completely sure, but because she was so horrified by the idea, we didn’t go that route.<br />
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The first thing we did was make sure the important things went to the family members who wanted them. When I say “important things,” I’m talking about things valuable to us individually, not necessarily things worth any money. We all had different memories, so fortunately, we didn’t have a problem dividing things. Some items were important to all of us, but more in the sense that they needed to stay with someone in the family. I didn’t really need a chair, but we agreed Mom’s favorite chair needed to stay among us, so I’m keeping that. My sister, the family historian, is keeping all the photo albums and scrapbooks and important papers.<br />
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The kids decided the blocks, dolls and other toys they (and then the great grandsons) had played with, should still be toys at grandma’s house, so they wanted them to go to my place. I liked that idea also, especially that those memories were special to them and would continue, and I loved that they thought of it.<br />
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Over the years, Mom would ask us what we wanted. We would try to change the subject, but she really did want to know. So we did discuss it sometimes. I always wanted the Shalom needlepoint she worked on for practically ever. I also wanted the needlework given to her as a gift from her best friend, Pam, who had taught me to stitch, which created for me a lifelong hobby.<br />
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Leah wanted the pan with the broken handle, which always confused Grandma Rose. “Why in the world would you want a broken pan?!?” she would say with amazement. Leah explained to her that this was the pan Grandpa always used to make matzo brei (our favorite dish and his specialty). It’s true. You cannot look at that pan without hearing, “Who’s ready for matzo brei???”<br />
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Lindsay told me she wanted the kitchen table. I was really surprised. It’s just a table. It’s not even a particularly nice table. I remember giving her a funny look as I said, “Really?” She didn’t hesitate as she said, “That’s where we sat to do all our projects.” As I write this, I can picture Mom with the girls at the kitchen table, their heads bent over as they all busily worked on the next special creation.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7o8KHBA6So0tj4GWDDE0sBKDQbyzZJgPD0-AOmI96eDVlwdN60D6gkj2FW3PcFb5GNt1m03GaSJ7rjd-i9tXaA1v43KC9SrLUOgK4Dr_bX9lvB7hWY4br8VPSQBnrGXlS0_1NcZYN4TZ2/s1600/2015-09-09+12.31.23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7o8KHBA6So0tj4GWDDE0sBKDQbyzZJgPD0-AOmI96eDVlwdN60D6gkj2FW3PcFb5GNt1m03GaSJ7rjd-i9tXaA1v43KC9SrLUOgK4Dr_bX9lvB7hWY4br8VPSQBnrGXlS0_1NcZYN4TZ2/s320/2015-09-09+12.31.23.jpg" width="320" /></a>Those were the things that mattered – the things that triggered good memories. I know for myself, every time I walk by the needlepoints, now in my house, they make me smile. Those things actually made us feel good, so we focused on them.<span id="goog_449839472"></span><span id="goog_449839473"></span><br />
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I should add, it took several visits to feel comfortable taking something. We were fortunate we had the time to ease into it. I can’t say it became easy, but the more we were in the house without our parents there, the less difficult it became. I was having trouble removing Mom’s needlepoint, and Lindsay suggested perhaps if we moved everything from that wall, it wouldn’t look so much like there was something missing. That was a great idea and immensely helpful.<br />
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After the important things were removed or set aside, we got back to the stuff – items to pitch, items to recycle, items to donate, and items we put in an “I don’t know” or “I can’t go there yet” area. We had to stay on task or we’d never get anywhere, so if something might be difficult, we set it aside for later. That allowed us to continue to move forward.<br />
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I drove to Peoria every couple of weeks so I could chip away at the house, taking numerous trips to the recycle drop, bagging up trash, donating books to the used book store, clothes and other items to Goodwill, going again to the recycle drop, donating more books, going back to Goodwill, and then rewarding myself with Avanti’s. Advil and Dan Fogelberg were necessities for my physical and mental well being. And naps. As I had been advised, taking care of myself was necessary also (took me years to learn that). And then up I’d go, to start it all again. Everything that left the house was one less thing to deal with later. That was pretty good motivation, but there was still SO MUCH STUFF.<br />
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Enter Lindsay. She had some time so she offered to come up and help. I believe my exact and immediate response was, “Oh, hell yes!” And boy, did she help! We spent five days there together, and I learned some more things. The younger generation is strong and has energy, and I should have tapped into that resource sooner. I also happen to like her a lot, so five days with her was fun. Five days with the wrong person could be a nightmare, and I would avoid that at all costs.<br />
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Time with Lindsay reminded me of another important thing, one I actually wrote about earlier - <i>Always Find the Funny.</i><br />
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We laughed a lot. Every time one of us would climb up on something, the other would channel Grandma Rose in a panic worrying about someone getting hurt. I can still hear Mom’s voice from when I hung the curtains in the kitchen. “Anndeeeeee!” followed by my exasperated, “Mom! You have to stop that!”<br />
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When we’d go to bed, someone would say, “Ok, Roo (the cat). It’s time for bed? Let’s go then.” He was her alarm clock, and it was always a cute moment.<br />
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Lindsay and I were carrying a mattress out. In the middle of saying, “Ooh, I need a break” I dropped my end and nearly pulled Lindsay down with it. We were both doubled over laughing as she said, “Uh, do you think you could give me a little more notice next time?” We continued to laugh, and when I could speak again, I said, “I’m sorry. It came on me like the shits.” More hysterical laughter. Yep, still funny now.<br />
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Moving on……by the time Lindsay had left, two rooms were completely empty. Completely empty! And one of those was Dad’s office. Done! This was huge. There is still a long, long way to go, but this was HUGE.<br />
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And the very best thing…..Lindsay said she’d come back if I wanted. That got the same “Hell, yes!” again from me. I do believe with another visit from her, we can almost finish everything. I don’t want to set us up to fail, but I think we can do it because again, the hard part is going through the emotional triggers, and for the most part, we’ve faced those.<br />
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The most important thing I have learned? Stuff is just stuff, and I will get rid of things if I no longer need them. I am not going to do this to my children. I have promised them this, and I will stick to it. I will say it again. I am not going to do this to my children.Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6558345649876422121.post-29356633301849150202015-12-11T14:46:00.002-06:002015-12-11T14:46:35.799-06:00The Next ChapterAnd so it begins. A lot of my life over the last five years involved helping to care for my parents. Dad died in 2012, and Mom died this past July. Four days of every week during that time, I was focused almost completely on their needs. I visited Peoria for two days most weeks. The day before was always my “knot in stomach” day as I anticipated all the things that could happen during my two-day “date with Alzheimer’s,” as I called it. Then the first day after I returned home was just pure exhaustion, mostly brain drain, as I recovered from my visit. The visits were often fine, but the anticipation was difficult. And the “being on” all the time was exhausting. It reminded me a lot of when I was first teaching, and I would come home, drop everything and collapse on the couch.<br />
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I feel good about the time I spent with my folks. As I’ve said, Dad was always more of a challenge because he had never lived by anyone else’s rules, but we got through it. Mom’s decline was challenging, but her sweet and funny self stayed with her to the end, for which my sister and I will be forever grateful.<br />
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So what now? First let me say with absolute sincerity, I would take Mom back in a heartbeat, Alzheimer’s and all. Spending time with her the past three years, even on our worst day, was always a joy and a gift, and if I could turn the clock back, I would do it.<br />
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But we all know the rules. I will have to wait to see her again. In the meantime…..<br />
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I’m going to appreciate every day I’m given, and I’m going to live my life in the best way I can – enjoying everything possible, being kind and trying to make a difference, spending time with the people who matter, and laughing until I pee (which doesn’t take nearly as long to achieve these days).<br />
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To Move or Not to Move?<br />
For a long time now, I have considered moving closer to my children. Ok, since the day I became a grandma, I have considered moving closer to my grandchildren. Being three hours away is tough, and in my opinion, it’s about 2-1/2 hours too far.<br />
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Having said that, let me also say, I do not want to raise my grandchildren. Obviously I would step in if needed in those horrible situations I won’t even think about. Assuming all is reasonably normal though, let me say it again. I do not want to raise my grandchildren. I want to play with them, laugh with them, love them to pieces, snuggle with them, spoil them, enjoy every second with them, and then happily give them back to their parents so I can go home and enjoy the quiet. Being Gaya is the best gig I have ever had, and I do not want that to change.<br />
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But I can help more. I have the time, and it pains me sometimes that I could help if I were a little bit closer. As I’ve said before, my son-in-law, Scott, has to travel a lot for work. So Leah often has her hands full with those two very active little guys, in addition to her full-time teaching job. Sometimes just having another set of hands is helpful; and if one of the kids is sick, I can step in so she can work, or even better, sleep. Also, I can see the concerts, the soccer games, the ball games, swimming lessons, all those things that I could just pop over and see or do if I weren't so far away.<br />
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Actually, I’ve already got my eye on an area. It’s a Del Webb community for seniors in Huntley, Illinois. They have a restaurant, gym, walking track, two pools, trails, all kinds of things to do if I’m interested, including trips into the city to see shows, and get this…..they mow your yard and plow your snow. What is not to love about that deal?? And, I’d actually be one of the youngest in the crowd for a change! That hasn’t happened for a very long time!<br />
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Also, north of I-80, there’s Portillo’s, Giordano’s, Woodfield Mall, IKEA, and my favorite two words, yes, let’s say it together………Super. Target. Hallelujah!!<br />
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Of course, I will miss my beloved Avanti’s, Filippo’s, Peking House, Los Zarapes, and not just restaurants, but a few friends as well. But I also have friends north of I-80, and the world is smaller now. As I’ve demonstrated recently, I can fly to see one dear friend in Oregon, and then catch up with another great one in Florida. Granted, in hindsight, it probably was not the best planning on my part, but the point is I can get places.<br />
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And, I’m not leaving Lindsay out of this plan. I will be 45 minutes down the road from a major hub airport, so depending on where she is living in any given year (no bets here), I can fly to see her! Same if the kids should move away from Elgin. And of course, there's always a beach calling my name.<br />
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I don’t mean this to sound doomy and gloomy, but I have learned the hard lesson along the way, that tomorrow is not guaranteed, and I don’t know if and when Alzheimer’s will arrive, but I expect it will show up at some point. Mom always called it the family curse, and I think she may be right about that. So I’m not going to fear it. I’m going to live my life while I can, whether it’s flying to Ireland or snuggling up with a good book all day. Every day will matter.<br />
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So, bring on the bucket list and give me a planner. This girl’s got some stuff to do….Andee Weinberg-Chestnuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13245629172663770677noreply@blogger.com0