En route to Minneapolis with Mom.
We stopped for pie at Norske Nook.
Health & Fitness Expo in St. Paul.
Mall of America.
We got our mall on.
Sculpture garden at The Walker.
Turrell skyspace.
Marathon's end.
Back in Michigan...porch tableau.
View from my childhood bedroom. Oak trees o' my youth.
"Color tour" around the golf course.
The golfers weren't very amused by us, but we had fun.
Into the woods.
B. & me.
Disc golf course around the corner from my parents' house.
Katie and Adam are really pro.
October nephew.
10/10/11. Chicagoland Skydiving Center.
Someone else from my group coming down.
Me on the way down. Ahhhh!
Semi-unsmooth landing. "We caught a wind pocket," my instructor said. D'oh!
Mission accomplished.
El Cid with the kids.
Broadway Antique Market.
Trotters!
Lula bday pie from Colleen. <3
The Elegant Farmer in Mukwonago, WI.
Dogville!
Photo by JPalu.
Cattails!
The house we rented on Delavan Lake.
Brunch at Simple Cafe in Lake Geneva.
Costume karaoke at Sidekicks. Diva girl and Dusty.
Boston.
Miss Piggy.
"Like a Virgin" and Jock Jams.
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October, always highly anticipated, was even more so this year. Anticipation and a little trepidation, because I was rounding the bend on Lap #30 'round the sun and turning 30 is supposedly a thing to be feared. At least that's what a lot of women's magazines seem to suggest…and Hollywood and Hallmark cards (all the trusted sources), and any publication that churns out those "30 under 30" lists… I've always assumed lists of that nature are mostly just filler, so wouldn't it make more sense to publish "90 under 90" or "100 under 100" lists? More inclusive and they'd fill a LOT more space. e.g., "The 100 Hottest Bodies Under 100" (So many bodies! Helen Mirren and Rihanna could occupy the same list); "90 Notable Ethnomusicologists Under 90," etc.
I'll admit I find it scary that I have now achieved PEAK BONE MASS. But when my actual birthday came, I'd already turned the idea of turning 30 'round in my mind so long, the only real thing left to do was spread my arms and dive in.
As they say: "Time waits for no one—but Tom does."
October highlights: Went to Minneapolis with Mom; ran in the very hilly and scenic Twin Cities Marathon; went to Michigan and jumped in the leaves with my niece and nephews; jumped out of a plane on 10/10/11; went to the premiere of the very intense film We Need to Talk About Kevin; accompanied Jessica unironically to the So You Think You Can Dance live stage show; had an oh-so-memorable 30th bday dinner w/ pals; stayed in a Wisconsin lake house with pals and dogs; went to an apple orchard; finished my second Second City class and started the next; started a hip hop dance class with JPalu; went back to Schwa for another meal to remember (most memorable: a soup that was described as an elevated version of the baked potato bar that used to be at Wendy's—WHUT!); celebrated Halloween with annual costume karaoke, a recycled Cleopatra costume, scary film fest, parties, and pumpkins....
Putting my rose-hued glasses back in their case (I'd hate to get them smudgy), it was a hectic month of last-minute projects and late-night work and organizing a new apartment, too. And the emotions that accompany moving. Rummaging around my parents' house while I was in Michigan, I found boxes of letters from high school and college friends that made me suddenly nostalgic—for specific friendships and old timey letter-writing in general. Thinking "Growing older is just missing more people more" and emo thoughts of that nature... I know, however, moving and birthdays and October—all times of transition—are slippery slopes into nostalgia. Pack up all your stuff and unpack it somewhere else, and you're bound to slip, trip or fall momentarily into the past. Knocked out of your routine and sleep-deprived, you sit on the floor in threadbare PJ pants sifting through souvenirs of all the places & people you've been. (You must take on faith that those apparently discrete dots of you were contiguous...that those severed places cohered...)
Moving can be productive and therapeutic, too. Pack up all your stuff, and you're also bound to be like, "WTF do I have this much junk?" and take 16 boxes of knickknacks, ill-fitting pants, and forgotten shoes to the Salvation Army. (And those threadbare PJs, to the trash.) C YA!
Just don't part with your fave rose-colored specs. I hear they're useful in your 30s. ;)