18 May - Make Your Garden Grow

Being the Green Thumb that I am, I did not realize Memorial Day Weekend was the biggest gardening weekend of the year. Perfect timing to have received an email from dear friend Mel who co-created Healthy Communities Project, a Milwaukee organization dedicated to educating communities about the dangers of pesticides as well as offer healthy alternatives. I found certain tips and valuable information with regard to alternate ways to fertilize, as well as lawn care in general.

So in the spirit of being green, this week's new task was to build a garden. We grow herbs every summer...so tasty and necessary for as much as we enjoy cooking and entertaining. But this would not be an herb or flower garden, but a garden of sustenance. A few weeks ago, I came home one night to newspapers and dirt on my dining room table. Headed upstairs to find a little greenhouse of plants on my bathtub ledge. Germination had begun.

It was time to build the garden beds. We created two 10' x 14' frames lined with fabric to prevent weeds from intruding on our little piece of earth. We transported 11 yards of topsoil to fill. And in shoveling the dirt into wheelbarrows, I discovered that my orthopedic surgeon was indeed accurate in my diagnosis of tennis elbow. I was not aware I even played tennis. It is unfortunate that I inherited my father's "Invincible Complex," otherwise I probably would have heeded Dr. Sinkiewicz's advice of not aggravating it.

Now it was time to find that anonymous bag of $80 worth of seeds. After hunting high and low, I pretty much came to the conclusion that I threw them away. Big oops. Another trip to the nursery. After raking the beds, we measured and tallied every six inches. I was surprised to find that Hubbo was pretty on with his ambitions. In two beds, we were able to plant corn, seven types of tomato plants (grape, roma, beefsteak...if only there were heirloom...), cucumbers, green and yellow zucchini, summer and spaghetti squash. We planted different varieties of beans, peas, radishes, lettuce, carrots, onions, peppers, parsley, spinach, raspberries, blueberries, strawberries, watermelon, cantaloupe and honeydew.

And when the work was done, we treated ourselves to a little tailgate and watched the Brewers' win against the Cardinals from behind home plate.

I know of few people who have been successful in this undertaking (due to squirrels, rabbits and infestation), so I am curious as to how this will progress. I greatly commend anyone who has the diligence and know how to self-sustain. If you have any tips, please share. I will update the progress of its growth and will have a harvest party in a month or two, hopefully with a well-rested elbow. See you then.


For more information on Healthy Communities Project, please see www.healthycommunitiesproject.org.

11 May - Loss of Sense of Loss

Thanks to Facebook, I was contacted this week by a friend I had not spoken to in a few years. She and I weren't particularly close, but from what I recalled, she was always a sweet, positive soul. Always offered a smile or energetic sentiment to everyone she passed in those high school halls. Jillian encouraged me to come see her as Sarah in the production "Children of a Lesser God." I was not familiar with this storyline but recall seeing trailers of the movie when I was younger. Jillian explained to me that she does not speak, but uses sign language to communicate her role.

I thought about that. To actually be without a sense. And how being without one raises one's ability to finetune and crispen his other senses. Out of need, not choice. If I could choose to be without a sense, which would it be? Touch, taste and smell were out. So which of sight or hearing? I wanted to be without one for a day, just to be somewhat aware of what others go through. I knew I still had to drive and function somewhat productively through the following day, so I chose the loss of hearing. I plugged my ears and told those around me to pretend I could not hear. When addressing me, I asked they tap me or talk to my face. It felt a bit like scuba diving at first...that slight period of apprehension where I can hear my own breathing, feeling alone, unaware of my periphery and seeing myself dropping farther from the surface -- a visual that cutting myself off into an unknown world is a choice.

My first public place was kickboxing. Through the muffled instruction, I used touch and sight to feel the beat and follow movement through class. And, of course, the one day I try to tune out, is the one day strangers are a bit friendlier than usual, and also the day she pairs us up for partner abdominals. Really? I found myself asking my new partner to repeat herself while I studied the movements of her lips. I could tell she felt that warmth of an immediate connection in a new friend because she kept turning to make comments and jokes in the following class. I felt like Seinfeld's Elaine Benes giving polite yes nods to the "Low Talker." Afterwards, I subconsciously was trying to avoid eye contact. With anyone.

I headed to Panera, the library and other public places, where I realized a few more things. We are aware of peripheral vision, but not so much peripheral hearing. I didn't hear someone behind me trying to move past or say "excuse me." I felt the need to be constantly looking around to make myself aware, in general. It was an uneasy feeling...perhaps a loss of control. However, it was nice to detach myself from needless chatter, like Charlie Brown's teacher two tables down speaking loudly on his cell phone. Lastly, I learned I cannot have a conversation while driving. And as many times as I would remind the person that I cannot hear, she either talks louder, or he stops talking. Then picks up where he left off, a few seconds later.

I was hoping perhaps this "research" would help me become a bit more invested in the play. Utilizing nothing but one prop, an easel, Soulstice Theatre had accomplished an incredible task. The whole story was told intimately through minimal distraction of a set, just the dialogue and movements of the seven characters. Jillian was incredible. Her feistiness, glee, frustration, anger and intelligence were felt without sound. The climactic scene where she explodes and "speaks" was so moving that I forgot that she was in fact a "hearing" person.

It did not dawn on me then, but I realized a few days later that Jillian has had her own personal trials. Graduating Magna Cum Laude from Harvard and heading down a path of law, life drastically changed course to being a mother of two developmentally challenged daughters. Her 5-year-old Sydney was born healthy and contracted a virus that rendered her fighting for her life and on feeding tubes. The brain damage associated with this infection has left her with cerebral palsy. Her 3-year-old Zoe has autism.

Jillian shared that family and faith pulled her through. "I'd not been very active in my faith prior to this, but when your back is against the wall and you are begging for the life of your child, God is the only place to turn. And I did. I stood in the sleeping room at Children's and begged God to spare Sydney. I told him I would take her in whatever form He saw fit to let me have her, just please don't take her away. A family friend of ours, Bill Tucker, had written a book about miracles and he hangs his hat on Mark 11:24 which basically says 'whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.' So, I asked God to spare Sydney and believed that He would. And He did. The first of our many, many miracles. With Zoe, we were already well into the throws of Sydney's recovery journey, and I remember having a very teary conversation with my mom about the possibility of Zoe being autistic. I remember asking how on earth I was going to manage having two kids with such different special needs. But, it's just our version of normal now.... No matter how many times I may second guess choices I've made in my life, they have all brought me to the point where those two little angels call me Mommy, and that makes the choices all seem to be the right ones."

I asked this humble friend how life experience prepared her for her role as Sarah and vice versa. "It was really quite emotional to have the tables turned on me and portray the one with the needs. I'm sure now that I have this perspective, I will think carefully about how I 'protect' my girls from challenges and how I fight to have their needs met in school or therapy or wherever. I look forward to them both being able to express their wishes and desires for themselves in a way Sarah and her mother never could."

Jillian learned sign language in approximately 10 weeks. She and her opposite lead met with two deaf coaches. One can hear and read lips; the other is completely deaf. They taught aspects of Deaf culture that were crucial to the production, i.e. what "speech" should sound like, how not to lock her jaw in an effort not to move her mouth; how to act without a voice and with preoccupied hands; how to portray Sarah's vulnerability and not just cynicism and bitter facade.

I finally asked why Jillian thinks this fell in her lap at this time in her life, she answered, "God is good. And Char [the artistic director] was insane! It was just one of those things the universe deemed was meant to be. I am forever grateful in SO many ways. I've never had a more challenging and fulfilling role. I've never worked with such a fantastic leading man. I've never been more proud of a production ever. Life has thrown me enough curveballs along the way, I should be able to land a good swing every now and then. I think God decided it was time for me to hit one out of the ballpark. It's given me a wonderful sense of accomplishment which will keep me going, keep Mommy recharged so she can keep giving 110% to our family and our world. That's valuable currency."




Partial proceeds from this production were donated to Center for the Deaf and Hard of Hearing. To make a donation and for more information, please visit http://www.cdhh.org/.

To find out more about the non-profit Soulstice Theatre, please see http://www.soulsticetheatre.org/.

4 May - Gokey Chasing

When this season of "American Idol" started, we were thrilled to see a Milwaukeean make the Top 12. When he was announced last week in the final three, the planning wheels started spinning. His schedule said he would make appearances throughout the city -- FOX station, AT&T store, his church, the Milwaukee Art Museum, Harley-Davidson Museum, Discovery World, Summerfest grounds, then to the Brewers vs. Cubs Game to sing the "National Anthem" and throw out the first pitch. It just so happened I had a studio session downtown at Beathouse Music -- perfect. It also just so happens people don't call me "Triple Book" for nothing. My plan was to catch the Motorcade in the Third Ward after my session, then to Summerfest then head home. Then I thought, wouldn't that be neat to bring two kids who religiously watch the show on a little adventure - Gokey Chasing? I could easily take them out of their educational institutions, have them sit three hours during my session, pack lunches, then head to watch the Motorcade. As I am planning this through, I received a text to celebrate my friend Shanel's birthday. Huh. So...add on to the plan, dropping the kids back to their home, then head to the soiree.

After explaining to these little Idol soldiers what was to take place, I was reminded that I had yet another commitment smack dab in the middle of the day near home. I absolutely could not miss this. Okay...just a minor obstacle that Triple Book can work around. New plan: studio session, head back home, engagement, pick up these kids, Gokey chasing, drop kids back off, Shanel's soiree. As I am working this out in my head, I realized I would have to make it to downtown Milwaukee three times that day. As friends have coached me through the years, I realized there is a time and place to use the word "no." I rescheduled my studio session at Beathouse Music for the following Monday.

As I touched base with my husband who was driving in from Chicago, I can hear the silent chuckle, see the shaking of his head and feel the stress in his exhale. He interrupted me and said, "I have a thought. Let me call you right back." In the meantime, I have these two patient boys in tow, excited to get a glimpse of one Danny Gokey. I tried managing expectations that even though we are TRYING to see this rising star, there is no guarantee that we WILL. This is all a part of the experience. The phone rang and my husband said he was able to get tickets to the soldout game. Wow. One more chance for these kids to see Gokey if all else fails -- which it would not. I do happen to subscribe to where there is a will, there is a way. Fifteen minutes until we could park and walk to the Third Ward. We made it to the front of Summerfest, where the Motorcade was going to stop. Perfect. Saw my friend Alaria, head of "Chick Singer Night," along the way. But since there were so many people along the Motorcade path -- signs, Gokey shirts and all -- I thought perhaps they did not realize the gates were open. Why not go in to find the best possible view? The two patient kiddos said nothing and followed my lead. We risked leaving our perfect view of the 5-second glimpse in hopes of getting a better view. I remember the big screens that reached all the way towards the lake -- piece of cake, not a bad seat in the house. As we reached our destination -- it was packed. But with a goal in mind and positive thinking, I have come to know somehow one can just WILL things to happen. So I took the same attitude and told myself that this whole chase was for these boys to experience, not for me. We started inching our way up. We tried getting around the crowd for different angles and views. No dice. We tried positioning ourselves in front of the screens. What screens?! NO SCREENS?! After 20 minutes of trying to penetrate these walls of pliable brick, I realized there would be no movement. I realized I had to accept something -- defeat. We were just too short. And everyone was territorial. In seeing the uncomfortable looks on these two sweet faces, I told them to hop up on my shoulders. I could understand their skepticism and why they resisted -- they were my size. I wouldn't accept it. In my white summer dress, I ordered the older obedient one to hop up. Against his will, he did and peeked. This kind couple next to us, Tom and Jane, watched the whole thing unfold and heard me explaining, sometimes to be a part of something bigger, we have to sacrifice and relish in the experience. Just to be here, with all these strangers, is part of it. So Tom offered when the music started he would put them on his shoulders. I could tell the older one appreciated it, but did not want to impose. After encouragement, he was lifted up by Tom and saw Gokey singing Michael Jackson's "PYT". He was thrilled. What kindness extended to three strangers. The younger one just kept his head down and frustratedly whispered to me, "I wanted to stay outside by the Motorcade." Ugh. The older one comfortingly said, "No, this is great. At least we can hear him sing." I forget what it is like to be that small, packed in like sardines, no ventilation or sight. So I decided there had to be something positive from this fruitless effort. We thanked our new friends, Tom and Jane, and headed to the car. If we headed to the game and missed the anthem and first pitch, I would never forgive myself.


Hubbo told me to take the back path of 43rd and National Avenue. Miraculously we arrived in 15 minutes...but 45 minutes before Hubbo's arrival. And there was no ticket for me. Um...more planning, but of course, I have no worries. Everything always works out if you put in due effort. If we met at a park and ride, would they get back in time to make the first pitch? Could I pay for special parking, though Preferred Parking was already soldout? And would Will Call let me "borrow" Hubbo's ticket to make sure these boys got to their seats? The answer to all these was "no." The parking attendants said I could go no further. I realized it was time to make a call of desperation to our dear friend Bob with the Brewers. Being a soldout game, along with all his other responsibilities, I am quite certain this was the last thing he needed. Uh...Just a hunch. Called work and cell, no answer. After realizing all my paths of planning were met with roadblocks, my phone rang. His calm and nonchalance reprieved my desperation. He asked where I was, came to the top of the bridge to meet the boys to safety. He held them until Hubbo could make it. Within 30 minutes, all were reunited.

I breathed a sigh of relief and headed to an impromptu visit with a dear friend Kramer. I decompressed with cheese, crackers, spanikopitas, well-needed red wine and great conversation. We talked about her aging parents, how audiences are still enjoying their classical training in piano and oboe and her concern for their current state of health. We looked through precious old family photos. Kramer made an interesting comment that stuck with me, "No one has actual photos anymore. It is all stored on the computer. Does anyone keep photo albums?" It sat with me. I think this is why I am continuing this blog. To have some documentation of the people in my life. And as my husband might add, for people to get a glimpse of the inner workings of my madness. Huh. Afterwards, I headed to meet up with friends to clink glasses in celebration for Shanel's birthday. What a relaxing night after all.

I came home, got ready for bed and saw something on my pillow. It was a photo of the kids...with Danny Gokey. Tears came to my eyes, as silly as it was. After all the stars aligning, our own personal Jesus in Bob and the patience of the people I include in my mad planning, these boys received more than they had hoped.

The next day, they told me that Bob took them to the suite. In a sea of adults, Danny saw the kids, asked for a hug and took a photo. I told them for their humble patience, it was merely karma.

27 April - Dancing in Latin America

After decompressing from a busy week, I was up for something spontaneous. Something to feel immersed, alive and in a different city. Just so happened my friend Mel called out-of-the-blue to tell me I had some lookalike on the tele. I could hear her husband Rod laughing in the background as I searched for “Jonas Brothers” on the Disney Channel. I did find the actress. And it was creepy. As we were talking, it dawned on me that I was speaking to two of the best dancers I know. They are the only two among my circles of friends who have actually taken lessons (swing, salsa, etc.) Within 15 minutes of the conversation, we talked each other into a convoluted plan that would take us to Chicago's Nacional 27: salsa dancing.

We walked in, got a table by the bar and ordered one of my personal favorites, caipirinhas. The booming music, chatter and element made me feel I was somewhere in Latin America – Sao Paolo? Mexico City? Bogota perhaps? I perused the menu and noticed the amazing dishes as I walked by to check out the dancefloor. Dishes that included smoked chicken empanadas, shrimp adobado with pineapple-vanilla salsa, boniato and plantain croquetas, barbecued lamb tacos, and variations of bamboo skewers, ceviches and paellas. Oh. My. Word.

After an amusing, yet in-depth chat with James the Navy pilot-turned-physician at the bar, we picked up a few more cocktails and headed to the “club.” My goal was to hold my own. The dancefloor was already packed. I sat and watched Mel and Rod show me their dance prowess. It brought a smile to my face in reminiscing of our days at UW-Madison when people would clear the floor to watch Rod dance. And here we are almost 20 years and how many kids later, starting our evening at 11pm just to dance Latin-American style. They told me of the basic dances, salsa, cha cha, merenge and mambo. Though subtle, each had a definite style of its own. I’m thinking the difference is in the hips. Those who have the coordination can sell it; those who don’t …not so much. The simultaneous smooth stepping and walking with sultry hips and shoulders to an upbeat tempo -- that takes focus. It was exhilarating for me to feel the music press against my body while simply people watching…from neophytes and laughter to polished serious dancers. Then Rod turned to me and took me out on the floor. Oy. Growing up in the disco era with four sisters who lived for dancing pretty much equated me with self-proclaimed coordination. Any confidence in that thought quickly diminished. Rod taught me his and Mel’s favorite: bachata. It involves moving to the side and ending with a hip thrust on the fourth beat. For some reason, I just couldn’t get it. What was my problem? I looked more like a Ms. Jazz Hands version of John Travolta’s 10th “Saturday Night Fever” sequel, “Stayin Alive”. My sisters would hang their heads. Mindless and freeform for him; focus and confusion for me. How embarrassing when we are surrounded by pros. The neat thing was everyone was in their own zone. After Rod made a few suggestions, I got it! Then he smoothly led with turns and spinning me behind his back, all the while, keeping the same counting and side-stepping with such finesse.

Mel made a good observation. At a place like this, if someone comes up and asks you to dance, he genuinely just wants to dance. No expectations or motive necessarily. Just a polite “thank you” afterwards and heads on his merry way. With a ginger-passion sangria, strangers dancing with strangers surrounding us, it felt like I was on holiday. Nacional 27 offers salsa lessons every first and third Tuesday of the month. Guess I was a week off, though I notice it is holding its first annual Cinco de Mayo fiesta. A 2-fer. All the more the reason to come back. (www.nacional27.net).

20 April - Humble Me

Several years ago, my trip to the Philippines connected many dots for me. After traveling 14 hours, my aunt and uncle from Milwaukee picked us up from the airport and took us to their home. In the mode of getting my bearings, unpacking and paying my respects to whomever else was in the dark house, they asked, “Are you ready? We are taking you to see a variety show and karaoke to sing.” Are you kidding? It was 11:30pm. Unshowered and always ready for exploration, I checked the bags under my eyes and went for a drive. Twas a bit strange to walk into a bar filled with “my people.” I sat, looked around, took note of any cultural subtleties -- from food on the menu to how one might hold a cocktail. The first act began. Teenagers acting like gang members came out on a makeshift stage and broke out into incredible dance moves reminiscent to Janet Jackson’s old videos like “Rhythm Nation” or the fly girls from “In Living Color.” My jaw dropped. Gorgeous men dressed as women with incredibly strong voices that matched Celine Dion. Such raw talent hidden in an anonymous bar tucked in an anonymous area of Manila. All I could think of was they probably had no clue how incredibly talented each one was. How easy success might come to these hopefuls who have no opportunity, if they were in the U.S. And thanks to Oprah and YouTube, we have witnessed the success of some of these hopefuls like teenager Charice Pempengco and 40-year-old Arnel Pineda, Journey’s frontman.

I thought of that experience and cultural affinity for music and dance while reflecting on this week, which indeed encompassed music. My week started with the humble Ray LaMontagne. A group of us saw him open for Guster at the Charter Pavilion in Chicago years ago. Here, he graced the beautiful Riverside stage with a very simple, classy setup. His velvet voice and arrangements were lullabies, one after the other. I also had project work scheduled with the talented, award-winning and dear friend Jim at Beathouse Music. It truly makes a difference when the producer creates a safe and comfortable working environment that encourages bringing out the best work (www.beathousemusic.com). Then came attending an outstanding theater-in-the-round production of “Joseph the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat” in Chicago. The Artistic Director is Milwaukeean and high school friend Aaron – had to support. Lastly, the week ended with band rehearsal for an upcoming gig at Shank Hall. It made sense that my set goal for this week was to take the inspiration and write a song from scratch, until I learned of something that humbled me.

In the midst of this week, I met my husband at the Four Seasons for a black tie function. The only detail I knew was I was going dressed in my vintage paisley Shanel Regier dress – knew not the organization, time, other co-workers attending, etc. When we arrived, we met several ladies from "Clearbrook." Straightaway, the vibe of this evening of heavy-hitters was very “salt-of-the-earth," my kind of people. I learned this non-profit serves 3,000 clients per year, from babies to adults. These clients have cerebral palsy, autism, downs syndrome and mental retardation. I learned the gadgets we were playing with atop the table in front of us were communicating mechanisms, helping children associate and express their needs to caregivers and friends. I learned those ready for independent living were housed in at least 20 homes equipped with transportation to and from the day program and work, and providing caregivers when necessary.

During dinner, the video we were shown featured four stories and separate struggles since birth. The parents were interviewed and shown interacting with their children. Not a dry eye in the house after a father described his feeling of defeat in providing any type of normalcy to his beloved son, an eternal four-year-old. Then, through Clearbrook, came his final glimmer of hope. We also learned three of the children featured were triplets. This particular family does have a fourth child, who has autism.

Parenting alone seems tough enough – from getting babies on a regular sleep pattern just so the parent can function; to emotionally investing, questioning personal convictions and self-esteem in order to mold another human being; then hurting when they hurt and watching them grow. I could not imagine the struggles of parenting four children with special needs. So I add on top of these, the anguish when he or she is struggling with something as simple as communicating and not knowing IF the child is hurting, nor the source. Then along comes a place like Clearbrook. In watching this video, these families looked like the happiest well-adjusted families, probably because this humbling situation demands genuine understanding and patience.

It was such a welcome experience amidst a busy week to be among families that pulled together through such emotional hardship. This must have been the stem of the humble vibe we sensed when we first arrived. My husband and I walked away with two things: an appreciation for our lives through witnessing other people's reality -- families that have gone from defeat to hope. The other, selfishly, was a flat screen tele. Winning a bid is a much more joyous occasion when the cause is priceless.

To find more information or donate to Clearbrook, please visit www.clearbrook.org.

13 April - Gallery Night in My Milwaukee

For as much time as I have spent in the historic Third Ward of Milwaukee, I have never experienced Gallery Night & Day. Bustling with boutiques, galleries and an international art school, this quaint arts district opens its doors four weekends per year, showcasing its wares and artwork by local photographers and artists. This 21-yr-old “art show” traditionally has spanned approximately six blocks. As it built a successful draw, the parameters have expanded to 61 venues throughout downtown to restaurants, the Calatrava, north to the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee and other venues like the historic Turner Hall, which held a fashion show to live music, featuring local bands.

In my preliminary research, a friend was kind enough to email me a hefty list of "must-sees". In my go-with-the-flow mode, we made it to...three. Shucks. At 5:30, friends Jean, Shanel and I started at Shoo to stop and say hello to proprietor and friend Kate. Shoo (http://www.shoostore.com/) carries one of the most unique collections of shoes, boots and accessories in the Midwest. Growing up in Chicago and traveling as a buyer, Kate has garnered street credit evidenced in her personal style and selection of inventory… pairs themselves that are works of art. We were doubly honored to find another friend and featured designer Heather greeting clientele and promoting her new line of handbags (http://www.home-threads.com/). As we perused the boutique, I happened to notice a woman I recognized from long ago… my former high school musical director. Mrs. Kramer and I reminisced and caught up on the lives and paths of past classmates from leads on Broadway, to theater directors to band members to actors on the big screen. While talking, I received a hug from another friend who just moved back from London. The whole evening continued to follow the same suit.

We all ventured to our next destination, the 320 East Buffalo building, with the goal of accomplishing three stops in one: Flux Design, CoPA and Picture Perfect Art Gallery. Ambitious as we were, we never made it past Flux. Was it reviewing their furniture line with too many glasses of wine? Perhaps catching up with former co-workers from my past advertising world and harassing a friend who leads a blues band that shares my husband's saxophone-playing skills once in a blue moon? Or Jean breaking out into different accents when talking to various people, strangers included? Perhaps it was just that time really does fly when one is having fun. Whichever way, we glanced at our watches to realize we only had 30 minutes left till the close of Gallery Night. How did that happen?

The pleasant weather contributed to the evening’s vibe of summer anticipation, as we walked to my companions’ old stomping grounds, the Milwaukee Institute of Art & Design. The type of vibe where people find things a little funnier, have the itch to get outside and appreciate crowds -- to feel alive. It was an evening where any silly act was a welcome invitation for a stranger’s chuckle … like Shanel pulling an empty stroller behind her as though barreling through a busy airport to make her connection, hitting cement columns along the way. As we entered MIAD, we were greeted with crowds of onlookers and artists discussing the interesting works of senior thesis projects, including a fiberglass-type layered dome to a printmaking paper lounge. As we traversed the different floors and cross-disciplines of art, I recognized a smile and had to say hello to a face that knew my history, my old boyfriend. The warm feeling of security in an old friend who appreciated my family fabric manifested where, within five minutes of conversation, the same goofiness rose to the top.

As the evening wound down and exhibits came to a close, Shanel apologized we did not see more exhibits than…three. Nonsense. To me, this WAS Gallery Night. Its warmth and welcome to neophytes reaffirmed my affinity for this city, with its low-profile, abundant charm of a tight community offering little pockets of culture and historical treasure. I had no expectations walking into the evening, for expectation often leads to disappointment. And what I received was finding different elements of my history crossing paths …from Mrs. Kramer in my high school years, to my first boyfriend, to former co-workers and musicians connected to my husband, my present, to people who have entered my life only within the past few years that I am honored to consider very dear friends. I did not want to view Gallery Night as a tourist, checking sites off a list. Just like travel, one might interpret being "cultured" as heading overseas just to say it was done, as if one tick mark should be applied to his life list. Yet all the while, he never noticed the newspaper vendor's crooked smile as he greeted him everyday or inhaled the nostalgic smell of bread baking at the corner cafe that he will someday see tucked in the background of a photo when showing his friends. I think being cultured could simply be noticing, appreciating and living the small joys without having to leave your own city.

And in this cherished city, I was fortunate to end the week with another new experience in an old venue. Date night with my husband included watching one of our favorite standup comedians, Louis CK. As brash as he may be, Louis CK remembered Milwaukee left a great impression from his last visit. He paid due respect by handpicking its gorgeous Pabst Theater to film live for an upcoming film (http://www.pabsttheater.org/). The Pabst Theater was built by Captain Frederick Pabst to emulate the opulent European opera houses of his time. Donned in golds and reds, the theater boasts a 2-ton Austrian crystal chandelier, which is lowered to seat level once per year for cleaning. This theater "has been designated as a City of Milwaukee Landmark, a State of Wisconsin Historical Site, and a National Historic Landmark. Built in 1895, The Pabst is the fourth oldest continuous operating theater in the United States." And one of the most beautiful.

Gallery Night with friends and a date night with my husband and a comedian. My soul needed new light-hearted experiences as these. I drove around with my windows down and noticed light installations of periwinkle hues casting shadows on the freeway. I inhaled that familiar breath of home ... only my Milwaukee.

For more information on Gallery Night & Day, please visit http://www.historicthirdward.org/.

6 April - Tween and Twilight

I have never read a “tween” book before...no Quidditch games nor magical rings resound in my literary history. I used to be in book clubs until I realized I no longer bothered to read the book…huh. Good books, too. I could chime in on anyone's comments of character development, premise, struggles, inner conflicts. I enjoyed all of that. All I needed was a nice glass of Sangiovese or Pinot Grigio. In most recent years, I probably would have joined clubs that began with the words "In" and "Style". Give me quick snippets of info and photos. Even this particular antithetical magazine has two current issues yearning to see sunlight. And I will even admit I have that bestseller Eat, Pray, Love on my bedside table. Excuse me… IN my bedside table. I enjoyed Elizabeth Gilbert’s writing style, but I lost steam somewhere in Italy for the past year.

The books towards which I gravitate involve some type of adventure...page turners that keep me invested and engaged; yes romance, but no fluff. I have respect for an author who does a great deal of historical and cultural research. I enjoy losing myself in character and story, melding history with gripping problem solving suspense and premise like Da Vinci Code (though I thought parts became quite self-indulgent in its tangents). My flavor has the affinity for period pieces as in The Other Boleyn Girl and Memoirs of a Geisha, where I can taste a glimpse of life in a completely different time and culture. Give me clever short stories intertwined with character development as in When the Elephants Dance or the cultural Her Wild American Self written by Milwaukee’s own, friend and award-winning author, M. Evelina Galang (www.mevelinagalang.com).

This week’s task was to read an engaging “tween” book. But I think what I found was technically a bit older to be considered “tween.” Of course, I did not realize that until 1 ½ days later and 490+ pages into it. One day, I overheard friends Shannon and Maggie gushing over a man named Edward. The look on Shannon’s face warmed and intrigued me, her face flush as she whispered. Then I realized her husband’s name is not Edward. "Cute", I thought, "maybe she has a crush." Maggie then chimed in, “I know! I am on the treadmill at 5:30 in the morning and I can't get him out of my mind!" I wondered if Edward were a kind, local gentleman who gravitated towards women my age. As they both giggled, they asked if I had read the book Twilight. It was apparently a love story about a human and a vampire. Red Flag: the Believability Factor. Or lack thereof, not that I do not allow myself to get lost in what may or may not be possible. So I had to turn to my literary expert by night (assistant athletic director by day), Kath. She brought it with her on our trip to Mexico. Did it deem her stamp of approval? Um…yes, as well as eight other of our girlfriends. And the number keeps multiplying as confessions come to light. I would like to see some demographic data on this book. With whom was it more popular: Girls 12-18 or Women 25+? And why?

Was it the butterflies, head games and inner monologues that resonated when we were young and falling in love? As older, married, mature women, do we yearn for those feelings again, which come back so quickly when tapped? Was it the simple writing style of the author (which I realized indeed played to a younger audience)? Or the initial enmity between the two main characters, which transformed to whimsical playful banter, then grew to deep-seeded love, respect and loyalty? I think the draw for me was I did not feel cheated by the typical prince storyline swooping in to save the damsel several times over. It did not become hokey, just…precious. I felt sympathy for a misjudged outcast who redeemed himself as being the complete opposite in having a soul…who also happened to be a stereotypical gorgeous gentleman of a vampire. Another premise is what friend Yvette pointed out – the struggle of self-control between doing what is right versus what we yearn.

I will say, the trip to a misty, rainy Washington and welcoming these new friends into my life was a nice escape for two days. As Shannon said regretfully, “I am jealous of everyone who has not read it yet!” So if you have, no need to deny you liked it. Come on. You know who you are. And if you are not doing anything next week, my girls and I are viewing Twilight at our Movie Club. Just bring jammies and wine.