The morning after the Cubs won the 2016 World Series, I saw my neighbor in his front yard. I was neatening my little library and he was walking toward his car which was parked on the street. It was unusual for his car to be there. He usually parks in his driveway, which has a “Cubs Fan Only” sign in it.
“You must be in a pretty good mood today,” I said to him.
He crossed over to me and said, “I am.” He was smiling and looked joyous.
He shared with me me how he had “watched” the game with his adult daughters over the phone and how stressful and fun it was. He told me how happy they all were when the Cubs won. He was still smiling.
“I picked up a few extra copies of the paper this morning,” he said as he patted the newspaper that was tucked under his arm.
He told me he was on his way to meet his brother at their dad’s gravesite. He unfurled his newspaper. It had CUBS WIN plastered across the front page.
“I’m going to leave this for my dad,” he said. “He won’t believe it, not even in heaven.” And off he went.
I loved that moment, but I don’t watch or play sports or necessarily believe in heaven. But I love it when my friends’ and families’ teams win.
Thanks for reading. -Connie
P.S. I live in Rockford have been commuting weekly to Chicago for several years. It was fun to see the city skyline light up in different ways to support their team during the games.
In 8th grade, we read The Lottery by Shirley Jackson in English class. We watched the film, too. Reading the short story, seeing the film and, several years later, reading the Brainerd Duffield play, still feels like a literary win to me. It is one of those rare stories that is excellent on the page, on the stage and on the screen. I just asked my two youngest kids if they’ve read it and they shook there heads. I texted Sam and he said “no.” Jocelyn is at college but I’m pretty sure she hasn’t either. How did I let this happen? Note to self: Show kids The Lottery during Spring Break.
***
At Cornell College, where I went to college, there was a dorm lottery every year. If your number was drawn, you and your roommate(s) could pick whatever dorm you wanted. Some dorms, especially in the old Victorian houses, were more spacious than others, so if your number was called, you could nab one of the nicer rooms. My friends Ishanee, Betsy and Mona won this lottery and lived in the sprawling “attic” in Rood House. I lived in the same “house” but in a different dorm but was over there all the time. It felt like my win because they were awesome theatre friends and we had a lot of laughs. After every rehearsal or performance or class or whatever, we’d meet in their room and talk it over. More than 30 years later, I still need to “deconstruct” after every rehearsal, reading and performance.
***
And there was that lottery with the Minnesota Fringe Festival. In the early aughts, so many people would want to perform, the administration was forced to draw names to see who could participate. I was one of the winners! My name was drawn and my four short plays The Rub, The Catholic, The Mason Jar and Mother’s Nature were part of the 2002 Minnesota Fringe Festival. This blog post’s “featured image” is a cast photo. Can you find Jesse in there? He still has that t-shirt.
Two Bonus Lottery-like Wins
In 2003, I unexpectedly received a check for $450.00 It was a state tax return and to this day, I have no idea why I got it. I thought it was a mistake and made several calls to verify the veracity of this windfall. Once I knew it was true, I got a manicure at the Mall of America in Bloomington, Minnesota and bought new work wardrobe from Old Navy, also located at the Mall of America. Do I know how to have a good time or what?
In 2004, I had a day job at Coldwell Banker Burnett. After working there for several months, I was promoted from receptionist to listing coordinator, probably because of my sharp business wardrobe. A few weeks into my new position, I received a paycheck that was a few hundred dollars higher than what I was supposed to receive. I talked to my boss Roberta about it. I was sure she’d tell me I have to give it back but she said something about things being in “arrears.” Later, she verified that “monies” from my first paychecks had been in some type of holding and now were deposited into my bank account because I had a new position. I couldn’t believe my good fortune! Why did God love me so much? This was definitely a win but I still don’t know what “arrears” or “monies” are.
***
There haves many lottery and lottery-like wins in my life and it stands to reason there will be a few more and that’s more than enough for me.
Thanks for reading! -Connie
P.S. Verify the veracity? There has to be a better way to say that, but I have to go.
I like figuring out what happens when I push all the buttons.
WordPress has all sorts of buttons I can insert into my blog but not a lot of instruction so I learn by trial and error.
(1) I started inserting the “Subscribe” button. If you enter your email, then my blog post goes directly to your inbox.
(2) A few days ago, I inserted a poll into my post Poll-lease come up with a fresh prompt. I instantly became addicted with the poll results. What can I say? I like engagement! Here’s another one.
(3) Event Countdowns make me not want to participate. They also remind me that my brain naturally remembers stupid dates.
1707112800
days
hours minutes seconds
until
My Ex-Boyfriend’s Son’s Birthday!
Mind you, this was not a serious boyfriend. It was a fling that lasted a few weeks in the 90s. A blip. A flash in the pan. But every year on the fifth of February, I remember my ex-boyfriend’s son’s birthday. Why?
(4) Here’s a “rate button.” (Located below picture of Barbara.) Please give the expression on my dog’s face a five-star rating.
Barbara
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 5 out of 5.
Edited: The rating button does not work. Here’s a “thumbs” option instead. Click the thumb that best expresses your opinion of the expression on Barbara’s face:
(5) This is a “carousel,” apparently. Click an arrow and it will take you round and round my most recent blog posts. Is this merry-go-round fun or does it make you wanna barf?
(6) Often, playbills will include a timeline of plays that are historical or implement time travel or a combination of the two. I used to love studying these timelines.
THINGS CONNIE REMEMBERS BECAUSE OF TIMELINES IN PLAYBILLS
1937 – Tom Stoppard is born in Czechoslovakia.
2024 – Realizes the only reason she remembers that detail is because she co-wrote the playbill timeline for Arcadia by Tom Stoppard when she was the “assistant to the dramaturg.” Damn. Assistant to the dramaturg? Realizes that’s kind of pathetic. However, the assistant to the dramaturg loved the play so much she was willing to do anything for it.
2019 – Immediately resented having to scan QR codes instead of playbills when going to see live theatre. Wondered, “Am I a Karen?”
2024 – Decided inserting timelines into playbills is a silly but necessary part of producing and marketing certain genres and sub-genres of theatre.
2024 – Still prefers playbills to QR codes but will accept QR codes as a supplement. Does not see herself as anti-environment or a Karen.
2024 – Still considers Tom Stoppard her favorite playwright. Still loves Arcadia.
(7) You can also insert verse or a pull-quote.
From the song “Push It” by Salt-N-Pepa
Yo, yo, yo, yo, baby-pop Yeah, you! Come here, gimme a kiss Better make it fast or else I’m gonna get pissed Can’t you hear the music pumping hard? Like I wish you would Now push it
(8) This is a “featured image.” That means WordPress cannot use one of their photos for your blog. This image of my dog napping while a squirrel scurries by, even though it has nothing to do with today’s blog post, will show up on the WordPress reader and everywhere else. The difference between a “featured image” and a regular image is I cannot insert a caption with the featured image.
(9) I am also experimenting with the “category” button. Today’s the first day I assigned this the “bloganuary” category. I wonder what will happen!
There are dozens of other “buttons” but I am out of leisure time. Thanks for reading and letting me experiment with the buttons! Now it’s time for me to publish and see if any of them work! -Connie
You know those brown signs with white lettering that indicate a nearby attraction? I find them irresistible. Jesse and our kids seem to appreciate them, too. In the 19 years of being a parent, I can’t think of a single time anyone in my family has turned down the “opportunity” to follow a brown sign. I can confidently say we have checked out every scenic overlook, city park, museum, historic building, historic district, statue, sculpture, monument, memorial, bridge, what-have-you in the Rockford region.
Except one.
There is a brown sign indicating a train museum about 40 minutes from home in a town called Marengo. Jesse was the first to hear about this museum that’s a “repository of railroad history.”
“We should go,” he said in 2008, when we only had two kids.
“We should go,” he said in 2009, when we had three kids.
“We should go,” he said in 2010, when we had four kids.
“We should go,” he said in 2011. “It’s family friendly!”
We wanted to go, but the museum has limited hours. Every time we tried to plan a trip, the museum was closed.
“That’s too bad,” Jesse would say.
I didn’t think too much of it because I had only heard of the train museum through my husband. I had never seen a single ad — in print or online — about it. I had never seen a brown sign.
***
In 2014, the Des Plaines Oasis (a rest stop) permanently closed. This was bad news for the Kuntz family. We stopped there every time we went to Chicago. It was the last chance for us to use public restrooms without having to pay a toll or buy something. When the kids were little, this rest stop was essential to a successful trip.
When the Des Plaines Oasis was demolished, we were forced to use the truck stop in Marengo on our way to and fro Chicago. They have cheap gas, clean restrooms and you don’t have to pay a toll to exit or enter 90 but it’s somehow located too close and too far from home and our destinations. It wasn’t convenient but it is what we used. When we started going to this “pit stop,” I noticed the brown sign pointing the way to the train museum.
“Is that the train museum you’re always talking about?”
“Yes.”
***
I’ve lost count of how many times we stopped in Marengo to use the bathrooms. At least 100. And we’ve never once followed the brown sign. At some point, going to the train museum just seemed like work. And Marengo, I’m sure it’s a lovely town, but to us it’s where the toilets live. We don’t even call it Marengo. We call it “The Toilets.”
“Where are you right now?” I used to call Jesse when I knew he was on his way home from Chicago.
“Just passed The Toilets,” he’d answer. (Sometimes he called it “The Terlecks.”)
The Toilets = 40 minutes.
***
Now that the kids are older, we rarely stop at The Toilets in either direction but last week when I was driving Jesse to O’Hare, he said he needed to stop. As I drove toward the gas station, I saw the brown sign for the train museum.
“I can’t believe we never made it there,” I said.
“Maybe when we have grandkids,” he said.
***
Thanks for reading. Does your city have brown signs, too? -Connie
Witch-adjacent woman waits for Aldi to open during an ice storm. What fun!
Hike. I love hiking in northern Illinois. It doesn’t matter if I’m alone, with the Rockford Fringe, or with my family — it’s always marvelous. But I love hiking out of town (or state) even more. I frequently daydream about where I get to hike next.
Blog. It’s good writing practice and always takes me on new paths of truth. Blogging is like hiking for the mind.
Mushrooms. Foraging for choice mushrooms brings gladness to my heart every single time. I also love cooking ’em up!
Witchcraft. I started reading about witchcraft several years ago when a friend of mine asked me rather seriously, “Are you a witch?” I was like, “Uhhh, no….” He patiently pointed out that I love nature and the outdoors and gave off a certain vibe and should look into it. I don’t usually like being mansplained, but I trusted him enough to read up on the subject and very quickly understood what he was implying. Witchcraft isn’t as scary as it sounds and it’s really just a new way of paying attention to the environment and each other.
If you’re curious about“witching,” here’s something simple you can do: Pay attention to whatever wild animals you see this week. Notice which one you see the most. That animal is trying to tell you something. Google their spiritual meaning and see if you can make sense of the message. Example: If you see several hawks this week, that can mean you are angry about something and need to work through it.
Fasting. In the spring, I fast for 19 days in solidarity with my Baha’i and Baha’i-adjacent friends. I rarely see these friends anymore so this practice helps keep me in touch with them, at least spiritually. It is fun to think of them and pray for them.
Read Romance Novels. Here’s a link to some NPR-recommended romance novels. NPR also introduced me to Emily Henry and Abby Jimenez. I’ll admit I’m a little embarrassed whenever anyone catches me reading a romance novel but the truth is these books can be a lot of fun.
Aldi. I used to detest grocery shopping but a few years ago, I decided to give Aldi a try. My whole world brightened when I discovered this small, approachable store with self-checkout. Now I look forward to shopping. I only wish I thought cooking was fun.
Math. I wrote most of today’s blog when I was in the parking lot at Aldi, waiting for it to open. I don’t usually write on my phone, but I thought I’d give it a try. As such, I wasn’t paying technical attention to what I was writing, lost count and went over the “five item maximum.” I hope you don’t call the #bloganuary police on me!
Thanks for reading. I hope you had fun! -Connie
My first spore print! Another fun thing you can do for free. Place your mushroom “gills down” on a piece of paper and let it sit overnight. In the morning, the spores will have fallen onto the paper and you will be able to properly ID your mushroom AND you’ll have a lovely piece of art!
When I pop the kettle on, I make hot cocoa, not tea.
I fell asleep watching Call the Midwife last night. For those unfamiliar, the series follows the lives of several midwives and their community in London’s East End in the 1960s.
As I was drifting off, I heard a character call another character “pet.” I was half-asleep so I don’t remember who was calling who “pet.” All I remember is it was an adult calling another adult “pet.” It sounded something like this:
“Pop the kettle on, pet.”
“Okay, love.”
I’ve noticed the midwives issue a lot of nicknames. They do not discriminate. The call babies everything from “young sir” to “old bean.” They call old women everything from “sweetie” to “old thing.” They call women who’ve just given birth “brave girl” or “good girl” or “lass” or “precious.”
If I were to witness any of these “nickname moments” in real life, I’d be equal parts suspicious and pissed. But there’s something super special about the way the midwives do it — I listen for the nicknames and love every single one, including “pet.”
***
Why do you watch the telly when you’re trying to sleep, pet? Help me understand.
When my husband is out of town, I tend to sleep with the TV on. I like to watch / listen to dramatic television series that I think are perfectly written. Call the Midwife is one example. Mad Men is another. The Queen’s Gambit is also excellent. I was born in the 60s and am naturally drawn to the decade. Also, I cling to an absurd hope that listening to good television writing while I sleep will help me write better.
***
Why do you write this blog, pet? Help me understand.
I cling to an absurd hope that blogging will help me write better.
***
How do you feel about being called pet, pet? Help me understand.
In my imagination, I like it. In real life, I don’t. So I let the voice inside my head call me pet, but no probably one else.
***
Not a lot of time to write today. Thank you for reading. Do you like nicknames? -Connie
Pro Tip: Be sure to thank the “fucking dick and asshole” in your life.
I finished reading the book Slow AF Run Club by Martinus Evans this morning. I enjoyed it and recommend it to anyone who is interested in trying something new. Doesn’t have to be running ~ but I think it should be something intense. But this isn’t a book review. I’m writing because of Evans’ Acknowledgement section.
One of my favorite things to do when I complete any book is read the Acknowledgements. I look to see whose names I recognize. I pay attention to who gets their last name published versus those who are referred to by their first names or nicknames. I compare and contrast the acknowledgements of independent authors versus best selling authors versus famous authors.
It’s fascinating. Some are grateful to dozens of people and specific publishing teams and fill up three pages. Others write a single sentence of gratitude. Most say a cheeky version of “I can’t remember everyone but you know who you are!” Many thank a spouse, their kids or significant other. Ghostwriters and early manuscript readers are usually (intentionally) buried in the acknowledgements, a practice that always amuses me. God frequently gets a shout out, but not as much as editors and agents.
But in the hundreds (if not thousands) of acknowledgements I’ve read over the years, until this morning, I have never seen anyone thank a “fucking dick.”
Evans wrote, “I also want to shout out to the doctor who had the audacity to call me fat, laughed at me, and told me that I was going to die. I still think that you’re a fucking dick and asshole for saying what you said to me…”
Why haven’t I thought about acknowledging the fucking dicks in my life? I know several and I have been pissed at them for years. Decades even. Why haven’t I simply thanked them and used the energy from the doomed relationship to do something good for myself? For my family? For freakin’ society?
It’s not too late…
***
I just spent a few minutes writing my own “acknowledgements.” It didn’t take as long as I thought it would. It also didn’t rile me up. I expected the process to upset me, but I actually found the act of acknowledging simultaneously invigorating and peaceful. I “thanked” more than ten enemies. Similar to Martinus Evans, a few were doctors and nurses and I couldn’t remember their names either.
I’ve read numerous books and articles about forgiveness but the concept has been hard for me to grasp. Until now. Thank the fucker, forget their name, then go do something good. Bada bing, bada boom.
Thanks for reading. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go for a slow AF (and barefoot) run! -Connie
The view from our site. I can see my enemies coming!
Greetings from Rock Island State Park in northern Wisconsin. Jesse and I are camping at the place that alternates between being “our favorite place on Earth” and “Hell.” It all depends on whether or not we get stuck with loud neighbors. So far, so good in that department. Phew. All we can hear right now is the wind.
We got here a few hours ago, set up our site, ate some chips and hopped in the tent. It’s not even 8:30 p.m. and we’re tucked in for the night. No campfire this evening because it’s too windy.
We’re on a cliff that overlooks Lake Michigan. Stunning views. I recently read a book (Siri, Who Am I? by Sam Tschida)where one of the characters said he liked views that overlook large bodies of water because “you can see your enemies coming.”
I agree.
To be clear, the wind is not my enemy. The wind is my therapist, knocking all kinds of good sense into me.
Lake Michigan, thanks to the wind, has been tossing up huge waves with whitecaps for most of the day. The current is so strong that the weather authorities issued a “beach hazard.” That means no one was or is allowed in or on the waters. Well, maybe they’re “allowed” but it’s certainly not advised. The current could easily pull a swimmer under and the waves would cause certain shipwreck. We saw it happen here last summer. Somebody stayed out on the water past the warning and, in the morning, the boat was on its side, totally demolished on the rocks. It looked awful.
The wind is racing around us at 30 mph. Between the wind, tent and the lake, it’s noisy. There is a lot of…flapping.
I just checked. According to the “decibel meter” app on my iPhone, the loudness levels from the flapping are commensurate with a running vacuum cleaner or food blender. Hey, who doesn’t want to be surrounded by that when they’re camping on a remote island?
At least it’s still light outside. That means I’m not scared but I probably will be once darkness sets in. Camping makes me feel safe and alive…until it doesn’t. But dealing with my fears is part of what I like about camping.
We don’t camp very often. Once or twice a summer and it’s always hit or miss depending on our camping “neighbors.” Most of the time we have quiet neighbors but we’ve been stuck next to some obnoxious partiers a couple times. Now when we camp, when I see my enemies coming with their multiple tents, coolers filled with beer, lighter fluid and loud music, we immediately pack up and leave. I’m sure there are others who would put up a fight, but not us.
Sometimes I’m not sure why we risk our precious free time on camping.
The view from our tent.
Well, I know why I risk it. I love reading and writing while I camp. There’s something about it that makes me feel silly, serious and free all at once. And I love camping coffee. We got a new coffee pot for this trip and we can’t wait to break it in tomorrow morning. Oh, and I love the feeling of being outside for several days in a row. It unspools all my tension. Even though it’s loud, all this tent-flapping seems to be batting the stress out of me. Amazing. Next time you see me I’m gonna be hella peaceful.
The darkness has set in. It’s close to 10:00 p.m. I’m going to have to zip up the tent. The rain will be here soon and I’ll probably start “hearing footsteps” outside our tent. I always do. I always imagine there’s a creep with a hunchback running around our campsite, sniffing things he shouldn’t be sniffing. Generally speaking, I have a pretty good imagination, but it really comes alive at night when I’m camping.
Thanks for reading. Writing this has made me sleepy. Hopefully it has a relaxing effect on you, too. -Connie
P.S. If you’d like to subscribe to my (free) blog, please enter your email below. Also: This blog links to my Facebook page but I don’t have social media on my phone and cannot see or respond to any Facebook comments. You can “like” or comment below on WordPress and I will see that. But there is no pressure to do any of that. I am simply grateful for readers! ❤
Some people can think things through. Others like to talk things out.
I like thinking and talking, but if I’m to make any personal progress as a human being, I need to write. It’s my physical way of processing data, assessing facts and understanding situations. Writing is where I am most careful, most cautious and most concerned. Writing is how I understand a little bit more about myself and others.
Several years ago, I read Anne Lamott’s book Bird By Bird. Her brother had to do a bird project for his science class and procrastinated until the day before the project was due. Their dad said he’d help and they’d just go at the task “bird by bird.”
Some nerd impersonating Anne Lamott.
Since I read that book, I’ve gone “bird by bird” whenever I feel overwhelmed or even underwhelmed. It helps me break things down and build things up.
Similarly, when I struggle to understand a person, a personal situation, I like to write about it “word by word.”
This morning when I was walking Willow, I spied my first fresh mushroom of the season! I was so excited…until I took a closer look and realized it was a wine cork. In my defense, it was raining and my glasses were a little wet. I was disappointed, but not terribly so. It can’t stay cold forever. The earth is warming up and the mushrooms will be here soon!
***
When Angelo got home from school, he mentioned something about his “digital journal.” He keeps a daily diary for school. I did not know this! I asked if I could read it. He said I could. He started it in September and the last entry is today. It was riveting!
He had an entry in there about being backed into a corner by some bullies during science class. He wrote about how much he loves chess, cross country and track. He wrote about how much he likes skating “even though I’m bad at it.” He wrote about his goals. He had entries in there about reading at night, running with Fern on the weekends and making movies with Sam. He wrote about how much Jesse travels for work, how much he likes Roblox, The One and Only Ivan and The Grinch. He described our front yard as “bland” and how he wasn’t quiet during a “silent hike.” He wrote about how much he adores his oldest sister. The whole thing: freakin’ gold!
Angelo at a track meet. Photo by Fern.
But back to my morning mushroom mishap. I noticed that he wrote about me in November.
“My mom is obsessed with mushrooms,” he wrote. “It’s strange.”
Oh. Well, note to self.
Angelo gave me permission to write about this and has approved this blog. Before I sign off, I want to say one more thing. It’s a freakin’ gift to be able to read your kid’s journal. Feeling very grateful.
Thanks for reading my Angelo-approved blog. -Connie
Constance Kuntz 