The View from the Cheap Seats

Mind Games

Posted on November 8, 2013 by renbog

I am more determined than ever to run a 5K. It is amazing what a little taste of success will do for a person! Since running my mile last week on Tuesday and Thursday, I find myself feeling confident in my potential.

Today I decided to push myself a little bit. Instead of running my mile, I decided to try to push it to a mile and a half. I hadn’t run since Tuesday, so I was feeling that a little as I started. My calves really started to cramp up. I could hear one part of my brain saying, “This hurts. It’s too hard. Just stop and walk and try to run again tomorrow or Sunday. It’s okay to not run today. It’s been a few days. Your calves hurt. Just walk.” I could also hear the other part of my brain saying, “Just keep running through the pain, Renée. You’ve had this pain before. You’re not injuring yourself. You know it will go away. You’re just being lazy and making excuses. If you want to be a runner, you have to keep running. Ignore the pain. Listen to your music.” It was like the devil and the angel on my shoulder, each tempting me to do one thing. I really wanted to listen to the devil, but I knew the angel was making sense so I kept on running.

I finished my mile and a half. What a freaking confidence boost!

I wanted to keep going, but I feared I would push myself too hard, so I walked for the next half mile.

When I hit mile 2, I decided to run another half mile. I wanted to do another full mile, but again, I didn’t want to push myself to the point where I could be risking injury, so I help myself to that half mile.

I walked my last half mile.

It was during that last half mile that I told myself I was absolutely capable of this. I was already formulating plans in my mind on how to get more running in during the week so I could COMMIT to a 5K on December 14. My friend Emily works for Ottawa Elementary Schools, and they are holding their very first 5K in December. Last week I was thinking of maybe doing it. Today, I decided I AM doing it. (Interested? Here’s a link: http://oes141.eventbrite.com/)

I always knew that the mental aspect of any physical activity was significant, but I am discovering for myself just how truly significant it really is. I have to work unbelievably hard to push the negative, “Give it up,” thoughts out of my head and stay focused on the positive, “You’ve done this before, you can do it again,” thoughts.

Wait, did I just publicly commit to a 5K??????

Posted in Exercise | 2 Comments

Running Over the Same Old Ground

Posted on November 5, 2013 by renbog

When I was young, like maybe age 10 or so, my dad used to run all the time. This was in the Jim Fixx era, for those who remember him. My dad trained to run a marathon, and I used to ride my bike with him when he would go running. It was hard work — he would go on long runs, and we were in Omaha, so there were abundant hills. It was great daddy-daughter bonding time. I got to watch him run his first (and only) marathon. I was agog at his medal. It never occurred to me that I could run with him, but it sure looked like fun, especially when you can get a medal!

I joined the track team when I was s sophomore in high school. That was my “join everything” year. I got involved in all sorts of school activities. I was not at all athletic, so sports like basketball and volleyball were not choices for me. But I figured I could do track. It was running. Short distances. I could do that, easy. My parents bought me kick-ass track spikes. We would practice in the parking lot; we didn’t have a track. One lap around the parking lot was close to a 400. When I ran that parking lot, I ended up getting terrible shin splints. I would have to keep running that parking lot until I made time, which I never seemed to be able to do because my shins hurt so bad. I think I attended only one meet and then I quit the team.

A few years ago I went with my cousin to watch him run his very first half marathon (which turned out to be the first of many he ran). I was in awe of the runners I saw there, including my cousin. I sat on Lake Shore Drive and watched Pete and everyone else run by me and was envious that they could run like that. When I saw my cousin’s medal, I was so inspired I decided I wanted to run a half-marathon. I had a year to prepare for it. I was working out, just not running. So I just needed to change up my exercise routine.

I told people I wanted to run a half marathon. One person flat out told me I couldn’t do it. I was too fat to do it. He didn’t say it in those exact words, but by telling me how taxing it would be on my body, how much stress it would put on my heart, and then saying, “I don’t think you can realistically do it,” told me enough — too fat to run that kind of race. Truth be told, I wasn’t completely unconvinced he wasn’t right. But I tried. I ran on the treadmill and I had terrible shin splints. So I started running on the indoor track at the park district and I started practicing with the track kids I helped coach sometimes, and I often stayed after practice to run on the outdoor track. I got shin splints. I bought new shoes from an experienced running shoe dealer. I tied my shoes in a special way. I went to a podiatrist and paid bingo bucks for custom-made orthotics. I did the stretches my podiatrist gave me. I lived with bags of frozen peas strapped to my legs (or so it seemed). I had frozen Dixie cups of ice in my freezer to ice my shins. My friend Emily ran outside with me to help spur me on. I got shin splints over and over and over again. I tried running through the pain. It got worse. I finally stopped when I was suffering so terribly that I was limping down the hall at work. I was nearly crippling myself to keep running. But the words of my friend, “You can’t do it,” ended up ringing true. I couldn’t do it. So I quit. I kept working out, but I quit running.

I developed a new circle of friends once I started attending Blackhawks games regularly with my husband Jim. Many of them like to run, especially 5Ks. Many of my coworkers are also runners, again mostly 5Ks. Somewhere along the line, Jim became inspired to run a 5K so he started running. I would ask him if he ever had any pain while running. Nope, none beyond the normal strain you would feel from running. He ran inconsistently and in crappy shoes, and he completed the Hot Chocolate 5K this past weekend in less than 45 minutes. Pretty damn good for a guy in his mid-40s, who is overweight like me, and who runs inconsistently and drinks a lot of beer.

And I was jealous. I’ve been jealous since the moment he signed up to run that damn race because I knew he was going to do it. I’ve wanted to be a runner most of my life, and whenever I tried, I ended up saying, “I can’t.” So jealous. Irrationally and childishly jealous. So mature, I know, but I’m being honest here.

So I decided to try this crap again one more time. I started doing little run-walk routines outside. I tried 30 seconds on a treadmill and my shins screamed. But I found that when I was outside, the shins didn’t protest much at all. Well, this was new. No shin pain???? But I discovered that I was having trouble with my calves and my Achilles cramping up. In my head, all I could think was, “Really? Another obstacle?” But I plodded along and plodded along, running much more like a hippo than a gazelle, but I have slowly pushed my way through the pain as long as it didn’t feel like I was injuring myself. I’ve secretly been using the C25K app and alternating run/walk days with cardio/strength training days for a little bit now. Last week on Tuesday I decided to try something I hadn’t done in probably 30 years: I decided to run a mile. And I did it. One mile without stopping to walk. I tried it again on Thursday, and I did it. A mile. No stopping to walk. This made me raise my eyebrows and think, “Maybe?????” Today, I tried it again. And I did it again. And what a mental hurdle that was! Now I believe it’s just a matter of time. Now I believe that running a 5K with my husband is something I can do. I just need to continue to make my slow but steady progress. I need to run through the pain that isn’t injurious pain. I need to constantly remind myself that I have done this already, so when I’m huffing and puffing and wanting to stop, I can give myself a mental kick in the ass.

I’m taking a huge risk by posting this because what if something happens and I fail? There is still a shadow of a doubt in the back corner of my brain. If I don’t accomplish this, I will look like a fool to every person who bothered to read this. I will look like a quitter.

But right now, as I sit here with my Achilles a little achy and my hips a little achy, I am damn determined to be the girl who gets off the bike and runs. Be the girl who ends up being worth the investment in those expensive track spikes. Be the girl who runs like a, well… a gazippo. Be the girl who can run.

Posted in Exercise | 3 Comments

Hawks Tickets, Anyone?

Posted on August 22, 2013 by renbog

Apparently there is some drama today on social media over the cost of Blackhawks tickets for non-season ticket holders. People complaining the price hike is too much. Ticket prices were already too high. Nobody can afford to go to games anymore. The prices are prohibitive for a families to attend.

I say blah blah blah.

First mistake people are making is thing that a professional sports team is like your local park district sports team — that they care what you think. Professional sports is a big, huge, greedy for-profit business. The Hawks just won the Stanley Cup and people think they’re NOT going to raise ticket prices??????

Next mistake is thinking that the sports team actually cares about the fans. They don’t. They care about the fans’ MONEY. They want people who are going to spend money on the games and at the games. Trust me, if the ticket prices are too expensive for you, nobody cares. There is someone else with their credit card at the ready.

Attending professional sporting events is a luxury activity. It’s like vacationing abroad or flying first class or eating dinner at Shula’s or shopping at Tiffany’s. Those things can’t be done on the cheap. Only people WITH money or people willing to SHELL OUT the money get to do them. I love football, and I’d love to go to Bears games, but the ticket price is prohibitive to me, so I watch the games on television.

I’m sure someone is thinking, “Oh you think that way because you have season tickets,” or, “Oh, guess you’re one of the rich ones because you have season tickets.” I’m a teacher and my husband sells flowers — feel free to think we are rich. We have season tickets because we are willing to shell out the money. But it’s not without our own cost. We sell tickets to help defray the cost. We have to sacrifice other things in order to save the money to afford the season tickets. So it’s not “easy for me to say.” Right now we are able to pay our invoice. There may come a day when we can’t afford it anymore. BTW, I am also not foolish enough to believe the Hawks organization cares about the season ticket holders, either. They raised our prices (and we all bitched about them then ponied up our checks). If we didn’t, someone else would pay the invoice for our seats. Nobody on the team or in the front office would be going, “Oh, damn, we priced the Puckjims out of their seats! Raising those prices was a bad idea.” All they care about is that our invoice got paid. Even if we had to make money from a puppy mill to do it.

Time to wake up, Hawks ticket buyers. The Hawks do not care that now you can’t afford your little family outing. Someone else can, and those dollars are all that matters. They are all that has ever mattered.

Posted in Rants | 2 Comments

The Joe Paterno Effect

Posted on July 15, 2013 by renbog

A friend of mine posted this article on Facebook this morning, and I received a related article, too. It outlines the horrible abuse taking place in an assisted living facility. The residents, mentally and physically disabled young adults, endured being locked in a closet with with a steel door, being immobilized by wrestling take-downs and use of pressure points, and being drugged into submission. The event that finally finally caused this whole thing to bubble over was the rape of a 26 year old female resident who has autism and is cognitively impaired. This ALF (assisted living facility) had been recognized since opening in 2005 as being one shitty provider of care for the most vulnerable people in the world — people without the ability to care for themselves, people who are wholly dependent on others to take care of them.

Before I get to the main point I want to make, let me address a couple other things first. I have a little knowledge about this since I have two uncles who are developmentally disabled and live in a group home (ALF). I admit, I am not one of their primary caregivers and I don’t get to their house nearly as often as I would like or should get there. But I speak with my mother and my aunts and uncle and cousins who have more involvement with them so I have an understanding of what my uncles’ lives are like. Overall, they live in a good ALF. They are well cared for and have good food to eat and seem generally happy and healthy. However, that is not to say that there have not been times where things were amiss. Fortunately, my uncles have a large network of family who looks out for them and takes care of them and isn’t afraid to make a lot of noise to ensure their care. My uncles will always have someone from outside the ALF checking on their well being. Interestingly enough, the young woman mentioned in the article who was raped also has family looking out for her, but yet the abuse still happened. If abuse and neglect can happen to people in ALFs who have family watching over them, imagine what kind of abuse and neglect can be inflicted upon those residents who have no family and are wards of the state. Part of me hopes you have a vivid imagination, because whatever horrible scenarios you can dream up are probably someone’s reality.

One other point I’d like to make is an answer to a question that maybe you are asking yourself in your mind: if a family member is a resident in an ALF and being abused or neglected, why don’t you just remove that person from the abusive situation and take care of him or her yourself? Ahh, if only it were that easy…. Every situation is different, and often people live in ALFs for a reason; they need very specialized and intensive care that can simply be too much for one person to take on physically, emotionally, mentally, and/or financially. ALFs provide the care needed and also can offer meaningful social interactions and experiences. My uncles call their ALF their home. They have their own things in their own room. They live with other residents and they watch movies together and visit other homes together. They help do things like set the table for meals and put their clothes away in their dressers. They love visiting their family on holidays and for outings, but they also like to return home after that, just as anyone else does. Residents of ALFs are there because they are getting all of those needs met and having experiences that for various reason they would not be able to have living at home with parents or other family members. There are health and safety issues that need to be addressed, and sometimes those responsibilities are overwhelming so an ALF can be a great option. However, it is not easy to find an ALF. Many people don’t want them in their neighborhoods (my uncles’ home is kind of out in the middle of nowhere, for instance). People often confuse mentally disabled with mentally ill, and then make the ill-informed leap that mentally ill means means violent and dangerous, so they don’t want “those kinds of people” in their neighborhoods. Sometimes ALFs get denied because people don’t like they way “those people” look or act. I won’t even dignify those shallow, narrow-minded dumbasses with anymore writing about them. Sometimes zoning laws prevent ALFs. Houses in subdivisions are supposed to be single family dwellings and they say group homes are not single family so they are disallowed. I won’t talk about homes where people have a friend living with them or when a family has other members living with them, like maybe a married child and his or her spouse, or elderly parents. Those sound like extended families to me, not single families, but what do I know. ALFs are hard to come by and there is more demand than supply for them. Yanking someone from an ALF can mean a tough time getting that person back into one, if it happens at all.

Now, to my main point. Sadly, abuse and neglect happen in ALFs. Not all of them. Not all the time. But it does exist. In the case of this facility mentioned in the article, the following things were done to try to stop the neglect and abuse happening there:

Administrators for an organization called the Agency for Persons with Disabilities told the state health agency about the abuse.
Advocates for them developmentally disabled told the state health agency about the abuse.
An award-winning exposé appeared in the Miami Herald outlining the abuse taking place in the ALF.
The home’s administrator has been exposed as a fraud — his credentials have been shown to be fabricated
A fine of $20,000 was imposed for the falsifying of credentials and for the abuse and neglect occurring. Another fine of $21,00 was imposed upon the owners of the facility.
The state revoked the home’s status as a provider, which caused the home to be denied the collection of Medicaid dollars — the hope was this would force the facility to close, but alternate funding was found and the facility remained open.
The facility’s license was revoked three months ago.

Are you wondering how all this could have taken place since the opening of this home in 2005, and even after having its license revoked, the facility is still open and running? I call it the Joe Paterno Effect. It’s the ridiculous notion that following proper channels means you’ve done your job and you are now free and clear of any further responsibility. Maybe it’s too narrow to call it the Joe Paterno Effect since more than one person at Penn State followed protocol and ended there in regards to reporting Sandusky’s abuses, but Paterno has become the name and face for that set of horrors, so I’m using it here. Just “doing your job” isn’t enough. I’m sure everyone mentioned in those bullet points felt they did their job — they reported abuse to the proper agency. Fines were imposed. Federal aid dollars were denied. Licenses were revoked. All the proper channels followed. And a woman was raped as a result of following the proper channels.

My uncle Jimmy playing games at Dave & Busters last year at a Christmas party for the residents of his home and their families.

Don’t “do your job” and absolve yourself of further responsibility or involvement. Follow up. Talk to more agencies and more advocacy groups and more reporters and medical professionals and media outlets and your friends, family, and neighbors. Tell everyone about what you know is happening to these people. Go to the home and check on the residents. Take pictures. Write things down. Make noise and continue to make noise until you are heard and the abuse stops. Don’t make your phone call to the 800 number and stop. Don’t send your email or fill out the proper form and stop. IT’S NOT ENOUGH! Every day a place like this is allowed to stay open is another day of horrors for a resident there.

My uncle Joey playing Guitar Hero at Dave & Busters last Christmas at a party for the residents of his home and their families.

Posted in Rants, Social Issues | 3 Comments

Bandwagon: Friend or Foe?

Posted on June 28, 2013 by renbog

What with today being the parade for the Blackhawks, I am hearing lots about “bandwagon fans” on Twitter and Facebook. Some people hate them, so people don’t mind them. But to be honest, I’m not exactly sure what a bandwagon fan is, and no matter how that is defined, I’m not convinced bandwagon fans are all bad.

I have always considered myself a bandwagon fan. My husband has been a Blackhawks fan for his whole life. Goodness how he loves to tell stories about listening to games on the radio when he was a kid! Hockey was something given to him by his father, much like Jim passed it on to his (our) daughter. I was brought up on football, though, and hardly knew Chicago had a hockey team until I met Jim. He tried valiantly to get me to like hockey, but I was having none of it. Anybody who has heard my story of my first hockey game with Jim at Chicago Stadium knows it was one and done in my eyes. But when he talked to me about season tickets so he could take Becky, I hesitated only at the cost. But how could I say no — this was a great way for Jim and Becky to spend time together (I’d say QUALITY time but I’ve heard the St.Louis story enough to know my baby girl has been corrupted :-)) and bond like he and his father did, and it would get him off MY back about going to hockey games! So off they went to games and I started to hear the name Patrick Kane tossed around my house. Yes, Becky started talking about him because she had a crush (Evian bottle as proof of that — some of you know what I mean by that!), but she also started talking about other players, and talking about great passes or good saves and using terms like power play and penalty kill. I couldn’t be happier! Jim and becky had their bonding time and I didn’t have to do anything but nod and smile when Becky talked.

Then came 2010. Clearly, there was considerable buzz about this team, and every now and then when Jim and Becky would head off to the game, I’d flop on the couch and turn it on and watch a little. I had little clue what I was looking at, but I tried. I remember asking Eric Rabbers on Twitter once what TOI stood for (and I was scared as hell to ask because I didn’t want anyone to make fun of me), and I also remember once looking up trapezoid on Google once because I was too embarrassed to ask Jim what that was all about. But as playoffs started in 2010, I developed a little more interest in the game. I actually went to a playoff game or two and even attended one of the finals games. I watched the Hawks win the cup with Jim at a bar in Disney World. I got a Stanley Cup champions t-shirt AND tank top. And then I started going to a few more games and watching more on television when Jim and Becky were at the games and watching away games with Jim at home or at a bar. And then Becky went away to college and here I am now. Fully accepted as a Hawks fan. But I always pegged myself a bandwagon fan since I really did hop on in 2010. So is that a bandwagon fan — someone who hopped on somewhere in 2009 — 2010?

Or is the bandwagon fan someone who hops on and off year to year, depending on how the team is doing? This person only comes to the games for the beer and nachos or because of the free tickets they got from their boss. This person only watches at bars because it’s at a bar. This person is there for the highs and absent for the lows. This fan says the team is awesome one game and they suck another.

So — is a bandwagon fan someone who didn’t pay attention to the Hawks prior to 2010 or someone who jumps on for the success and then jumps off? Once you’re labeled as a bandwagon fan, can you become a real fan or is that moniker a life-long brand? Is the league of bandwagon fans absolutely worthy of disdain or are there some who might be good game watchers (WHISTLE!!!!!) and know how to spell Toews and cheer the anthem instead of record it on their phone?

Regardless of your opinion, I’ve got to believe the bandwagon has some benefits. First, some of them might actually become legit fans, like I did. It took some time and learning (and trust me, I am STILL learning and will ALWAYS be learning), but I am at the point where I was willing to pull rank on my own kid for the seat next to Jim during playoffs and the final (my mantra to her this year became, “Hey, YOU had 2010! This is MY year!”). There have GOT to be others who hopped on in 2010 that have stuck around and become true fans. I can’t be the only one. The bandwagon helps make up the future fan base in some way, I’m sure.

I’m betting that when many of us season ticket holders sell our tickets on the Exchange, those tickets are bought by bandwagon fans. They are the reason why we can sell a game against Detroit for so much profit and why we hear from the people who sit around us the next time we are back that whoever was in our seats kept standing up or didn’t know to wait for the whistle.

The bandwagon fans spend money. Lots of it. They buy tickets for more than face value. They buy beer and nachos and pretzels and ice cream. They buy hats and t-shirts and Tommy Hawk stuffed animals for their kids and those ridiculous goal patrol hats sometimes for their kids, sometimes for themselves (SMH).

The female bandwagon fans are the slutty looking chicks at the game. The high heels, the skin tight jeans or micro mini skirt, the tight, low cut Blackhawks t-shirt with the sparkles on it. Those chicks HAVE to be bandwagon fans — none of my female friends who are STH dress like that. At least at the games. What they do for their men at home might be a different story 🙂 So guys, you gotta admit that’s at least ONE perk of there being bandwagon fans.

So today as I head to the parade, I know that I will be there with oodles of bandwagon fans, and I’m not sure I’m not one of them. We’ve all jumped on a bandwagon at one point in our lives — did you have feathered hair? wear parachute pants? have a Members Only jacket? don a “Frankie say RELAX” shirt? go see Rocky Horror Picture Show only once? buy a song by a one-hit wonder? do the Macarena at a wedding? go see a movie because everyone else told you it was good? watch the video for “Gangnam Style”? Well, welcome to those bandwagons. Hell, many of us have bandwagoning in our future. How many people will be watching when (if?) the Chicago Cubs make it to the World Series? I despise baseball but I will surely be watching THAT World Series so I can say I saw it when (if?) the Cubs finally won. Bandwagon fans are everywhere and involved in everything. Including the Chicago Blackhawks.

Me and Jim in Disney World the day after the Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup in 2010. I am wearing the only piece of Blackhawks gear I owned at the time, which is a shirt I asked Jim to get me for Mother’s Day.

Posted in Rants | Leave a comment

Because it’s the Cup

Posted on June 25, 2013 by renbog

I was in the bar at the Animal Kingdom Lodge in Walt Disney World when the Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup in 2010. I had a passing interest in hockey because Jim and Becky had been going to games together. It was a terrific father-daughter bonding activity for them, and Jim turned his little girl into a lifelong Hawks fan. He had been trying for years to do the same for me, but I just couldn’t get into it. But by the time Jim and Becky started attending games, I started paying attention more and learning a little bit about the game. So of course when the Hawks started having a stellar year and were on track to win the Cup, I was interested in seeing how the story would end. (As a side note, I wonder if that makes me one of those bandwagon fans I always hear about……) I sat next to Jim at that bar in Disney World and watched the game, but I also watched my husband stress out over that game. When it went into overtime, he looked at me and said quietly, “I dont think I can handle this.” I just patted his arm. I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t feel this the way he did. When Patrick Kane scored that crazy goal in OT to win the Cup, at first, Jim was stunned, he didn’t react outwardly. Then he burst into tears and cried like a little boy who dropped his ice cream cone. And I just put my arm around him and let him cry on my shoulder. I was happy the Hawks won, but it wasn’t the emotional experience it was for Jim.

I paid more attention to the Hawks after that. I started to watch games and I started to ask questions, trying to learn about the game. (Yep, pretty sure that makes me a bandwagon fan.) Jim and Becky kept going to games, but as happens with teenagers, they start to get involved with other things and Becky couldn’t go to all the games, so I said I’d go to a few. By the time Becky was in the end of her senior year and she went away to college, I had become Jim’s hockey game date, and I was hooked on the game. Jim taught me how to watch the game (although I still lose the puck at times) but more importantly, he introduced me to a group of people who really love the game like he does and I have spent a lot of time quietly listening to all of them discuss games we attended or watched or read what they say on Twitter and Facebook. At some point, I managed to assimilate myself into this hockey family and everyone accepted me as the new Becky.

So, now I am a Hawks fan, and it happens the year they season starts with a lockout. I was just frustrated as anyone else because I finally had a grip on the game and I wanted to work on my game-watching technique. The winning streak the Hawks were on at the start of the season energized my interest and before I knew it, I was fully emotionally invested in this game and this team. I started having favorite players and players I didn’t like, and I had REASONS for it, not just because someone was cute or not. I was getting frustrated at things like losing face offs or the power play (but let’s not get into THAT right now) and talking to people about it. And I discovered just how unfun playoff hockey is. It was a roller coaster, to say the least. And when I went to India, I found myself getting up at 5:30 in the morning to watch the games I was missing online (I am still indebted to Bryan Eitz for getting me a website where I could watch the games — my NBC iPad app didn’t like streaming in India).

And then we come to yesterday. June 24, 2013. I watched the hell out of that game. I ended up taking out my contacts because my eyes were so dry — I refused to blink for fear of missing something. I apologized more than once and am still apologizing to Amy Jacobson for grabbing her arm every time that puck got anywhere near Tukka Rask. By the time there was five minutes left in the game, I couldn’t sit anymore. In my head, I was trying to tell myself if the Hawks lost this game, there was still one more chance at the Cup, but I didn’t (and still don’t) want to think about what a game 7 Stanley Cup final game at the United Center would be like. When the game was tied, I momentarily thought, “Okay, I guess I have to mentally prepare for the hell that is known as overtime,” but I barely got the thought completed when one more goal was scored and suddenly we were in place to win the game. When the clock stopped at zero, I found myself jumping, screaming, yelling crying, laughing, cheering with a huge crowd of people. It was loud and joyous and energizing and exhausting all at once. This time Jim cheered and he hugged me like I had hugged him in 2010. It was a great connecting moment for me.

Now, maybe you think, “Get over it. It’s just a game.” And I would reply with, I know exactly how you feel and I know exactly what you mean. I said that to Jim plenty of times. I remember a fight we had when he bought a plane ticket to come to Chicago from Disney World in 2010. He bought it in case the Hawks could win the Cup in Chicago. He was actually going to leave a family vacation in Disney World to go to a hockey game! I told him, “it’s just a game.” There were times even after the 2010 win I shrugged and said it was just a game. But now I realize why the game is more than a game. It’s because the game is a bonding experience. Yes, it is exciting that the Chicago Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup. Any fan of the team would find that thrilling. But to me, what made the win so emotional is the investment I made in the game, which involves much more than money spent on tickets or time watching the games. It’s the common thread that hockey provided me through my husband and my daughter and all these wonderful people I now refer to as my Blackhawks family. Getting this group of fans together to watch this game formed a critical mass. We had all come together throughout the season to watch hockey and talk about hockey while being weaved into each others’ lives. I saw this clearly in two ways last night. One way was through my own personal experience. I would have enjoyed sitting at home to watch the game last night. But it was special because I was with so many of the people I have come to care about (I can’t name all the names because I will surely forget someone!). Not everyone I call my Hawks family was there; not even my whole regular family was there (Becky was watching from Edwardsville, hopefully celebrating the victory loud enough for all the Blues fans to hear). But there was enough of a personal connection there last night with everyone that made the victory an emotional experience. The other way I know that it’s more than just a game is because of a man I never met. Everyone there mentioned TBird at least once. His jersey showed up for this game. He had a reserved seat at our tables. And as we were celebrating the win, I heard his wife, kids, and friends all tell him, “This one’s for you! Wish you were here!” If this was just a game, we all would have stayed home to watch the game. But everyone came together to experience something that has connected them — some for many, many years, some for a shorter amount of time.

My friend from high school, Danielle, commented on some pictures I posted of friends drinking from a replica Stanley Cup last night, saying, “It’s like Communion.” My dear friend Larry, replied, “Not like — it IS.” And how true both of those statements are. No, I’m not being sacrilegious. But what I am saying is that we all came together — in body and in spirit — for this team and this game. And if that isn’t a communion, I don’t know what is.

So a personal, heartfelt thank you to everyone who is counted among my Hawks family for making my first Stanley Cup win as a dedicated fan so memorable. I look forward to many more!

Some of my Hawks family last night, celebrating the Stanley Cup victory.

Posted in Emotional Outlet | 1 Comment

Goodbye Mumbai

Posted on June 19, 2013 by renbog

In less than four hours I will be heading to the airport top come home. In case you have ever wondered, I believe it takes only slightly over 2 weeks to become acclimated to a location and start to feel like you’ve settled into a groove because that is how I feel right now. I feel like I have settled into a routine or a way of living and now I have to uproot myself again. I have some pretty powerful experiences I am taking back to reality with me.

Never again will I complain about bad traffic because now I have a better understanding of what bad traffic really means. I will have to get used to cars staying in their lanes and motorcycles not zipping in between cars on the road. I will have to get used to the driver being on the left side of the car and driving on the right side of the road again.

Never again will I be able to easily dismiss someone begging on the street. I don’t know if that person is legitimately hungry or not. There were times I had to ignore people here for safety reasons — theirs and mine. But when there are kids at my car window asking for food, that can’t be ignored. Or forgotten.

Never again will I take the comforts of my home or country for granted. I have seen the way people live in this country — the very wealthy (like the 27-story home of Mukesh Ambani, the CEO of Reliance Industries), the professionals (like my father), the working class (like Ahmed), the very poor (like the slums we have driven through), and the homeless (like the people going to the bathroom and sleeping on the sidewalks). The social spectrum here is mind-boggling. I wonder how odd it must be for Ahmed sometimes to spend his days working in one social world and living in a very different social world.

Speaking of Ahmed, I find it bizarre that I have seen this man nearly every day for the past two weeks, actually spent quite a bit of time with him as he has driven us so many places, and after today, it is likely I will never see him again. It is so strange to form a relationship with someone just to have it end so cleanly.

Jim told me last night that I would be sad to leave. And he is right. It’s not just sad to leave my father; I have worried about him being lonely every day he has been here, and I will worry about it even more now that we are all up and leaving him. But I will be sad because I feel like part of this country is in me now, like I have found my place a little bit here, found a niche that I could be comfortable in. And chances are I will never come back to this little niche of mine in the world again. This was a trip of a lifetimes, one I didn’t even know I wanted to take until I got here. And now I have to leave it behind.

Goodbye, and thank you, Mumbai, for teaching me so much about this world I live in. I understand so much more than I did before.

Never agin will I be able to ignore the fact that there are homeless and neglected animals in this part of the world. Going with Brenda to give dogs on the street food and treats made me feel good and sad at the same time. It was so little we did for those pups. Friends of my dad who adopted an Indian street dog told us that when animal aid groups pick the dogs up to spay/neuter them and give them their shots, they hold on to the dogs for a short time to see if they get adopted. If not, they take the dogs back to where they were picked up and release them there. It’s easier for the dogs to be released back to an area they are familiar with. I have been wrestling with this since I heard about it. Which is more humane — the way they do this in Mumbai, releasing the dog back to the streets, or the way we do it, euthanizing the dog? Which is the lesser of two evils?

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Do What You Can with What You Have

Posted on June 17, 2013 by renbog

Today, we stopped at McDonald’s for lunch. We came back to the car to eat while Ahmed ran inside to get some food for himself. While we were eating, a little girl of maybe age 7 came up to the windows with a toddler in her arms wanting food. None of us could eat our lunch in good faith with hungry kids staring at us through the window. We all ate a few bites of our sandwiches and fries and took a sip off our drinks then handed them out the window to the girl who shared the food with the toddler she had in her arms. Some other kids came over by her and she shared wit them, too. It wasn’t a lot of food, but it was all we had at the moment. When Ahmed came back to the car, he had no idea we had given food to the kids. One little boy came up to him and he handed over the rest of his drink to the boy. This really warmed my heart because Ahmed certainly isn’t rich by any stretch of the imagination, but he knew this little boy needed the drink more than he did. More striking to me that he did this is because my father explained to me that many Indians can be quite cruel to other Indians, mostly related to the caste system that is technically illegal but still exists in the form of social strata. Ahmed went against what might be typically expected of Indians. I also recognized that we did what we often do not do at home. Be honest: how many times have we seen someone panhandling and we give nothing, and in fact, might even curl our lips a little at that person? I’m sure we all have, myself included. We could have ignored those kids, but we didn’t. We did what we could with what we had.

After dinner, we saw a very skinny dog. Truth be told, lots of the street dogs you see here don’t appear to be starving. They seem to be pretty street-savvy scavengers. Not that it isn’t sad to see so many homeless dogs, but this pup looked particularly skinny. When we got back to the apartment, Brenda said, “We are going back to find that dog.” She grabbed her dog food and dog treats and led me and my dad out the door. We found that dog and gave him food and treats as well as at least a half dozen other dogs tonight. We didn’t have enough food to give each dog his or her fill. We didn’t have enough food to feed all the homeless dogs. But we did what we could with what we had.

One thing I have learned here is that the needs of many people and animals are great, overwhelming to be honest. When you see so many people, children, animals in such great need and feel overwhelmed, sometimes the easiest thing to do is nothing because there is no way you can solve the problems. But doing nothing just contributes to the problem. So do what you can with what you have. I won’t ever forget the sight of those kids eating McDonald’s on the side of the road or that skinny, skittish puppy eating dog food off the ground. But I can ease a bit of the ache inside by knowing all of us today did what we could with what we had.

The McDonald’s where we shared our lunches with some hungry children.

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When in Rome, or Mumbai

Posted on June 17, 2013 by renbog

Yesterday I got to experience a small taste of everyday Indian life. The day started by going to a little mall to shop. It was an outdoor mall, but since it is monsoon, it is mostly covered with tarps. Most of the little shops are like cubbies and I’m betting the luckier shops are the ones that are a step up from the sidewalk because the ones at the same level of the sidewalk were flooded and people were sweeping water out of the stores. I stopped at one shop to look at kurtas. I decided against buying a sari because I ally felt that despite how pretty they are, I just wouldn’t get much use out of a sari. But a kurta I would definitely wear, and I simply don’t care what anyone thinks about it! I found one (a little tricky since I am, um, larger than the average Indian) and I plan to find a few more. It is so, so, so comfortable! No wonder so many women wear them here! I got a top, 2 pair of pants, and a scarf for 1700 rupees, which is about $30.

When we were done at the mall, we dashed across the street in the rain to the grocery store. Haiko, I believe was the name of the store. It was crazy crowded and loud. There was a DJ set up at the entrance blasting music. Not sure why, but it added to the general chaos in the store. I shot some video but then security stopped me and told me cameras were not allowed. When you go into a store, you have to check your shopping bags and umbrellas. Some places, bigger shopping areas, hotels, you also have to have purses x-rayed and go through metal detectors. When you leave a grocery store, an employee checks your merchandise against your receipt and stamps it, lime they do when you leave Sam’s Club.

In the evening, my dad and I went out for dinner for Father’s Day. First we stopped at another grocery store, D-Mart, and this one was way crazier than Haiko! Imagine Black Friday crowds. it was that crammed with people. My dad says D-Mart is like that all the time. I wanted to take some video, but I didn’t want to get busted again, so I passed. Next we walked to Chili’s, which has a menu very similar to the menu at home. There are some items, like tandoori chicken sandwich, that are not on the menu at home, and there are more vegetarian items than on the menu at home. And yes, there are burgers on the menu, too! When we left Chili’s, it was a drenching rain outside. It was the kind of rain kids dream about. It was warm outside and the rain was warm water, it was pouring down in buckets, and there were huge swirling puddles everywhere. Umbrellas didn’t matter much. I hunkered down under my umbrella, but I noticed many people on the street didn’t have umbrellas, and many who did were just strolling along in the rain. Nobody was rushing to get out of it. Monsoon is just accepted here. In fact, my father says many people like it because everything greens up and gets washed clean. To be honest, I can tolerate it since I am just visiting, but it is going to rain every day for nearly the next 3 to 4 months, and I can’t imagine rain like that every day and cloudy skies for that long. It would drive me absolutely over the edge.

It was business as usual in the drenching rains of the monsoon here in Mumbai yesterday. And if the Indians can accept it and go about their lives, then I can do it, too, for the short time I am here.

Me in my new kurta!

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What Makes a House a Home

Posted on June 14, 2013 by renbog

Tonight was one of the most interesting experiences of my trip to India and maybe my life. We visited Ahmed at his house for dinner.

Think about what preconceived ideas you have about India, especially the poverty. That image you probably have in your mind of people crowded together in small spaces, dingy looking, dogs, cats, rats, trash, noisy — yep, that is what it is like, and that is what it was like to visit Ahmed in his village.

We had to walk through twisty-turny, narrow walkways to get to his home after parking. As we walked, we saw numerous stray dogs and cats. As we were leaving, Ahmed pointed pout rats to us. Near the parking area there was a large pile of garbage. Ahmed explained that the city does come pick up their garbage, but during monsoon, it is not picked up regularly. Once we got into the walkways, there was not trash to be seen. In fact, in the little walkways there was very little garbage; you would see more on the streets of Chicago than you would in the little walkways. As we walked through, people stopped to look at us. On the way home, Ahmed said that he and his family were like celebrities now because foreigners never come to his village to visit.

Ahmed’s house is three rooms, but I was only in the largest of the three, which is the main living area. I would estimate the room was approximately 10 x 12, and it was spread with a nice soft blanket for us to sit on. No air conditioning, but he had a new fan running that kept the air moving and the room was humid but comfortable. There was no furniture for sitting. Eventually, Ahmed did go get a chair, presumably from a neighbor, for Lillian. A great deal of respect is offered to Lillian since she is elderly. Dinner was spread out on the floor for us. There were chicken legs (Ahmed’s three year old son Ali calls them chicken lollipops), chicken and gravy, and chicken biryani along with rice, dal, and chapati. It was all really very delicious! I am pretty sure his wife Noor Janh (not sure of spelling — pronounced “Noorja”) bought new dishes and glasses for the dinner; the glasses still had stickers on them. His family was there — some sisters, a brother, and his mother — but none of them ate while we ate. It seemed paramount to them that we eat our fill before they considered touching any food. While we were visiting, a stray cat walked in and just sat by the door. When Ahmed started to put food out, the cat crept closer and started to mew. I am certain that cat wanted some food, but Ahmed shooed her out.

While we were there, Ahmed showed us pictures of his daughter Masooma (sp?) from when she was a baby. He also showed us pictures from his wedding as well as the video. I can tell you two things for certain: one, the flowers were exquisite and extravagant; and two, Noor Jahn had on some of the most beautiful clothing I have ever seen. American brides talk about wanting bling; trust me, they don’t have bling compared to what Noor Janh had! She was a vision in flowers and sparkle.

I would be lying if I said that the experience wasn’t a bit on the surreal side. While his home was in what we in the U.S. would call a slum, it was clean and comfortable, and he had electricity, running water, a TV with a DVD player, a refrigerator, and a recently purchased washer and dryer. In some ways, he lives better than the poor in our country, yet in some ways he is worse off than the poor in our country. While I was not uncomfortable in his home (except for being old and fat and not the most graceful getting down on the floor or getting up from it, either), I was struck by how differently he lived from me. I will return from this trip not taking one single thing in my life for granted. Not my home or car or possessions or family or friends or pets.

Ahmed was apologetic, saying he has a small home, but I can tell you that his home might have been small, and it might have been sparse, but it was filled with a family who went out of the way to make us feel honored and welcomed there. Tonight was proof positive that someone absolutely does not have a home based on the material things in the house or the size of the house or the appearance of the house. It has everything to do with the people who fill it, who are proud of where they live and want their guests to be welcome in the house.