Our Place

We won't be at our apartment for Thanksgiving this weekend, which is good because that means we'll be out with friends and family, soaking up togetherness and food and jokes and football and wine. I'm excited. As great as it is to get out and socialize, lately I've been feeling so lucky to have an apartment like ours. The cool story is that our building used to be an Ovaltine Factory. Somewhere along the way it went out of business and someone got the idea to renovate it into a bunch of loft apartments. That means we have concrete factory floors, 16 foot ceilings, and all the duct work/pipes exposed. Maybe it's the Christmas spirit, maybe it's the extra dose of helpfulness via my husband to clean up when I've had lots of nights home late from work. Either way, I love this place. I think the best part is the guy I share it with. Check out our digs!

Warm Fuzzies

Going home to Wisconsin is so sweet. I appreciate it more and more as time goes on. Isn't that funny? Seven years ago, all I wanted was to get out of dodge and live within 30 minutes of a quality mall. Now I miss the stars and gravel driveway and fresh air and would happily chat around a fire every night of my life.

Why does it end up that way? That such an adventurous mind always wanders back to a town of just around 2,000 inhabitants, most of whom are from the same few Dutch families who also happen to know mine and everything about it. That used to be suffocating to me (I imagine in some ways it still would be), yet now I also see the good side of it: people care. In the Western Suburbs of Chicago, there are surely caring people, but you sort of need to make a concerted effort to build those communities where everyone is in everyone else's business. In some ways I think we were meant to live in that way, up in one another's business, whether we be a city mouse or a country mouse (sorry for that metaphor, I tend to think in Children's Literature most of my day). I was talking to a friend yesterday who said that it's important to build those communities around you even as adults, even if it's a little clumsy and fumbling, a little artificial feeling when trying to figure out how to live in and through this life with others. Sure, I have Brian and he has me, but we are more than just there for the other. We all need one another. And I suppose that's the thing that I love about my small town community. Everyone needs each other there: the construction guy buys his groceries from the grocery guy, and the grocery guy hires the construction guy to add an addition on his house. It's a cool thing.

One of these small town sort of connections allowed my dad to find a great deal on a used International Harvester Tractor, his current Pride and Joy. He loves that thing. It's got a great retro look, and I think it will be credited with some cool changes to the property around my house. Brian and I went to The Grove for the weekend a few weeks ago to check it out for ourselves. That, grouped with a bonfire Saturday night and a walk around our land with my mom on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, called for some serious warm fuzzes.

 

Sweet Home Chicago

I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but this weekend was the first time Chicago really felt something like home.

Friday night I got home from parent-teacher conferences at 7:00 and the fun began. I got to go to The Second City to see their mainstage show. Honestly, this is a small dream come true in and of itself. I absolutely love Tina Fey, Steve Carrell, and others who started there and have been intrigued by improv/stand-up since my Jerry Seinfeld fangirl days as a little kid. It was absolutely hilarious. They definitely used the annoying political jokes as a crutch, but all the other more original stuff was great. Part of me wants to quit everything and do that with my life. And then I remember that I'm not that funny. And that I have a bad case of stage fright. So I'll stick with admiring and laughing at those who are.

Saturday is really when this whole love affair with Chicago set in. I woke up and my roommates were gone and had the day/apartment to myself. I had hot apple cider and toast in my pajamas and watched some netflix as I woke up. It was bliss. There I was, sitting in the apartment that I pay the rent for myself, eating food that I bought myself, enjoying a weekend off from the real adult job that I actually do myself. I know that sounds horribly narcissistic, but to finally realize that you have some note of self-sufficiency after 23 years of being a kid/student dependent on my parents to keep me alive, that felt pretty good. Let's be honest, at the first sign of car trouble I still call my dad for advice. At the first stage of planning a trip I get my mom on the phone for plane ticket tips. When I need a copy of my social security card scanned and e-mailed to whoever needs it, Lord knows my mother helps me out with that stuff to this day. But just knowing that I'm not a completely helpless brat made me feel somewhat accomplished. Like I had somehow earned the right to sit down and be lazy for two hours on a Saturday morning.

My lovely view from the couch.  

Since I made a really drastic decision this summer to run a 15k (SERIOUSLY WHAT WAS I THINKING) the first weekend of November, I thought I'd get off the couch and get a long run in when I finally had some free time in the daylight. To start things off, it was absolutely beautiful outside. Perfect 50 degree fall day. Changing leaves and all. I set out and decided to just go for a long time. That's the only plan I had. The first few blocks in my neighborhood were full of friendly waves and "good afternoons" to passersby. Very Sesame Street.

So I set out and headed downtown from my apartment and ended up on Michigan Avenue. This is where Millenium Park, The Bean, the face fountains, The Art Institute, and the weird-only-legs-statues reside. Those are a lot of my favorite touristy Chicago things, and I have often made entire special trips to downtown Chicago to enjoy those things specifically. (No, I won't ever get sick of taking pictures of myself and friends in The Bean. Sorry.) As I jogged and weaved through crowds of people who were there for these very attractions, and enjoying some people-watching as I meandered, it hit me: I'm not one of them anymore. I used to be the one planning the hassle of getting downtown, wearing "sensible" shoes for walking, backpack in tow, to see all of these Chicago attractions. Now I was just a girl who left her apartment and happened to pass these things on her Saturday morning run.

I never thought I'd have that true this is home feeling while living in the city. Looking back, I guess that's a silly notion because I lived in a city across an ocean where I didn't speak the language and I fell in love with that. I guess I just always thought I'm a hick Wisconsinite at heart and would never feel exactly right as a city girl, but I do. Maybe I'm neither. Maybe I'm both?

I've written about this once before, right as I was ready to leave Spain for home again after living abroad for four months. I'm starting to get that same feeling about Chicago, the people, the places, the food, the whole vibe. When you keep your capital-H-Home (for me, that is the Lord) with you all the time, your home travels with you and becomes wherever you go. These places you inhabit become a part of who you are. They stay with you, and you with them. It's crazy, too, because the real estate that Wisconsin, Sevilla, Trinity, and Chicago and the people that go with all of those places have staked out in my heart just makes me swell up with love for all of them so much more. You'd think that you'd spread yourself thin by reaching out to new people and new horizons, but somehow it's made my heart stretch that much bigger. That stretching is not free from growing pains, of course. I have my moments where I want to run back and start it all over, closing up the doors and claiming my spot on Main Street in Cedar Grove once and for all, but that feeling always passes to give way to a larger peace that settles in. I don't know how to even put it into words so that it makes sense.

I'm not sure how I got here to this place, but whatever it is, I'm happy to be here. And to feel that feeling here. To feel like home.

Rooted

Sometimes being back in Cedar Grove, Wisconsin, surrounded by family, is all I need to remember who I am again. (Cue sentimental song about growing up) My relatives own acres of swampland with the Onion River running through it and we just spent the afternoon there for a Memorial Day picnic. Yes, the Onion River is its real name. Yes, I also catch myself saying "crick" when the rest of society calls it a "creek." The midwest has plenty of things to poke fun about, and by my association with it, that includes me too. My area has people with a strong Wisconsin accent, lots of hunting and fishing types, and you may or may not get stuck behind a large piece of farming equipment on your daily drive. We aren't the most fashionable or fast-paced area, but that's okay too.

I remember when I read The Help, Kathryn Stockett, the author, wrote that she felt defensive of Jackson, Missisippi. She felt that she could criticize and comment on Jackson because it was her hometown, but when others did so she grew pretty protective.  I have plenty to say about how much I hate my own accent sometimes and the fact that the nearest mall is 40 minutes away, but I guess according to this Kathryn Stockett lady I'm allowed. Either way, accents and all, I love where I'm from, both the place and the family.

Sunset over my backyard 

Xander and Sawyer (nephew and niece) playing in the sprinkler

Soyjoy. 

Xan man. 

Family gatherings DOWN BY THE RIVER! (Yes, old school Chris Farley reference)

Love these times. 

One Year.

Welp. It's been one whole year.

For me, the first day of last year was not on January 1st. Last year started on May 6th. That's when my life started over; that's when the new beginning really came.

Today marks the 366th (or is it one more than that due to Leap Year? meh cut me some slack here) day I've been back in the United States. Back from my home in Sevilla, España and my four-month adventure there. A year ago I took the flight back home to Chicago. A year ago I squeaked out broken and pathetic "Te amo," to Jose Antonio, my Spanish brother as he carried my (15 kg over the required limit) luggage to the airport bus. A year ago I said tearful goodbyes to some of the best people and friends I've ever met as they went to their own home states. A year ago I sprinted through the international gate when I saw my older brother Rudi grinning from ear to ear as my official welcome party back to the U S of A.

Since then a lot has happened.

I can't even believe how much.

I returned to Cedar Grove, Wisconsin for the first time after my grandma was no longer residing there. I got my first car. I met an amazing mentor and got the privilege of watching her kids for the summer. I went out with my friends and realized what cool people I know. I worked for the school newspaper and found my weird nerdy love for the news section. I played my last season of soccer ever. I got somewhat better at a regular devotional life. I cut my bangs back in. I got a new sister (to be made official this September!). I had a few (okay, more than a few) freakouts about the future. I took part in a few awful conversations. I took part in many more wonderful ones. I laughed my butt off (figuratively) with my roommates, my best friends. I road-tripped like nobody's business. I got hired for my first real job. I (almost) completed my senior year of college.

But it wasn't just my year. It was your year too. Just think, everyone could make a list like this. Think how much happens in a year to each and every person. Think of all the happiness, joy, heartbreak, love, and growing that happened. If we tried to write it all down, there wouldn't be enough paper on earth to tell our collective stories.

So. How does it feel to be back, one year later? Sometimes I really miss it. Sometimes I feel like I led a secret life in Spain that nobody here at home really understands. That sometimes I have a hard time trying to communicate who the real, post-Spain Anna truly is. Do I want to go back? Without a doubt. But it was time to come home. There's other things I want and need to do too. There are adventures I'm ready for right here. There are mountains to climb in Chicago. What will I be saying the first week of May a year from now? What will you be saying? How will we have changed?

I have no idea. But I can't wait to find out. 

Back to The Grove

The sign with my town's name on it says: Cedar Grove. Population 1887. Not joking. The last stretch of the major highway before my house has two lanes. Yes, just two, all you Chicago and other big city people. 

Yep, I am home for Christmas break. In good old Wisconsin for the next six days. And while it is wonderful to be back here, it is a weird feeling to be back. Here are the top ten reasons why it's both good AND weird to be home: 

1. It's just my parents and I. While I love watching the Survivor 3-hour season finale with Brian and Kathy just as much as the next guy, a family activity void of constant sarcastic and loud conversation with my older brothers and significant others present is eerily quiet. 

2. My room. I know everyone goes through this to some extent when they are in the college/young adult/in-between stages. While it is remarkably neater and more organized than when I inhabited it full time, it makes me sad to walk into MY room and see that it has transitioned to a guest room/storage room/mom's 2nd closet. Que triste. At least they have maintained the presence of 3 important elements: the orange and yellow paint choice (that's a high school freshman girl decision for you), the van Gogh prints on the walls (love those then and still now), and my ever-faithful childhood stuffed Saint Bernard named Snowball (or "Snow" for short.) 

My dad and I, last year on Christmas morning

3. The free time. Exams are finished. Schoolwork is done. My jobs are back in Palos Heights, IL where my college is located. And here I am, with the open fields, the smell of the neighboring farm, and the spare time to contemplate those big decisions like: Should I commit to Facebook timeline? and Should I paint my nails? And let's not forget the ever-pressing question: Is my desire to go running greater than my hatred for the freezing cold weather outside? I need a hobby, people. 

4. The food. This is a win and lose, depending on how you look at it. Win, because my mother happens to be ridiculously talented in the dinner department. Lose, because I am trying to be healthy and the steady supply of Doritos and Oreos in the pantry is not helping my cause. One thing I do appreciate is the fact that the basement freezer is always stocked with Jack's Naturally Rising Frozen Pizzas. A luxury I don't get to enjoy while I'm at school. 

5. DVR. We don't have DVR at my house at school, and watching my shows whenever I want them is bliss. However. My parents' recording needs do not always equal my own. I need a constant stream of How I Met Your Mother, New Girl, and It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. But when I scroll through the options of recorded television, I find House Hunters, House Hunters International Edition, Top Chef, and Iron Chef America (Apparently my parents want to move and open their own restaurant). We actually are in complete agreement over two shows: Jeopardy and Seinfeld. Thankfully. 

6. There is no traffic here. And I mean no traffic. If you wait behind more than two cars at a four-way stop sign, you are allowed start to get irritated with the unnecessary delay. Or you should probably blame yourself for not taking the back roads. 

7. Places to go, People to see. There is this weird mixture on break from college of wanting to see everyone from your old high school friendships, balancing everyone's schedules, and realizing that you can't see everyone in the short time you have. While I've grown apart from some people (somewhat sad to me), I have loved seeing over the years the friends that, no matter the time or distance between us, can pick up with me where we left off. These are the people who know me for who I am and let me just be me. (Me being me can mean funny or obnoxious, depending on your perspective. But I don't care.) 

8. My Wisconsin accent. It's dramatically more pronounced when I'm home. What can I say? Surround me with my own kind and I start to make "TOAA-st" instead of toast and put on my "COE-aahhtt" instead of my coat. It's a curse. But hey. It's who I am. Usually I can switch back and forth to some degree, but over Christmas break I give in completely to Wisconsinese. 

9. I don't have class for a MONTH. That is a sweet sentence to write right now, at this moment immediately following finals. But I can honestly say I get giddy with excitement when a new semester begins. I like school. So at the end of break I'll be itching to take notes and write papers again. 

10. No roommates. This is nice for one reason: 6 girls taking a shower each day can sometimes mean the hot water running out in the middle of your shower. Unpleasant. Having no roommates is not so nice for this reason: I miss the little crew! Finding funny things on Youtube is hilarious when with roommates and lamesauce when you are with your parents. As cool as my parents are, I don't think they have the patience to watch every Lonely Island video in existence with me. And they just don't find the joy in this video like other college kids do. 

So while it's weird at this age to come back, I know this town will always be where it all started. And each time I come back to make the population swell to 1888, I gotta say, it's a great time. 

Crazy Bunco

I was #3...Not my best performance.

Let me just start this post with a statement: My family is weird. 

Okay now that I have that out of the way, let me tell you one way my family is awesome because of their weirdness. Crazy Bunco. Ready to learn another game? I think you are.

Step one. Everyone bring a white elephant gift. This means something crappy, gross, and/or borderline inappropriate. These will come in handy later after all of the bunco playing is finished.

All the white elephant gifts

Step Two. Organize everyone at tables with four chairs. The person across from you is your partner. The goal is to win. (I hope you knew that, but I'm just covering all of my bases here.)

Bunco is a dice game. There are two dice at each table. You win by rolling points. "BUT ANNA! WHICH ROLLS COUNT AS POINTS?" It's your lucky day, friend. I'm going to explain it to you. 

My uncle, wearing the curtains he
unwrapped at last year's party. 

1. You work your way around the table in a clockwise manner, taking turns at rolling. You continue to roll as long as you keep rolling points. The second your roll is worth zero points, you pass it to your left.
2. Double 3's wipe out your score. Your turn is over, and you now have zero points. It sucks.
2. This is where you have to keep up. Each round, you "go" for a different number on the dice. Let's say we are going for "1's". This means if one of the dice is a "1", that is ONE POINT. If you roll doubles of any other number like 2,4,5, or 6 (remember double 3's = sadness and zero points), those doubles count as FIVE POINTS. Then....the best thing of all...if you are going for 1's and you roll double 1's....
3. Bunco! You just got yourself 21 POINTS, my friend! So there are three possibilities for points: 1 point, 5 points, or 21 points.
4. There are lots of tables in the room of this game going on. When the NUMBER ONE table, the head table, reaches 21 points, they ring the bell. Everyone stops their games, and whatever pair of partners is ahead in points at that moment wins.
5. If you win, you get a punch in your card! You also get to move UP a table toward the head table. If you lose, sadly, no punch for you. You stay at the same lame table you lost at. Better luck next time.
6. Repeat, except this round, go for "2's" and continue to change which number you go for each time the tables get switched. (We never go for 3's. You should know why by now.)

Everyone crammed in our basement

So when you're done, those hole punches in your card come in handy. This is where the fun starts. We get in a big circle, put all those wrapped white elephant gifts in the middle, and start unwrapping. Those with the LEAST hole punches in their cards have to pick first. The Gesch family member with the MOST wins and therefore the MOST punches, gets to look around at everyone's gifts and choose to steal one of theirs, or unwrap a new one. Hilarity ensues. We've had gifts of old curtains, examples of bad taxidermy, old smelly running shoes, cheap hawaiian alcohol from the 1970's, and, my personal favorite from this year, a whole canned chicken (with giblets!) that expired in 1985. Classy. Consider yourselves all prepared to throw your own fabulous bunco parties. And since you're doing it Gesch-style, it is worthy of being named crazy bunco.

My brave friend Nicole who fearlessly joined the Gesch mayhem

One of the classier bunco gifts - porcelain labrador puppy art

Get Up For Seconds

This weekend I revved up my little VW bug to get myself back up to Wisconsin. The normally 3 hour commute took only 2.5! (Don't tell my insurance agent that fact.) 'Twas a special occasion. My dear friend, Clara, was celebrating her wedding a second time! I stood up for her this summer as a bridesmaid for her July 2nd ceremony in Tennessee...

don't mind the apron - they had barbecue for dinner! 

..and she and her husband Dave wanted to include those family friends in Wisconsin who couldn't make the trip this summer to celebrate their new beginning. We had a nice little afternoon of friends, family, pie, more pie, chit chat, and did I mention pie? I'll just say I had pie. I'm not going to tell you how many. Could have just been 1 piece, could have been 22 pieces. You'll never know. I mean, I was there for three whole hours. I think that cerca one piece per hour is a good rule for pie intake. Seeing good friends while getting seconds on wedding fun and apple pie? Not too shabby. 

i love reunions with this one

hometown faves