Here’s to you, Walking Gladys.


Here’s to you, Walking Gladys.

When I was 12, my family moved from Lincoln, NE to a small town in north Iowa. It was an education-I’d never lived in such a tiny fishbowl before. Everyone knew everyone–and their business. In that town, we had a lady we all called “Walking Gladys”. She wore a lot of polyester, long black hair at an age where that seemed highly unlikely, and just walked about our tiny town all day every day.

I feel like every town has their version of Gladys-the person who’s known for X or Y. Even within the subcultures of a bigger city, we have the same thing. “There’s that guy we see doing that thing all the time”. But, the thing is, I think my Mom and I “got” Gladys. We came from a town of 200,000 to one of 600. There was not a lot to do. Mom was a lady in her mid thirties at that time, and thinking of that age I know I had a lot of restless energy in me. I can’t imagine all that AND nowhere anonymous to go. I had the gym. Mom had the section, the small town bar, or our own grocery store. There were no casual brushes with humanity, at least not in any anonymous sense. Whomever you ran into, you’d run into again and again for as long as you lived there. Being an only child in a place with a very limited friend pool who had been established from elementary school, I found little room for me to be me.

As we stretched and grew and fit into our place in town, we walked. We walked a lot. Bored? Want to kill an an hour? Let’s walk the section. You can bundle up and do a lot when the only alternative is limited cable and facing stock at a grocery store. And I started to get some jeers from the kids in town about being the new Walking Gladys. It freaked me out at the age when I was trying so hard to fit in, that I was standing out. I didn’t want to be like the “town freak”. I wanted to be nothing, just like everyone else. But you know what? I wasn’t. Nobody was.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve noticed that my answer to stress, anxiety, happiness, boredom, and unease is to walk. It’s no accident that my house sits on the public bike trail in town-I planned that. Walking calms me down. It sorts stuff out in a less subtle way than running does for me. It’s a gentle nudge to running’s push. And I’ve realized that maybe i AM a modern day Walking Gladys. Certainly I’ve run into countless people who have said “Oh, I saw you walking on XX street” or who I have a friendly rapport with from being seen countless times in the skywalk. It’s become a point of pride where it used to be a point of teenage shame.

I’d like to sit down with Gladys now. I’d like to find out what motivated her walks. Could she not sit still? Did she find it therapeutic? Was it just exercise? Did she know all us kids giggled about her? Did she care? Because, honestly, I really don’t. I’m OK with being the walking lady of Sheridan Blvd. It’s where I get my best thinking done. So here’s to you, Gladys. Thanks for having the courage to do what you wanted, no matter what people thought of you. I’m OK with following in your footsteps-all day, every day.


Opposite Day

Saturday was “opposite day” for me. You remember when we were kids, and we periodically and without pattern decided that day A was opposite day. Where up was down, left was right, yes meant no, and pizza meant poop. Or some such thing. What the hell happened?

Well, as I may have mentioned before, I’m trying a new workout regime of not giving a crap. Of going for a 3 mile run every workday morning, lots of walks during the day, and occasional weight lifting if I’m so inclined. Gone are the “2 a day” workouts, 1000 calories on the AMT machine, and general misery in the name of fitness. And I was pretty curious to find their effect on my bottom (waist)line. So, Saturday morning I decided to weigh myself. And I’d gained 2 pounds! BLASPHEME! NO! CANNOT BE! I *may* have actually punched a wall in frustration and then told my husband I “didn’t want to talk about it” in true drama queen fashion. I may have also peed shortly after and immediately noticed a half pound weight loss, proving everything arbitrary and invalid.

Still, old habits die hard. So I set out for a bike ride to soothe my wounded soul. 25 miles of limestone, audiobook, and sweat later, I came home in time to take a shower and get ready for our trip to Omaha. Yeah, we skipped lunch but all in the name of FUN! Jeff and I headed out of town to go have an adventure. We shopped for housewares at World Market (nothing for me, spices for Jeff), picked up some homebrew competition winnings (congrats, honey!), stopped in at Penzey’s spices and then tried to find some food. Our brewery go-to somehow decided to close their kitchen from 3-4 as we walked in at 3:30, so we gave up on appetizers.

We had the best of intentions. We angled towards the Dundee Dell, dive bar extraordinaire and famous for their fried pickles. But next door we spotted the Cask Republic and decided to take a gamble. No snacks, just booze. Best idea we’ve ever had? Probably not. But the “sombrero fallout” was delicious, as was Jeff’s negroni. We read our books, sipped our cocktails, and headed towards our ultimate dinner destination.

Via Farina was everything we’d hoped for and more-despite Jeff’s dismay at having to explain his drink of choice to the waiter. Our calamari? Delicous. The sourdough pizza? We are pizza connoisseurs. This girl will eat pizza over most anything. And this place *happened* to have a “fried pizza” on the menu. Yes, I picked off most of the not-so-crispy bacon. Yes, I may have stolen Jeff’s olives. But ultimately, it was freaking delicious. And I was so, so happy. We stopped in to get a few albums at the local record store. Some for listening, some for my eventual feature wall of balls-ass-crazy album covers. I scored an Edgar Winter band album that will DEFINITELY fit the bill. We headed back home for some reading on our patio while sipping on our own drinks of choice.

SO, I started Saturday worried about a 2 pound weight gain and ended it eating fried pizza. Do I get to pawn this one off on balance? Nope. Can I credit endorphins for giving me perspective? Probably not. So what the heck is the reason for my about-face? God, I hope it’s getting wiser. I don’t really know how else to explain it. I’m trying. I want to be less worried about my body. I want to be a more well rounded human. I want to be sage and all-knowing and shit. But honestly? I probably realized I was being silly and decided to eat the most delicious thing I saw on the menu. And that means maybe I AM growing! YAY ME!

I Wanna Quit The Gym!

What a difference a year makes. It was this time last year that my gym, as my employer, put me on a hiatus from the facility. I was anxious about the prospect of trying to stay “fit” on my own. I NEEDED my cardio machines! I NEEDED the occasional Power Pump class! I NEEDED to go spin on occasion. How else could I possibly stay sane? Stay in shape? Stay ME? And now?


Well, today I filled out my cancellation paperwork at the gym. Over the last 2-3 months I’ve started running every day before work. This isn’t crazy, pre foot surgery Laura running. I go 3.5 miles, and the first and last bits are a walk. I do dutiful, obligatory 30 min weight sessions twice a week. I go for LOTS of walks. And I smile. Because I realized that I like getting the “tough part” of my day over with before 6 AM. I like being able to go for a lunch walk with the sun on my face and a podcast (probably about murder) in my ears. I like weekend bike rides to the farmer’s market with my husband. Know what I don’t like? Weirdos at the gym who grunt every 10 seconds. Judgemental eyes in power pump checking how much I lift or rolling when I cut out early. And I especially don’t like forcing myself to watch that episode of Property Brothers again while I sweat it out on the “trex” machine.

The fact is, I’m an active person. I have finally realized I don’t need the gym to be in good-enough-for-me shape. All I need are these 2 feet I worked pretty hard to repair, some headphones, and a few weights. Friends are always welcome to come along for a walk. It’s just not as important to me anymore to make myself miserable doing something I don’t enjoy when there’s so much room for stuff I do enjoy. Maybe our recent loss is teaching me to let go of what doesn’t make me happy. Maybe I’m finally adulting and no longer convinced that everyone will see if I gain a half pound. All I know, is our household just got $50 a month back, and if you’ll excuse me I’d like to go shopping.


Be Frie


If you were a girl in the late 1980’s-early 1990’s, you know what I’m talking about. Those necklaces that we used to split and share with our bestie. One had “Be Frie” and the other had “st nds” and it was heart shaped. When you put it together, your wonder twins powers activated and your giggles became supersonic. Also, you kind of fought to see who got which necklace-nobody wants to be “st nds”. Well, if I had one of those necklaces today, Foster would have the other half on my collar. Even though I’d totally make him be “st nds”.

My best friend isn’t doing so hot today. He’s been limping for a while, and the vet thought she’d ruled out any traumatic injury a few weeks ago. We had him getting cold laser therapy and managing things with pain meds, and thought everything was going OK. I noticed this week that he was limping again and made him an appt to get his leg xrayed so we could see what we were working with. My boy has always hated showing his belly or really laying in any manner that you want him to. If I’m trying to brush him, it’s darn near impossible to get him to roll to the other side or change position. And that personality quirk came out like crazy this time-an hour later and they still couldn’t get him to stay in the positions they needed to get the accurate xrays. He actually fought them so hard that he couldn’t even bear weight on the affected leg, so it was time to let him win. We went home with a sedative and an appt for Saturday to try again.

Surprise, a drugged dog was a happy dog. He was compliant and they got all the shots they neeed. But those shots…were heartbreaking. It showed a broken doggie leg, and a mess of bone tissue around it. The vet couldn’t tell me if that was a result of things trying to heal, or what she was suspecting-osteosarcoma. We’re waiting to hear from their radiologist who will read the xrays and tell us what we’er working with. A broken leg can be reset with pins and my boy will be OK. Osteosarcoma…it’s not great. There’s a chance with amputation of the affected leg, he could be cancer free. But not a great chance.

As we wait to hear our next steps, I periodically cry throughout the day. Foster’s the best decision I ever made. The last few years, he’s been my walking buddy-though it appears either way that those days may be done for us. Every time I get bad news, all I want to do is go home and hug Foster. We’ve spent 13 years together, and I can’t imagine my life without him, even if I know it will happen at some point. I was such a different person when I got him, but my love for him (and all dogs) is one thing that’s remained the same.


He’s in good spirits right now, though heavily medicated. It gives us hope that it’s not cancer. But if it is…I’m going to give this guy the best farewell tour I can. I’m going to borrow a stroller and take him for a walk. I’m going to feed him everything he ever wanted that I wouldn’t give him (except dark chocolate). And when it comes down to it, I’m going to lay next to him when he takes his final breaths and hold his paw. Because as hard as it is on me, it’s the last comfort I can offer to him. And my best friend deserves that.

Home is where the heart is

It’s been a stressful few days, folks. No matter what side of the fence you’re on, it’s a time of change. And that’s scary to a lot of people. 

But today, like most days, i spent a lot of time with Jeff. Bread was baked, errands were run, wine and beer were consumed. It’s no secret that i have dreams of living in Europe someday. And that someday can’t come soon enough for me. But today, home was where i made it. Love italy? Sure. But i just had wine, cheese, and bread here. I got to walk my dog. Go for a run. Watch Beetlejuice on demand. So it’s not always about someday. It’s about making what you love a part of each day. And that’s what makes where you are, home. 

Nettie I’ll Not Forget-ye

Tonight’s dinner was inspired by one of my best friends, my maid of honor, my aunt but really big sister Lynette. It wasn’t so much inspired as suggested, but hey-I’m the artist here and I’ll take artistic license.

Way back when, Nettie kinda saved my life. When I was with the super duper jerk boyfriend of last blog, she would have me and only me over for dinner with her now husband. Every Tuesday, we watched some crazy ass shit on FX and had dinners of varying ethnic backgrounds. Sometimes tikka masala, sometimes pad thai, when we felt like our cholesterol could take the hit a seafood lasagne. But it was always delicious and it was always our time. Even after I’d bought my new house and hit a 4 year dry spell, Nettie was there. She and my uncle Kurt and I would talk about whatever was going on, however mundane or exciting. It was usually the night I looked forward to most during the week. When I was a single girl, my social life was sometimes more busy during the week than on weekends. And that was OK with me.

Now, we send emails during the week, and sometimes text on Friday nights to make sure we both made it through the week-OK, to check and see if the other one is drinking wine too. Those emails aren’t as frequent as they used to be, but that’s OK. Even if we’re not as communicative as we used to be, I know if anything ever happens to me, she’s my girl. To counsel me. To make fun of me. To accept multiple texts of me in various outfits to pick which one I wear. She’s a pretty funny and awesome lady, and I’m super glad she’s my aunt-sister. Now, on to her meal!

Super creamy Chicken Noodle Soup beats any soup any day. The perfect comfort food in a bowl, lightened up with half of the calories AND no heavy cream!
Makes over 12 cups!
Author: Karina – Cafe Delites
Serves: 8
  • 1 tablespoon olive oil
  • 6 skinless, bone-in chicken thighs
  • 1 yellow onion, chopped
  • 2 garlic cloves, minced
  • 2 large carrots, sliced
  • 1 celery stalk, diced
  • ⅓ cup plain | all-purpose flour
  • 2 tablespoons fresh chopped parsley
  • 1 chicken bullion cube, crushed (or 2-3 teaspoons vegetable stock powder)
  • 1 good pinch of salt (adjust to you taste)
  • 4 cups chicken broth
  • 5 cups 2% milk*
  • 10 ounces | 300 grams uncooked egg noodles or pasta of choice
  • ⅓ cup frozen peas
  1. Heat the oil in a large pot over medium heat. Sear the chicken thighs on both sides until golden (about 3 minutes each side). Add the onion, garlic, carrots, celery. Sauté for another 5 minutes until the onion becomes transparent and the celery just begins to soften. Add flour, parsley, crushed bullion cube (or vegetable stock powder), and salt. Mix all of the ingredients through and allow to cook for a further 3 minutes.
  2. Pour in the broth; mix everything together thoroughly; increase heat and bring to a boil for about 4 minutes (the broth will begin to thicken). Reduce heat, partially cover the pot with a lid, and allow to simmer for 20-25 minutes or until the chicken is cooked through.
  3. Transfer chicken to a plate and shred the meat; discard the bones.
  4. Add the chicken back into the soup along with the milk and noodles (or pasta). Bring to a boil and allow to cook for 6-8 minutes until the noodles are JUST beginning to soften. Add the peas and continue to cook until the peas are cooked and the soup has thickened.
  5. At this point, taste test the soup and add extra salt or pepper or stock powder if desired to suit your tastes.

Nom nom, guys! Next time, I’m probably going to talk about the last few books I read. I’ve been on a kick lately, and the last one I finished was really thought provoking for me, even though I realize it may not be for everyone.

Birthdays and Ballyhoo

Today is my little brother’s birthday. He’s 23, and he’s seen a lot of change in his life. I remember the day he was born-it was the day of the major earthquake in Los Angeles that collapsed the freeway. I spent the whole morning while he was being born watching that coverage and waiting for my stepdad to come out and tell me all about my new baby sister. My mom was SO convinced that he was a girl, that they hadn’t even thought of a boy’s name as a possibility. Even though they hadn’t had a confirming ultrasound. But anyway, my stepdad came out and told me it was a boy, and I asked if he was sure. He gave me a look that said he’d SEEN THINGS, and told me he was sure. That kid changed our lives in a million little ways, and only a few of them were bad. Kidding! Jesse, you’re a pretty rad guy. Sometimes knowing what you don’t want in your life is more important than knowing what you do want. And I’m very, very proud of you for living the life you choose. I see you like twice a year, but if you ever need anything, I’m here for you.


That’s Parks and Rec for Proud, kid. 

Jesse’s birthday got me thinking about my own, inevitably. It’s just shy of 2 months away. And, I gotta be honest, this upcoming birthday, 10 years ago, was a ginormous turning point in my life. When I turned 29, it was a game changer. I started realizing that by NOT choosing things, I was still making a choice (yes, Jeff, that’s a Rush reference for you. Enjoy it, because it will not happen again). I was in a stagnant relationship with a man I now realize was pretty emotionally abusive. We’d been together nearly 6 years, 6 important freaking years in your life-your mid 20’s. And he told me that I was dumb to want to be married, that I’d make ugly babies, and that if I wanted to have groceries for the house it was my choice but I’d be paying for them. Yes, that’s a one-sided summation of all his terrible qualities, but the point is I started thinking about what I wanted in my life. That at 29, some options were just no longer going to be available to me. And a few months into that year of life, I realized that an ambivalent partner who once told me that I had all the confidence of a limp penis was not better than being on my own. So I turned to him and I told him I wanted more for myself. I changed my life, though for pretty much the rest of that year I was in a pretty tough place


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I’m SO…scared! But no, excite was OK.


I sit tonight in the house I bought myself in that 29th year and I am so much happier than I ever thought I could be at 29. I’m more confident, though I still have a long way to go. I enjoy my job, when at 29 I was just entering the company I’ve grown to love. I’m married to the most amazing, supportive, funny man I’ve ever known. And I’ve grown to embrace what I enjoy. That’s dogs, exercise, cross stitch, a good book and a warm blanket. And wine. Probably not in that order.

So I want to enter 39 as a much happier woman than the uncertain Laura who turned 29. And I want to do so by supporting my favorite causes. Stay tuned for further updates, and if you love dogs even a little bit as much as I do, let me know-we’ll make sure you’re on the invite list for this as-yet-theoretical charity birthday event!

Friends Without Benefits

I have never claimed to be cool. A month or two ago, my parents were texting me while they were out for the evening, trying to get me to join them, and I dug my heels in and cross stitched and baked while they were out dancing at a local ballroom. I’m just lame. And when I’m not acting like your grandma, I’m generally just behind the curve. I get into things like 5 years after they’re popular. We’re just now watching Game of Thrones. Good music? Pretty sure I’ve never heard of that cool indie band you’re talking about. Another example is Podcasts. I only got into them about a year ago, but now they’re a staple of my day. Yesterday, as I was completing some busywork to round out my Friday, I listened to this week’s “Why oh Why” and it got me thinking.


The host is a woman close in age to me who recently broke up with a boyfriend and is navigating the dating scene. Her frequent guest/foil is a guy she met at a bar who was good looking and charming at first blush, but has proven to be a misogynistic douche whom most listeners want to strangle. Myself included. He’s freaking terrible. But when she’s playing audio recordings of their conversation, it’s clear she actually somehow cares about this guy. Freaking Randy.

Everyone has “this guy” in their life. Whether it’s that guy you knew in High School, a friend you’ve lost touch with, or in some cases a family member. There’s people we feel a sense of obligation to. People we inexplicably love without always liking. Sometimes it’s situational-we shared a weirdly bonding experience years back that your hear won’t let you forget. Sometimes it’s a sense of duty-I love this person because nobody else does. But most of the time, there’s an x factor of friendship that keeps you hanging on long after your conscious brain would have you cut the cord.


Except I kinda can’t stand you. 

I tried to research this strange phenomenon. I did. But it led me to a pile of Buzzfeed articles about being friends with your ex. And this is more than that. Your ex is someone you’ve definitely shared enough history with to care about for the rest of your life. A Randy is not. And yet, some strange alchemy brought you together and keeps you there. I can think of a few people I knew in my late teens/early 20’s. We have NOTHING in common right now. And yet…if you pick on them I will defend them to the end. It’s loyalty. It’s life. It’s a strange sense of obligation you can’t really put into words.I hesitate to call them friends-I’ve got a whole different blog about people who you may not see or talk to very often, but who were friends once and whose opinions you value quite highly even though There’s some your lives and situations and interactions have changed. But a Randy is someone you just feel like you should love, even when you don’t like them. So, as I sit in my basement on a Saturday night about to crawl into bed at an early hour with my BFFs from Criminal Minds, I salute the strange bonds that create and maintain friendships. I’ve been terrible about maintaining actual, meaningful friendships over the last few years and I strive to be better about that. But at the same time, some girls I’ve known and loved for 20 years drove several hours in December just to support me at my first ever art show. That’s pretty freaking amazing. So cheers to you, girls. And cheers to my anonymous Randy, whomever you are. I’ll never tell.

Looooooved it!

Princess Daintypaws Hates Snow

It’s a magnificent day. There’s snow on the ground, pain in the air, and…oh, wait. Today’s a giant, sucky, pain in the @ss. But that’s OK. It’s been a lesson in adaptability. Too much snow for your dainty dog to go for his morning stroll without that icky feeling between his paws? Cut it short and do a YouTube workout video before work instead. Start a project at work that snowballs into a giant turdstorm? Sure. Roll with that. And then…go to the gym over lunch. For stress relief. And endorphins so you don’t kill people.


Workouts are like a box of chocolates; you never know what you’re going to get. So I hopped on the treadmill today with a tentative plan and vague hope. My lunches are shorter these days because my husband and I commute together in the winter, and he doesn’t have to be here as early as I do. So I *hoped* I’d be able to fit in 4 miles, but some time math as I changed told me it wouldn’t be likely. My runs started out like this when I got back in the saddle:

.4 mile run

.1 mile sprint

.1 mile walk

REPEAT as needed…or until the readout says you’ve covered 3 miles. It had variety, it had sprints, it had precious walk breaks. But I’ve been trying to stretch the run part and eliminate the sprint on occasion, and today was awesome! I ran .9, walked .1, and crushed that 4 miles in 36 mins flat. That means even with walk breaks I’m hitting a 9 minute mile. And I’ve only been back on the treadmill a few months! That was JUST the breath of fresh air I needed, because the “feels like -4” air outside just isn’t going to do it.

Now to finish the rest of this day, soak in a hot tub to stave off any muscle soreness from said wonderful run, and hit up Jeff’s BFF for dinner. Shrimp Scampi? Um, yeah, I’ll hit that. OH, yeah, I’m reading a pretty decent book right now: The Lost Girls of Rome. Kind of a more character based DaVinci Code kind of thing. Check it out if you need some basic literary popcorn!


I have no idea what’s happening here but there’s 2 of my favorite things so it can’t be all bad.