My Heart Goin' Boom Boom Boom

Warning: This has nothing to do with my health.

Ok. I feel bad for not posting about my health on a health based blog so here's the recipe I use to make my breakfast shakes. I swear that it keeps me full from 8am to 1pm every day and gives you three servings of fruit, 9 grams of protein, and 11 grams of very healthy fat:

In a blender, uh, blend:

3-5 strawberries

1 banana chopped

1/4 cup of dry oatmeal

1/2 cup of sugar free, natural orange juice

1 tbsp of peanut butter

You can add protein powder or supplements to this as well. I just make mine minimal as possible. I hear you can also add kale to this and never taste it, if you want your veggie fix.

Ok, now to the main part of this blog. 

After a long day of work, I headed out to the United Center to meet up with my sister, bro-in-law, and father for our second concert in the tour I'm calling "OH MY GOD. All of our idols are getting very old and out of shape. Must see them now before they die." In May, we saw Paul Simon (brilliant!) and in July we are seeing Paul McCartney (wanna go with? buy our extra tickets here!). I think Bruce Springsteen should be next on our list if he rolls back around to Chicago for obvious reasons. 

RIP

Who was crossed off the bucket list last night? I'll give you a guess:

Except, he now looks like this:

Eeks! When your idols begin to look like Billy Joel, you know it's time to lay down the money for tickets.

Give up? ... Need a sledgehammer? 

Wow. When did I become that lame?

It's Peter fucking Gabriel, you fools! Bow down to the Prog Rock King. BOW DOWN. 

Except, he's less prog rock now. Last night's show capitalized on one of my favorite albums of last year- Scratch My Back. No drums, no guitars, and covers of other people's tunes. In fact, he started the whole show off with a melodramatic version of David Bowie's (ah! add him to the list!) "Heroes." The best part?

He was backed up by a MO FO' ORCHESTRA of epic proportions:

Eat that Paul Simon and your four man Cajun band.

Prog King played 3 hours. Yes, at his age, 3 hours. His first set were mainly covers, including "My Body is a Cage" by Arcade Fire and a Regina Spektor song. Here's him singing "Hereos" so you can get an idea of what I'm talking about:

Amazing. Right? Wish you could have all been there to share in the joy and beauty of it all. At one point, I was sitting with my jaw opened wide- taking in every note, but consciously thinking about how this was a once in a lifetime thing.

I grew up with Peter Gabriel, or with the help of him. As one of my dad's favorite artists, I can fondly remember him singing every word to "Blood of Eden" or "Kiss the Frog" while we were driven home from softball games or grandma's house. In a crazy time, Peter Gabriel was always there to say goodnight to us. And there to greet us when we got back in our dad's truck. Sharing last night's concert with my dad brought me to tears on several occasions (once being during his first set when Gabriel spoke of his own father and played Father and Son). 

I am thankful that I have the memories of singing Dont Give Up with daddy-o and my sister at my side as the orchestra played on in the background. We rocked back and forth, alternating verses. At one moment, my dad reached over to me when the lyrics crooned, "Dont give up. You still have friends." It was in that moment that all the saddness I had carried over the last couple of months disappeared for a second. My dad, Gabriel, and the world were reassuring me that things are going to be alright.

Home: Where a Traveling Toothbrush Does Not Abide

As a child, I was shuffled around from home to home. Spending each morning and late night at my mom's home in the country, but then being picked up by my aunt after school to head to our grandmother's home in the blue store for the day/night. It was never ideal- the whole move around bit. My friends rarely called or invited me over because they knew I lived more than a half hour away from their perfectly settled lives. As a clique-y 10 year old, it was crushing for the self esteem. And when I got a job and a car, it became all about stretching my limited gas funds so I could make rounds to the school, friends, work, and two homes in one day.

I've been living independently for over 5 years now. My first two years were spent in a shoebox college dorm with KStrong. We littered that place with McDonald's wrappers, Doritos bags, and Gilmore Girl movies. We filled it with pictures of our current boyfriends and programs from our theater shows. It was a good time and I made a best friend/hermit collective out of it. When KStrong made her grand departure, I fled for a solo dorm in the same building as my current long-term fling. I (hazily) remember spilling jello-shots on the hardwood floors, hiding in one of my two walk in closets, passing out in the bathroom, and playing slightly pornographic and disney videogames with friends cheering me on.

When I hit senior year, I realized that I was: 1.) Tired of dealing with parking, 2.) Missing roommate lovin', 3.) Feeling like an ambitious adult. I took an offer to move in with a girl I knew very little about. She was quirky, daring, and a great cook. Her boyfriend visited as often as mine, making little fuss over awkward morning run ins. We watched, shamelessly, Secrets of the American Teenager and spied on people walking the path outside our window. Eventually, we took the green carpet space to her abode in Chicago. Moving to the city prompted breaking up an already sour "relationship" and finding solace in some very unusual places with some very unusual companions.

And then life calmed down in all departments. I took a job as a music teacher and ran away to E-burbs alone. Sometimes with a companion, often without, I learned to find friendship in playing piano and Beatles rockband. But I grew tired of being apartment poor, yet consistently bored. And now I am off for a new adventure back in Chicago, again solo.

It's not ideal- the loneliness, especially when you spent years 6-18 shuffled from houses filled with friendly faces. But I've always considered moving a welcome price to pay. It means never having to put down roots, never having to worry about shuffling, and never having to revisit old wounds for long.

All the while, I lost touch of the country and the blue store. Partially because I hated the drive back and forth down one torn up highway to the next, and partially because I never wanted to deal with the shuffle. But because you cant have it both ways and my aunts and grandma loves cats (which I am terribly allergic to), I was essentially moved out of one childhood home to the next. When the country home was sold to my drama filled sister, I knew I wasn't invited back. My leftover mementos were either destroyed by their negligence or handed over to me in two boxes. When I go home, I exclusively spend time at my dad's house- one that I never grew up in.

I went home last night to pick up this computer- an early, emergency birthday gift from an awesome aunt. When I walked in to the blue store, I was bombarded by my sister's dogs and her hostile attitude. I locked myself in the bathroom for a bit to settle down, kissed my ailing grandmother hello-goodbye, and walked out the door. This morning, I found a postsecret that more than perfectly sums up how I feel- inspiring this much needed blog and evaluation of what I call home:

www.postsecret.com

Today, I imagine home is where I will come to be when I am ready. It will be with my husband or live-in-companion- most likely with children. It will be that apartment/condo/town home/house where I can finally say that: "This is it, this is where I want to be." No more shuffling, no more roommate strain or dependency, and no more solo piano playing on a Friday night. Everything up until that point will just be stomping grounds and temporary locations for me to sleep in and pay absurd amounts on parking for. I'm going to fill my home with flowers, antiques, collections, red doors, blue walls, old books, and music- above all- music. My toothbrush wont be traveling in purse from boyfriend's dingy bathroom to my equally disgusting one. It will rest in one cup with one toothpaste (most likely cap less). Side by side, making a home.