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Thursday, May 29, 2014

Hey Hey Hey

I’m super excited to have been invited to join a blog group alongside three talented bloggers.  Each week, one of us chooses a topic and we all post a blog entry on that topic, usually on Thursdays.   

Here are the links to the other fabulous blogs:

This week, Merryland Girl chose our topic, and she asked:  The song Let it Go from Frozen has been all over the place these days.  So what meaning does the song have that can be applied to your life in some way? 

            Before I give you my take, here is a link to the lyrics (I had to look them up):  Let it Go lyrics.

            Lucky me, I’ve managed to avoid the craze that apparently is the Frozen soundtrack, or at least the song Let it Go.  My daughters are all blissfully beyond the age of Disney brainwashing, and, fortunately, though my two young daughters saw the movie, they both vehemently hated it.  I’ve managed to avoid ever even hearing the song Let it Go (despite Merryland Girl’s attempts to change that by sending me a link); I didn’t see the film, and I control the radio in the car, meaning we listen either to WGN talk radio or the Cubs game or else good, solid classic rock or pop (or Blurred Lines by Robin Thicke if I find it, but that’s an anomaly I don’t wish to admit discuss).

            I checked out the Let it Go lyrics, and I’ll admit they’re pretty and I’m guessing they’re relevant and maybe even poignant as they relate to the movie Frozen.  As much as I hold nothing but disdain for all things Disney (don’t get me started), I will admit the company has churned out a few good soundtracks over the years.  Indeed, I still catch myself singing selections off the Beauty and the Beast album many, many years after the release of the film (I’m guessing the fact I own the soundtrack has played a role in enhancing my memory).  I can’t say I “relate” to the songs on the Beauty soundtrack; I just like them because they’re catchy and cute and fun to sing.  And that’s all.

            Don’t get me wrong – the fact a song is catchy or cute or fun can be reason enough for me to like a song and maybe even to download it onto my iPod ( . . . and we’re back to Blurred Lines).  And maybe that’s true for Let it Go.  I don’t know.  (I do know my brain is full up of enough earworms for one lifetime, so I’m not gonna do a test run to find out).

            But Merryland Girl’s topic asks us to consider a deeper connection than just catchy lyrics or an up beat.  And so I tried.  Yet, as I studied the words, I couldn’t muster much of a link to my life.  Clever?  Yes.  But they didn’t really strike a chord in me. 

            To a point, my lack of reaction surprised me.  I’ve long connected with music, particularly lyrics, and that tie goes way, way back.  In eighth grade, our English teacher told us to choose a poem to recite in front of the class.  While classmates chose pieces penned by Robert Frost or Ogden Nash, I opted for the lyrics to The Trees by Rush. (The Trees lyrics.)  My whole life, music has touched my very soul.  Vivid images come back in quick flashes when I hear certain songs:  play Still They Ride by Journey and I am again awkwardly holding the sweaty hand of a tousle-haired public-school boy named John, skating ‘round and ‘round and ‘round The Axle Roller Rink, the thin tail of his blue flannel shirt blowing behind.  Night Owls by Little River Band puts me back in my friend Lori’s living room, snuggled into my crinkly red sleeping bag during a slumber party, ten girls forcing themselves to stay awake all night to talk about everything and nothing at all.  When I was small, my Uncle Robert often brought his guitar to family parties and played Take Me Home, Country Road – and hell if I don’t think of those moments any time I hear John Denver.  And the list goes on and on.  (And we won’t even venture into sacred Jon Bon Jovi Land.  That’s a post in itself.  Or maybe even a book . . . )

            I couldn’t live without music.  And I wouldn’t want to.  Many a day have I struggled with a mood, relieved only by a string of upbeat tunes – or else indulged by a set of darker songs.  When I practiced law, I loved playing angry music when drafting a forceful brief:  Psychosocial by Slipknot was a favorite.  And when someone I love passes away, I always find a great deal of comfort in the songs so often played at Catholic funeral masses:  How Great Thou Art or On Eagle’s Wings or Amazing Grace.  My connection to the songs lies not in the religious nature of the tunes but instead in the contentment that comes from singing them again and again for decades.  Of course, the words themselves offer a quiet power, and even non-religious me cannot deny the beauty of the portion of On Eagle’s Wings which goes:  “And He will raise you up/On eagle’s wings/Bear you on the breath of dawn/Make you to shine like the sun/And hold you in the palm of His hand.”  Beautiful.  And in that beauty, peace.

            A few weeks ago, after the passing of the father of two close childhood friends, I posted a link to the Chieftain’s cover of Stephen Foster’s song, Hard Times Come Again No More on the sons’ Facebook pages.  (Hard Times Come Again No More.)  After the funeral, one of the sons said he’d gone home after the wake and played the song for some of his friends; I told him I’d gone home and played the song, too, for myself.  I know that song will always remind me of my friends and their dad.  It will remind me – as the song says – of a time when we came together and paused in life’s pleasures and counted its many tears. 

            So perhaps the icy touch of Let it Go hasn’t gotten me.  Maybe its clever lyrics don’t ring true for me in any way.  That’s okay.  My heart and head are full up with other meaningful music.  And, if that bothers you, well, all I can say is (wait for it) . . . let it go.


Thursday, May 22, 2014

Here I Go Again

I’m super excited to have been invited to join a blog group alongside three talented bloggers.  Each week, one of us chooses a topic and we all post a blog entry on that topic, usually on Thursdays.   

Here are the links to the other fabulous blogs:

This weeks topic came from Moma Rock, who asked:  What is something (or more than one thing) youve done or tried (been there, done that) that you will never do again?  Here is my take:

            I hate to admit it, but after a great deal of soul searching, I . . . got nothin’.  Sigh.  I really tried.  I did.  I’m not kidding – I wracked my brain for the entire week.  But I seriously could not think of a single thing I’ve done that I would never do again.  I thought about this subject every day, sometimes for minutes, other times for hours.  I mentally reviewed my life to think of one single thing to satisfy Moma Rock’s question.  But I came up empty.

            And, of course, that got me thinking:  what does that say about me?  Does it mean I don’t try exciting things?  That I’m unadventurous?  Boring?  Dull?  I’ve never considered myself as such, but perhaps it’s true.  I’ve never had the urge to jump out of or off of something.  I’ve never dreamt of repelling down the side of something or climbing up the side of something else.  I don’t know how to swim, which means no face to faces with sharks, and although I’m sure it is gorgeous, I’ve never really wanted to scuba dive or snorkel.  These are the types of activities I could see falling into the “been there, done that” category Moma Rock suggests.  I’ve never tried them.  I’ve never wanted to try them.  And here we are.

            But the question remains begged:  is that bad?

            I mean, I’ve done stuff that seemed kind of gutsy to me, even if those things didn’t involve great heights or deep water.  I moved to Los Angeles in my twenties, knowing only three other people and without a solid job lined up.  I went to a tough law school when I was twenty-nine (and everyone else was twenty-two) – and with a two year old in tow.  I’ve driven across country, twice.  I’ve written a book (and I’ve even let a few people read it).  I’ve argued in front of the Illinois Appellate Court.  I’ve ridden huge roller coasters.  I’ve eaten (and enjoyed) oysters.  I write this blog.  I attended an all-girls Catholic school, for God’s sake!  All of these things took some degree of courage.  But I simply cannot say that I wouldn’t ever do any of them again (well, maybe high school … ).

            This leaves me to wonder what this all means.  Maybe it means I was born without a sense of whimsy, or even that I’m a creature of habit.  Or maybe it means that I know myself well, that I know what I like and I choose accordingly, avoiding situations (and foods) I know I won’t enjoy.  Or maybe it means that even though I didn’t particularly enjoy something, I wouldn’t ever rule out doing it again.  I like to think it takes some courage to live one’s life by one’s own terms and staying true to one’s intuition.  So pardon me if I don’t leap from that plane or eat that chocolate-covered bug or slug that shot of tequila.  But you can count on me to save you a place in line for the roller coaster.  But only if we can ride twice.  

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Sometimes There's Just No Reasoning With Me

I’m super excited to have been invited to join a blog group alongside three talented bloggers.  Each week, one of us chooses a topic and we all post a blog entry on that topic, usually on Thursdays.   

Here are the links to the other fabulous blogs:

This weeks topic came from me, and I asked:  Do you believe everything happens for a reason?  Here is my take:

            A few weeks ago, I met the administrator at the retirement center where I volunteer (for fun, let’s call her Ann).  While we were discussing my volunteer work, my prior job as an attorney came up.  Ann asked what kind of law I practiced, and I told her (insurance law, which involves big, icky accidents, fires, etc.).  As Ann listened, she got an odd look on her face.  When I finished, she told me she is currently involved in litigation like I’d just described:  she’d lost her son in an accident and she was preparing to attend a mediation in the case.  Ann became really anxious as she spoke.  She was clearly uncomfortable.  Ann told me she had no idea what to expect at the mediation, and she had no desire to be in the same room as opposing counsel.  Underneath that stress lay Ann’s yet-to-be assuaged grief about losing her son, suddenly and tragically and too young. 

            Feeling a combination of mixed instincts – lawyer and caretaker – I told Ann how mediations usually work:  how she’d likely not be in the room with the other side, how the mediator would go back and forth between the parties, how she’d probably say little to nothing during that day.  I watched Ann visibly relax as I spoke – but I also saw her fighting back tears.  So I said, “If this is too upsetting, just let me know and we can talk about something else.”  Ann got a funny smile and said, “No, it’s ok.  Everything happens for a reason, and I was supposed to talk to you today.”

            I left Ann’s office feeling happy that maybe I’d quelled some of her anxiety, but she stayed on my mind for the next few weeks, in part because I knew her mediation loomed, but also in part because her comment nagged at me.  “Everything happens for a reason,” she’d said, and she believed it.  The problem was I did not.

            I do not believe things happen for a reason.  There is no grand plan, no destiny, nothing that is “meant to be.”  I embrace free will over predetermination.  I see life as a series of random events that make sense only when we intentionally force them to fit together, when we assign a theme meant to weave these scattered happenings into something resembling meaning.  If we find a reason, it’s because we placed it there.  It did not come packaged so. 

            This is not to say that we can’t take something away from our experiences, even our negative ones.   But I simply don’t buy that those experiences happened so as to teach us that lesson.  Shit happens.  What we do with the stuff falls solely on us.

              I do believe in coincidence.  And I know sometimes it’s super tempting to try to twist simple happenstance into something more substantial, something with meaning.  Mere coincidence brought Ann and I together on the eve of her mediation:  coincidence . . . and nothing more. 

            I also believe in hard work.  There’s a great deal of truth in the expression, “The harder I work, the luckier I am.”  And, so, when someone works really hard and makes the Olympic swim team, she didn’t make the team because she is lucky or because the Universe holds a grand plan; she made the team because she worked really hard . . . and nothing more.

            Pretty simple stuff.

            As I’ve aged, I’ve come to note a link between those who believe “everything happens for a reason” and those who believe in a Higher Power.  This makes a great deal of sense to me.  In part, people look to religion – to Supreme Beings, to a powerful Universe – to make sense out of the nonsense, to find order in the chaos we call daily life.   People want to believe there is a reason for all of it, particularly when life gets difficult or painful.  I understand that line of thinking, but I don’t subscribe to it.  Sometimes life is hard, and sometimes it downright sucks.  There’s no metaphysical “reason” someone dies from cancer, no reason another person becomes afflicted with Alzheimer’s.  (Obviously, biological reasons exist, and life choices and environment may come into play, but that isn’t the issue here.)  It seems more palatable to believe someone’s illness or death is part of a Bigger Plan and not just another of life’s random, painful, senseless losses. 

            I’ll admit that, even though I don’t believe things happen for a reason, I, too, try to make sense of it all.  But, more often than not, much of life makes no sense.  And so I’ve embraced the phrase, “It is what it is,” because, at the end of the day, regardless of why something is happening or how it fits into some elusive Big Picture, we are still left to deal with what life throws our way.   

            Years ago, in a high school religion class, we debated free will versus predetermination.  I staunchly endorsed the former, and I’ve never, ever wavered.  Perhaps because of this, one of my favorite memes making its way around is the one that says:  “Everything happens for a reason.  But sometimes that reason is you’re stupid and make bad decisions.”  I’ve made my share of bad decisions, and I’m quite sure I’m not done.  But I will go to my grave believing – knowing – the decisions are, indeed, mine.  And I will accept (with as much as grace as I can muster) that the only Big Picture is the one I’ve created through my own (often stupid) choices and my own hard work combined with coincidence and a large dash of life’s randomness, both good and bad . . . and nothing more.



Thursday, May 8, 2014

I Want My TLC

I’m super excited to have been invited to join a blog group alongside three talented bloggers.  Each week, one of us chooses a topic and we all post a blog entry on that topic, usually on Thursdays.   

Here are the links to the other fabulous blogs:

This week’s topic comes from Froggie, who said:  The essence of you.  Write something [that] captures the essence of who you are as a person.  

Froggie’s suggestion gave me pause.  Capturing the “essence” of me?  Who am I, really?  The questions made me nervous.  Successfully writing about such a topic seemed to require a level of introspection and self-awareness lacking in me.  Sure, I could write a list of characteristics about me – I’m short!  I like cookies! – but would such a list really capture “me”?  Nah, probably not.

So, I decided to look outside myself for some external evidence of who I am.  I knew there had to be something concrete in my life able to supply clues as to who I am as a person.  And then it hit me.  Of course! 

My DVR list. 

I mean, is there better evidence of someone’s essence?  If you want to really know a person, check out what she watches.  Even better:  check out what she bothers to record.

Below are some titles from my list.  I’ll let you decide what they say about me. 

The Middle:  A long-running sitcom about a middle-class family (the Hecks) living in the middle of Indiana.  I began watching The Middle when it first premiered in 2009, but tapered off when my own middle life got in the way.  When we finally (and recently) got a DVR, I began catching up on missed seasons.  The Hecks fly by the seats of their pants through their average lives in their average home filled with two teenagers and a quirky middle schooler.  Can’t imagine why I like – or identify with – this show.

Flipping Out:  Yahoo TV describes Flipping Out as “a [r]eality series following the highly volatile Jeff Lewis, a millionaire now-former real estate “flipper” who once bought high-end homes, remodeled them, then resold them for six-figure profits.  As the recession [a]ffected the real estate market, Jeff now focuses on interior design, and takes on clients in need of home remodeling. Always conscious of his temper and tendency to lose control, he tries to find his peace in spiritual healers, psychics and therapy.”

I’ve watched Flipping Out – now in its seventh season on Bravo – since its second season.  The reasons I love this show are many.  Star Jeff Lewis is brilliant but neurotic, talented but insecure.  I don’t share his esthetic – he chooses dark colors and tends toward Mid-Century Modern – but the show isn’t really about home improvement.  The appeal of the hour-long broadcast is Jeff and his staff:  Jenni, his patient but sometimes annoying assistant; Zoila, his patient but sometimes spoiled housekeeper; Andy, his patient but sometimes incompetent design assistant; and Gage, his patient but sometimes tightly wound partner and business manager.  I love watching Jeff take an outdated home (often belonging to a B list celeb, this season including Mark Paul Gosslear, George Eades, and Tommy Shaw) and infuse new life, but I much prefer watching Jeff’s antics:  his meltdown when a staff member drops the ball, the pranks he pulls on them when he’s bored.  Of course, I love the scenery, too, as Flipping Out is filmed in L.A., my old stomping ground.  But even the palm trees can’t compare with Jeff’s exquisite sarcasm and wicked, twisted sense of humor.

The Haunting of . . . /Long Island Medium

(See a theme here?)

Lifetime runs the Haunting Of . . ., a super awesome show featuring psychic medium Kim Russo.  Kim spends an hour each week at various haunted locations at which celebs were visited by spirits.  We watch somewhat graphic re-creations of the hauntings as the celebs describe them, while Kim and the celeb walk through the location so Kim can channel the spirits.  The goal of each episode is for Kim to explain to the celeb why the spirit chose to visit the celeb.  Usually, each episode includes a history lesson of sorts, as the spirits often are tied to some kind of tragedy.

Two episodes to watch for are those featuring Barry Bostwick and Bernie Koppel, as both men are totally into the channeling, and both episodes feature really interesting historical stories.  (The Chazz Palminteri episode is also quite good.)

Long Island Medium plays in the same vein.  As medium Theresa Caputo says at the start of each TLC show, “I talk to the dead.”  Platinum blonde Theresa wears her hair teased into a high helmet, and she encounters the dead everywhere.  Most often, the show features “individual” readings, where Theresa meets one on one with someone hoping to hear from a deceased relation.  But sometimes she performs group readings; other times, she reads people at the grocery store or the dry cleaner.  Long Island Medium differs from the Haunting Of . . . in that LIM follows Theresa as she goes about her life with her husband, Larry, and their son and daughter.  Larry has his own loyal following; watch one episode and you will understand why.

Dateline/48 Hours:  But only the episodes where one spouse kills the other . . .

Junk Gypsies:  Sisters Jolie and Aimee Sikes have my dream job:  they go junking and then use their finds to decorate homes.  The girls live in Round Top, Texas, where there appears to be no shortage of beautiful junk . . . or junk stores . . . or flea markets – my nirvana on Earth.  This hard-to-find show runs on HGTV every once in awhile; I don’t believe they are shooting new episodes, so I’m limited to the nine or so that have been floating around for awhile.  I’ve saved my five favs and I watch them whenever I need a junking fix. 

American Pickers:  The male counterparts to the Junk Gypsies.  Iowa-based “pickers” Mike and Frank travel the U.S. to hunt down collectors and their large loads of stuff.  Each episode features the boys picking through tons of stuff, much of it old and rusty, some of it collector’s gold.  American Pickers runs on the History channel because each episode is chock full of historical background of various items picked by the boys.  I prefer to watch several episodes in a row, as the Mike and Frank usually have a running joke throughout, and often there is a connection between episodes. 

My Cat From Hell:  I just stumbled across this one recently but I?  Am hooked.  Google Jackson Galaxy.  He?  Is awesome.  He’s a big, bald tattooed guy who works as a musician by night and a cat behaviorist by day.  (I like to call him “the cat whisperer”).  In each Animal Planet episode, Jackson helps two households deal with problem pets.  He shows up with his guitar case filled with treats and toys and, after invariably getting scratched by a freaked out feline, he figures out why the cat is misbehaving.  Jackson then coaches the cat guardians as to how to solve the issues.  I’ve learned a ton about cats from this show and even diagnosed one of my cat’s odd behavior by tuning in. 

Unusually Thicke:  Alan Thicke’s reality show.  He shares the spotlight with his third wife, Tanya, a very bubbly woman half his age, and with Carter, his son from his second marriage.  I literally stop whatever I am doing and watch this show, but I also DVR it . . . just in case.

Property Brothers/Buying and Selling:  If you don’t know of my affinity for the Brothers Scott and their shows, read here:  But Who Will Stop the Property Brothers? (and please remember it’s a SATIRE).  Drew and Jonathan Scott continue to work their identical ways through Canada and parts of the U.S., renovating beat-up old houses and leaving Dream Homes in their wake.  In the meantime, we get a glimpse into numerous families’ homes and their dynamics.  One warning to anyone considering adding these shows to their DVR line up:  the Brothers are so prolific and so popular, they will soon fill your queue.  They currently hog the majority of mine.

There’s my list.  It’s your turn to figure out what my TV habits say about who I really am.  Feel free to let me know . . .

Sunday, May 4, 2014

Can't Live if Living is Without You

I’m super excited to have been invited to join a blog group alongside three talented bloggers.  Each week, one of us chooses a topic and we all post a blog entry on that topic, usually on Thursdays.   

Here are the links to the other fabulous blogs:

This week’s topic comes from Merryland Girl who said:  Write about either “10 things you CAN’T live without” OR “10 things you CAN live without.”  These “things” have to be items that you spend money on and not people or metaphysical concepts.  Merryland Girl got the idea for the blog post from the book The 100 Thing Challenge.  I haven’t yet read the book, but from what I can gather, Mr. Bruno gives up a whole bunch of material stuff.  But I’m feeling needy, so I went with Ten Things I Can’t Live Without.  And here they are:

1)  Books:  This one is a no-brainer.  I need to read.  And none of those electronic downloads.  I want – I need – to hold a book in my hands.  I need to turn pages.  I need to stick a piece of scrap paper between the pages when I take a break.  It’s all part of the wonderful reading process.  I don’t necessarily have to buy the book (though bookstores are my favorite stores); I’m fine taking a loan from the library.  But there’s something oh so comfortable about a stack of my books in a room.  In every single room.   

2)  Music:  I can’t even imagine a life without music.  Even when I’m in a crappy mood, if a good song comes on the radio, I turn it way, way up and suddenly I feel a whole lot better.  I’ve loaded my phone with tons of songs and I stash a pair of earphones in my bag so I can plug in when need be.  The songs run the gamut; there’s hair metal, of course, but there’s also Queen and Rufus Wainwright, and Jellyfish and Barry Manilow, too.  My latest iTunes download?  Robin Thicke’s Blurred Lines.  Just because it’s catchy and it makes me want to dance (don’t worry, I don’t).  There’s a song for every mood, and for almost every memory.  I can’t even fathom life without music.  

3)  Bon Jovi concert tickets:  You might think that “music” encompasses Bon Jovi tix but it really doesn’t.  For me, a Bon Jovi concert is much, much more.  There’s the music, of course, but there’s also Jon Bon Jovi standing right there!  Add in the crowd and the energy, the sound of 60,000 voices singing as one.  And there’s the good dancing (Jon’s) and the bad dancing (mine).  And, of course, there’s Michelle, my Sister in Bon Jovi, right at my side.  A Bon Jovi concert provides an energy I’ve never found anywhere else . . . and I know I never will. 

4)  Car:  I can’t say I always love to drive, but I always love having the option to drive.  To me, driving = freedom.  I like being able to climb in the driver’s seat and go wherever, whenever.  It doesn’t have to be a fancy car; hell, I keep my vehicles until they die.  It just needs to be safe and to go when and where I want to go. 

5)  A pen and paper:  I love to write almost as much as I love to read.  I typically use a computer, but at heart I’m old school, and I’d do just as well with paper and a pen.  A paper and pen also allow me to doodle or write a grocery list (which I almost invariable leave on the counter when I head for the store).  I like the feel of a pen in my hand.  I like to twirl it around my fingers and shake it back and forth while I think.  And is there anything as beautiful as a sheet of blank paper?  It’s just full of possibility.

6)  My KitchenAid stand mixer:  Have you tried my salted caramel cookies?  Baking is one of my favorite hobbies.  It’s relaxing, from start to finish (and delicious at finish).  I’ve had my KitchenAid mixer longer than I’ve had two of my kids, and I love it almost as much.  It’s sturdy and reliable.  It allows me to create cookies and cakes with much less effort than a hand mixer or even a lesser stand model.  My model is classic white and I’m hoping it stays around long enough for me to bequeath it in my will.  I love it that much.

7)  My contact lenses:  I’m mildly farsighted with an annoying astigmatism that makes night driving super fun, requiring me to wear corrective lenses.  I opt for the disposable wear-for-two-weeks-or-until-they-become-uncomfortably-blurry.  I briefly considered Lasik so I’d no longer need to deal with saline solution and that little white case, but then I learned they freeze your eyes open and that just freaked me out.  Although I’ve recently had to add a pair of drugstore readers to my repertoire, I reserve those rhinestoned-purple beautiesfor dark restaurants and at-home small print.  Glasses aren’t really an option because my nose is crooked . . . making my glasses crooked.  Anyway, I’m just not cool enough to pull off frames.  (And I have the 1990s-era photos to prove it.)

8)  Gap blue jeans:  I prefer wearing jeans to any other type of clothing.  No yoga pants for me; denim is much more comfortable.  A few years back, I stumbled onto the Gap’s Long and Lean jeans – which is funny, because I am neither long nor lean.  The jeans are well made and super comfortable and only about $25 at the Gap Outlet.  I’m mourning the recent loss of my second-oldest pair of Long and Leans, which bit the dust after one too many washings and an unfortunate rip in the knee.  But don’t worry; I’m currently breaking in a new pair.  Soon, they’ll feel like the second skin they’ve come to be.

9)  Tinted moisturizer & mascara:  This one may seem shallow, but if you’ve ever seen me make-up free, you’d understand.  On the rare occasion I leave the house bare faced, someone invariable asks me if I’m feeling okay.  I don’t look okay; I look pale and splotchy.  Taking ten minutes to brush on a little Stila moisturizer and some black mascara makes me feel pulled together and apparently keeps me from looking like the walking dead.

10)  My AM radio:  When I was a little kid, my Mom religiously listened to WGN, a Chicago AM station.  She listened to talk radio hosts like Bob Collins and Wally Phillips, men I considered old and boring.  (We caught a break on Sundays when she switched over to the Polka Hour.)  Of course, this constituted torture for me.  I wanted music – not old people chatter and certainly not Polish music.  Fast forward to today and guess who’s tuned into WGN?  I listen from the time I wake up (Steve Cochoran) through the evening (Garry Meier).  I play WGN in the house on my eldest daughter’s long-abandoned Hello Kitty radio; I play it in the car where the tuner is always on AM.  I even downloaded the WGN app so I can listen when I’m out of town or just out for a walk.  As a bonus, WGN broadcasts the Cubs games.  My friends mock my affinity for the “old people” station, but I won’t be deterred.  And I always know the current temperature.