The Amazing Adventures of Kyrgyzstan and Col

Part VI: The Freefall; Chapter One: It's Beginning To Get To Me

I probably should have written something while I was home, but in all honesty, I ran out of time. I forgot how go-go-go life can be in The States. I finally understand why America is infested with weight problems, both heavy and light. Then there’s me, the neurotic exerciser/calorie-counting/sweet-toothed/beer-drinking one.

I’m fairly certain I started pissing people off around Beer Three at Wrigley Field when I made some side comment on how I should drink slower or grab a diet pop because of all the “empty calories,” 140 to be exact. When I got the “shut the 'eff' up” stare from my dear friend Sara, I knew it was time to get another hotdog and a round of Old Style for the group. Go Cubbies!

Is this even making any sense? I’ll backtrack.

I think I alluded to being a bit nervous to go home this summer in my last post. And it’s all mainly because two years have gone by and I really haven’t seen or spoken with anyone. Plus, after three weeks at home, inundated by the comforts of suburbia, I knew I’d have to board another plane and fly once again halfway around the world. But, friendship called, and I wouldn’t have missed standing beside my friend Kristen as she declared her unending love for a Farm Boy.

Anyway, shortly after landing, I quickly got over any shred of anxiety I may have possessed. I credit the first two minutes of walking through my family’s front door, holding $70 worth of BBQ ribs, when each of my four brothers kissed me on the cheek and informed me that they wouldn’t be able to stick around for dinner because the Doobie Brothers were performing at Ravinia Festival. I suppose it was comforting in an odd way. My family is my family no matter how many Sunday masses and brunches I’ve missed since I’ve been gone.

So Sheila and I improvised and called up a few of her girlfriends instead. I mean, seriously, who would argue spending time with 50-year-old house moms upon return to America? My friends would eventually make it over, but until then it was Col and the gang, sipping wine and chomping on pork. There was a lot of love.

And other feelings. I felt love from those who’ve givin’ it all along, hurt from those who said they would but haven’t, and surprised thankfulness from those who showed up because they wanted to. My heart lies somewhere in limbo, not quite sure which way to feel. I’m ok with that.

I gotta admit though, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care. All my 103 girls called or came into town to see me, and then there was the Whispering Oaks crew, too. But the thing that bothers me most is that while I’m a bit disappointed a few people let me down, I almost, almost, don’t feel anything at all. I wish I could be one of those people who throw worry and annoyance away like a quarter you toss into the toll booth and never miss again, but I’m not. I hold on too long. But the good thing is, this whole thing was like a resurrection of sorts and allowed me to see how many wonderful people are still around.

Anyway, Sheila (Oh, hold on. A clarification: I do not, nor have I ever, called my mother by her first name, to her face. Sometimes I do in writing or when I am speaking of her, but it ends there. Doing so helps me remember that she is an extraordinary individual with feelings and a past and a personality that cannot be forced into a box labeled “Mom.” She is, in fact, Sheila. And I mean no disrespect. The opposite really.) thought it’d be a good idea to remodel our upstairs while I was home. “Colleen, there is NEVER a good time,” was her response when I asked, “But why now?” And so, yes, I slept on my bed, with my sister, in the middle of my room like an island for four nights, while our bedrooms where being repainted and torn apart. The Pistachio I grew to abhor is now replaced with a subtle Restoration Hardware Butter Cream. It’s really quite nice.

My mom cried when our first family dinner finally took place. I guess it was the first time in over two years when all her babies were under one roof, sober or not. In order to document the few weeks, she hired Fitzgerald’s Photography to take a picture that, if we’re lucky, will make it onto a Christmas card by the winter of 2010. In matching crisp white shirts and blue jeans with flip flops we posed for less than 20 minutes in a public Lake Forest park. Upon completion, my dad informed us that we had dinner reservations at the local Italian restaurant, immediately afterward. There was to be no changing of clothes. So in typical Marshall Fashion, we walked in a single-file line around town, into the restaurant, where THANK GOD, people were too immersed at gawking at Vince Vaughn and his two LFHS buddies to barely notice us. Until we sat down, of course, and the lady next to our table, commented on how nice we all looked. A few easy cracks at us and a bottle of wine later, we walked out, doggie bags in hand, out of Francesca’s forever. We have the photo to prove it.

Instead of writing anymore, I’m just gonna list off some highlights:
-Medieval Times and the Black and White Knight giving me “the eye” and his rose, plus Dance, Dance Revolution
-My willingness to go to not one, but two baseball games at Wrigley Field
-Lempke's dinner date at Buffo’s
-Clark and her mother Carol, and the road trip heard round the world
-McNamara and (drunk) friends
-My little French friend and her visit to America from lands known as “Ohio”
-Field and her return trips in from NYC
-Jones and the eating of my Egg Harbor scraps in last minute fashion
-Beach Ticket with Hughes
-Mani and Pedi
-Solo road trip to Michigan for K&G’s wedding 2007
-My Dance Partner
-Christmas Card 2007/2008
-Blueberries and 100% whole wheat English Muffins
-Bratwursts and BBQs
-The Lantern, on Karaoke Night, with Over-21 Siblings Marshall
-iPod Shuffle and the Apple Store incident(s)
-Brunch and lunch with Grandmas
-Whoo Hoo for fillings! And the hour drive to the Southside Dentist
-Face planting at the Wiener Circle in classy Col-Col Fashion
-Wax on, Wax off
-J.Date, Abs of Steel, Dawson and Co. and The Columbian at Corcoran’s
-Meeting the Farm; Isn’t everyone in love with a Suburban Girl?
-July 3rd and LFHS reunion in all its glory at Chicago Yacht Club and subsequent bars
-Semi-safe Public Transportation, with Seatbelts!
-Target, twice

So, yeah, America sure is the Land of Plenty. More on my views about this later. See you in four months. Or not.

And now, the wise words of Snow Patrol.
Chasing Cars
We’ll do it all, everything, on our own. We don’t need anything, or anyone. If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me, and just forget the world? I don’t quite know, how to say, how I feel.
Shut Your Eyes
When the worrying starts to hurt and the world feels like graves of dirt, just close your eyes until you can imagine this place, yeah, our secret space at will.
It’s Beginning To Get To Me
I want something that’s purer than the water, like we were. It’s nothing now, ineloquence and anger are all we have. Like Saturn’s rings an icy loop around me, too hard to hold. Lash out first, at all the things we don’t like, or understand. And it's beginning to get to me, that I know more of the stars and sea than I do of what’s in your head... Are you beginning to get my point?
You Could Be Happy
You could be happy, I won’t know, but you weren’t happy, the day I watched you go. And all the things that I wish I had not said, are played in loops till it's madness in my head. Is it too late to remind you how we were? ... Do the things that you always wanted to, without me there to hold you back, don’t think, just do. More than anything I want to see you, take a glorious bite out of the whole world.

posted by C @ 12:13 PM