Chicago, Part I. The Hotel

Well, it’s been a couple of weeks since I got back from my short trip to Chicago, so I thought I should actually write a little about what else we did besides drink whisky. And being a rambler, I’m going to do this parts.

We stayed at the Hyatt Regency downtown. Wow! We’ve never spent that much on a hotel, and never will again (well, at least until next year’s WhiskyFest), but it was all part of Hubby’s Christmas present. If you are going to an event with over 200 whiskies to taste, it’s best to stay in the hotel where it is being held.

The hotel was very slick, had a great concierge desk, and had three restaurants on site, but it was loud, busy, and really aimed at business people. I wonder if they ever have a weekend when there isn’t a convention going on? The room was modern and sophisticated, so it wasn’t quite my style. But it was pretty and quiet. And it had a king size bed, which is always cool since I don’t have one of those of my own. Here’s a couple of pics of the room.




Before the whisky tasting, we grabbed a couple of bricks of pizza from the restaurant downstairs. Yes, bricks. Take a look! What would you call them?



I’ve already written about WhiskyFest, so I won’t bore you with more details. Suffice it to say, it was great. I’m not sure how much Hubby remembers, but he wants to go again next year.

Coming up next, riding the bus and seeing Sue.

So True

In the article "Report Raises New Questions on Bush, WMDs" on Yahoo News, my favorite quote is

"The intelligence community makes the assessment," he said. "The White House is not the intelligence-gathering agency."

Truer words have not been spoken about this administration.

A Walk Around the Pond

Since I feel like I’m beginning to plateau with my workout regime, Hubby suggested that today we should go for a walk on a local trail instead of going to the gym. Don’t go to the gym? Yeah, baby, I’m with ya! A nice walk outside in the sun and fresh air. A day off from walking to nowhere on the treadmill.

We’re lucky that we have several of these trails available. They’re paved and have little lay-bys with a park bench in case you need a break from all the healthy exercise. If walking, jogging, skating, or biking isn’t your thing, there’s also fishing in the crappie-stocked lake. Actually, it’s more of a big pond on this one. Dogs are welcome, as long as they are on a leash, and there are picnic areas, too.

What they don’t have are maps at the entrances to show you what the trail looks like and where it goes. I hate that. They have a big sign telling you what you can’t do (no hunting, alcohol, swimming, yadda yadda yadda), but no where do they say how long the trail is or where it goes. So, it’s a leap of faith—stay on the side walk, and keep the pond on your right, or left, depending on which way you head out.

It’s always wonderful starting out. There’s a breeze blowing, the sun is behind partly cloudy skies, and there aren’t many people this day, so no dodging the bikers. I get lost in my thoughts and the rhythm of the walk. This euphoria lasts for quite a while, then it begins to feel like exercise and I’m not enjoying myself as much.

Spring hasn’t sprung on this trail, so there’s only dead grass and bare-limbed trees to look at. I notice a bridge leading to the other side of the pond, and hopefully the downhill part of the loop. But just as I think the trail will head over there, it veers to the left, the opposite direction, for what seemed like miles! OK, it’s probably more like feet, but it’s still in the opposite direction. But since there wasn’t a map available, who knew how long this loop was and when the trail would veer back to that bridge.

By now, the partly cloudy skies had cleared up to become mostly sunny and that nice breeze was all but gone. I asked Hubby what time it was, and he said it had only been 20 minutes. Only? I would be climbing off the elliptical machine by now! And we still have to walk back! But, we may have gone more than halfway, so maybe we should just keep going. But maybe not. Who the hell knows!?! So, we kept going.

Turned out to be the right decision. Once we finally found and crossed the bridge, it was no time before we were back at the parking lot—an hour total. Hubby was all happy and pumped up. It was a great walk, a great pace, and great change from the gym. I’m happy he was happy. My shins hurt, my head hurt, and my left thigh was so tight, I was limping. OK, maybe I exaggerate, a little. But I was tired. Really tired.

But at least now we know where that trail goes. Maybe I should draw a map.

My LYS

In knitting-lingo, that's Local Yarn Shop.

I love my yarn shop. It's fun, it's beautiful, and it's inviting. The people who own it are nice and helpful, and the people who shop there are the same. And now they're online! So, I thought I'd share it with anyone who stops by the blog. So, here's the link:

String of Purls

You Can't Make This Stuff Up

Hubby's nephew has a retired racing horse. That alone is just head-shaking weird. He wanted a motorcyle, but the family said no, you can have an old horse instead. Huh? You know, you have to keep a horse alive, right?

Anyway. The horse. When he puts the bidle in the horse's mouth, it faints! Makes it a little hard to ride, ya think? I've heard of horses holding their breath when you sinch up the saddle, then exhaling when you get settled so that you slide off, but actually fainting? They think it's some kind of performance anxiety from its time as a race horse. Uh huh. If they start giving that horse prozac, I just might have to laugh in their faces. But I better not. They prescribe prozac for dogs and cats, and horses are a lot smarter. Who knows?

Maybe they should call the Pet Pyschic!

Doggie's Happy Dance

Dogs know how to enjoy and revel in their doggieness. Daily was aleep on the tile floor, then I heard her moving around. She was rolling around, scratching her back on the floor, her collar was jingling, and she was grunting and moaning happily. And every now and then, she'd flop her nose or tail against the floor. So I heard, "Rarrrrr, jingle, Roarrrr, thump, snort, rarrrrrr, snort, jingle clink clink thump" Then one big sneeze and jingle combination, a big shake, and she pranced over to me. Her hair was standing up on the top of head, she was panting and wagging her tail. She was very pleased with her roll around the floor, which we call her "happy dance." She trotted off for a drink of water, then outside to repeat the dance in the newly green grass and sunshine.

Oh, the life of a dog.

My Kind of Town

Chicago is. OK, that’s hokey. And I’m not sure it’s exactly truthful. Can I know after 2 days in a city that I want or could live there? I felt that in Edinburgh. I knew immediately that I could move there at moment’s notice.

Chicago had some of that feeling. It’s a little disconcerting because I had pretty much decided that since the chances were slim that I would be able to move to Edinburgh, or Scotland in general, I wanted to be in the country. I chucked it up to being older and more mature and less patient when it came to being around people. A nice little farmhouse on 5 or so acres with some alpacas so I could spin the wool and sell it for outrageous amounts of money on the Internet as “artisan.” Pastoral, bucolic, idyllic, romantic, and more attainable than Scotland. And I like the idea of being out alone in the open air, with no buildings, no noise, no screaming kids in the aisles at Wal-Mart. Oh, who am I kidding? There will always be a Wal-Mart and there will always be a screaming kid in one of the aisles.

But being in Chicago relit a flame I thought I had blown out. The dream of living in a city, in an apartment where I can jump on the train or a bus to get where I need to go. Stopping at a market on the way home from work with the ingredients for that night’s dinner, rather than shopping for weeks at a time because I have a trunk and a garage that leads right into my house (then throwing away all that produce because I never actually cook it). Going to some of the best museums any time I want, seeing plays from the best playwrights of our time, attending lectures, eating food prepared by top chefs, and of course, watching a baseball or football fame with some of the most fanatical and loyal fans ever. Idyllic, romantic, exciting.

There are some realistic drawbacks. Noise being the main one for me—horns and traffic noise are like nails down a blackboard. But city dwellers seem to have this covered. They just walk everywhere with earbuds in their ears, listening to their iPods. I wouldn’t need to move to the country to distance myself from people, I’ll just turn on my iPod like everyone else. And crime. I didn’t feel unsafe at all, but then again, I’m pretty naive about that. And cost. We saw ads for apartments starting at $200,000! I don’t think I can spin enough alpaca to afford that, especially since I don’t know how to spin yet. Then there is the very real problem of Hubby not wanting to live in a city. He liked Chicago, but he doesn’t want to live there, and living with him does take precedence.

Then there is the other reality that I’m a country girl at heart. I’ve fought it all of my life because I thought you were supposed to want the sophisticated city life. I thought everyone believed the stereotypes of the barefoot and stupid country bumpkin. And in reality, many do. It took moving away to realize that people are going think what they want, you have to be true to yourself. God, would it shock people if I really did end up on a farm.

So, what to do what to do. Luckily I don’t have to decide anytime soon. And honestly, I’m not ruling Scotland out. Options. I got options.

A New Project

As if I really needed another project, I joined a quilt club with a friend at the local quilt shop. It's a block-of-the-month club, so I'll be learning a lot. We'll make 2 blocks each month, then by this time next year, I hope, I'll have this quilt:



I'm excited about this new project! Blocks, applique and quilting, oh my! I've been wanting to really challenge myself, and this is definitely a challenge! I've never made a full-size quilt before. Hopefully, this time next year, I won't be able to say that any more.

You Didn't Ask, But . . .

Well, FHM and the Cynical Bastard made their list of sexiest women, so I thought I'd try a list for sexiest men. My list. I'm not expecting many to agree, and I'm a little behind the times since I don't watch much TV unless it's BBC America, Food Network and HGTV, but here it is, in no particular order.

Movie Star Hunk--Denzel Washington


Brooding Intensity Hunk--Christopher Meloni


Next Sex Symbol Hunk--Clive Owen


Adventurous Hunk--Ewan McGregor


TV Hunk--Julian McMahon


British Hunks--Colin Firth and Jason Isaacs




Politically Savvy and Rock Star Hunk--Bono


Country Boy Hunk--Troy Gentry


Intelligent and Funny Hunk--Steve Martin



If I was 20 Years Younger Hunk--Jake Gyllenhaal

WhiskyFest--It's a Beautiful Thing

When someone tells me they don’t like scotch, I tell them they are drinking the wrong scotch. They’ve probably had a blended scotch, a nasty concoction of several whiskies stirred up into a pretty bottle. But a single malt scotch is a beautiful thing. It’s a caramel-colored, complex, slightly smoky liquid that warms you from the tip of your nose to the tip of your toes.

Of course, different areas of Scotland produces different scotches. The Lowlands produce a soft, malty whisky (that’s whisky without an “e” please). Glenkinchie is an example. The Highlands, being the largest area, produce mostly a drier whisky, sometimes with a hint of peat. Glenmorangie and Oban are popular Highland whiskies. Speyside produces a softer, elegant whisky, and is the home of The Glenlivet and Glenfarclas. And, leaving what I consider the best for last, is Islay, a 25-mile long island that is the home to such wonderfully peaty-scotch distilleries as Bowmore, Laphroaig, Lagavulin, and Ardbeg.

One of the best places to find out what you like, if you don’t have a great bar like the Dundee Dell like we do here in Omaha, is to go to WhiskyFest in Chicago. Sponsored by Malt Advocate magazine, this kid-in-a-candy-store event is a celebration of all things whisky—Scotch, Irish, Bourbon and Blended. Malt Advocate also has a WhiskyFest in New York and London, but this one is more attainable to me, personally, so this is the one we went to. And although the real target audience is distributors and buyers, they were just as friendly and helpful to us consumers.

The doors into the Grand Ballroom at the Hyatt Regency Downtown Chicago opened at 6:30, and we flooded in, eyes bulging and not knowing where to start. Ever been to a Home Show? That’s what this was like, only instead of row after row of tables and booths of landscaping and tiling options, it was all whisky. And, thank God, there were two huge buffets on each side of the room with pasta, roast beef, and muchies. Malt Advocate was nice enough to give everyone a spiral notebook for notetaking with a map of the tables, but it sat unused in my goodie bag. That takes way too much planning. And way too much sober organizational skills, although I saw some people using them.

So, we started on the right. We decided we’d start with some things we hadn’t tried before. We went to Connemara Irish Whiskey (this time, you may use the “e.”). They had 4 different whiskeys to try! Holy Cow, one table and I’m done! Actually, I wasn’t, but that would have been the smart thing to do because nothing tasted as good as this first taste. Oh, it tasted really good, but that first sip, mmmmmmmmm.

Then the trolling began. With tasting glass in hand, (Malt Advocate also supplied lovely engraved glasses), we worked our way around the room. Even though we didn’t have to drive anywhere, I took it easy. Alcohol and my medication don’t get along too well, and I don’t fancy a liver transplant. Besides, this was Hubby’s Christmas present, and as the night went on, it became obvious my role would be as support: support walking, support getting back to the room, support worshipping the ol’ porcelain altar, and so on.

What all did we, or he, try? Penderyn, Bunnahabhain (the rare example of a good blended Scotch from Islay), Old Potrero, Anchor Brewing (a little break from whisky), Santa Teresa Rum, Unibroue Beer, Goose Island Brewing, The Glenrothes, Tullamore Dew, Suntory Yamazaki (Japanese is a growing Scotch producer. It’s a little sweeter than Scotland’s), Wild Scotsman, Compas Box (Oranerie was amazing! And I don’t like sweet drinks.), Dewar’s (actually gave samples of the $200 bottle and gave out cigars), Buffalo Trace, Glenfarclas, Woodford Reserve (still my favorite bourbon), Balvenie, and Maker’s Mark. And those are just the booths we actually visited, and each booth had about 4 different bottles to try. We decided not to go to Laphroaig, Ardbeg, Glenfiddich, and others that we know well and have at home.

Other little treats were Jim Murray, autographing copies of his Whiskey Bible, and Ian Gray, a self-titled “Whisky Artist.” He had prints of his watercolors of distilleries on Islay and some new ones of Woodford Reserve in Kentucky. He signed them and talked about living in a camper van and painting. We bought 2, one depicting Ardbeg Distillery and one depicting Bowmore barrels. They are a wonderful souvenir of the evening.

By 9:30, we were pretty much done. Hubby was really done. Less than an hour earlier, he had been boasting about how Scotch isn’t the same as drinking other alcohol—he was fine, he just couldn’t feel his tongue. Then we sat down for a few minutes to chat with some people, and that did it, he wasn’t able to walk any more. I went to the room to get cash to pay for the prints, and he said that someone asked him if he was OK. He said yes, but I decided no and steered him back to the room, holding on to his elbow, ever so gently maneuvering him down the hall and up the escalators, except for the times I actually had to hold him around the waist to bring him back in the right direction. Imagine an old man, arms bent at the elbows, closed fists, shuffling along, moving his arms back and forth with every step, that was Hubby.

I won’t go into the rest of the evening, you can use your imagination. He eventually slept. He woke up, took some Motrin, took a shower and announced it would be a long time before he drank again. He did make it to the Field Museum and Frontera Grill, but he was hurtin’. What a good sport.

So, will we go next year? Well, yeah! Now we know what to expect. Now we can plan our route and what we want to taste. Now we can plan to attend a seminar or two. Now we’ve got a year to recover. We’ll be ready!

Sitting Next to You in the Plane

The plane to Chicago was one the smallest I've been in. One and two seats with a tiny little aile seaprating them. Remember the scene in Airport where the flight attendant hit everyone in the back of the head with the guitar as she walked down the aisle? Anyone with a shoulder bag was doing the same thing here.

Hubby was across from me, and I sat with a friendly, petite lady named Lesley. She was reading Don't Kiss Them Goodbye by Allison DuBois, of Medium fame. I told her I had read that book because I like stuff like that, but it was a little creepy at times. Not creepy in a "don't go into the mad scientist's house on Halloween" sort of creepy, but come on, she talks to dead people. That's kind of creepy.

But Lesley doesn't find it creepy--she finds it comforting. She'd like to be able to tak to her mom again, and it's comforting to her that there's something after death. Now, if I was a good Baptist I would have used this opportunity to witness to her about salvation through faith in Christ and the comfort she can find there in being reunited with loved ones. But I'm not Baptist, I'm Methodist, and we just don't do that kind of thing. Besides, I still have some questions about all that, myself.

Nor did I remind her that most of the spirits DuBois talks to are still here because there is some unfinished business here or they died by some kind of violence. So, personally, I think it's more comforting that maybe they've moved on to something better and there's no need to come back.

But I just don't know. There are some people I'd like to talk to again. And I started to think maybe Lesley had a point. Maybe that book is more comforting than creepy. Then she said she really liked Jonathan Edwards and wondered if his show was still on. Well, I can't think of John Edwards without thinking of the South Park episode about him. I decided she was a nutter and went back to the comfort and concrete reality of my Backpacker magazine.

Airport Attire

It never ceases to amaze me the number of people I see at the airport wearing inappropriate shoes. I understand it--Shoes are the hardest part of traveling for me. I'm vain, and I want those great looking shoes, not just good-walking shoes. But in the airport, survival wins over vanity.

Now, I love to fly. and I feel perfectly safe flying, but realistically, planes crash (OK, maybe that should have been "fatalistically"). But really realistically, planes have engine trouble and have to stop at the end of the runway, while you wait for a bus to take you to the airport. And planes run late, forcing you to have 15 minutes to get to the opposite end of the airport for your connecting flight. For these reasons, and more, flip-flops, slides, clogs, stilletos, and 3-inch spike heels are not good choices.

If I have to slide down an emergency exit to a hard, cold ground and run away from the flames of death, I need shoes that will take me away, not one that still look good after they brush away the ashes.

And when I'm running down the concourse to my next plane, I want to worry about holding down my breasts, not curling my toes to keep my shoes on or balancing to keep my ankles from turning.

So people! Put the sandals, flip-flops and Jimmy Choo's in your suitcase and show off your best pair of tennies! Or at least something low heeled that completely encloses your foot. Don't make me run over you.

I Hate Being on Medication

Damn it all to hell! I've been spitting nails for almost 2 weeks now. It's like being permanently PMSing! Most people get depressed and suicidal on this medication, but noooooooo, I become Diva Bitch.

OK, yes, Avonex will slow down the progression of MS and yes, the side effects will wear off to nothing, but damn. At this rate I'm going to have to live at a hotel because no one can stand to be around me--even me!

Welbutrin? Prozac? Lexapro? I just may have to add another pill to my daily regime.

Just thought I'd get that out of the way.

Anticipating the Trip

For Christmas last year, I got hubby tickets for WhiskyFest in Chicago. I will never be able to top that gift. Actually, I could probably never give him anything else, and it would be ok. Not only did I get us the tickets, I reserved a room in the hotel it’s held at, so that all we have to do is crawl back up to our room. And, I ordered tickets for the Field Museum, so that all we have to do is walk up to the Will Call window, instead of standing in line forever with everyone else. This is something he has wanted to do for a long time, but we always had some excuse why we couldn’t go. I decided to stop making excuses and just do it. Yeah, it’s a chunk of money we could be spending on improvements on the house, but those improvements will be there when we get back. WhiskyFest may not!

Usually, the anticipation is the best part of anything for me. I daydream, I plan, I imagine how wonderful a trip will be. Then, reality hits. I have to do laundry, pack, make arrangements for the dog, stop the mail, stop the paper, get cash, get the hotel reservations, print out the airline reservations, gather the tourist information for what we’ve decided to do, and on and on and on. Errands ad nausia.

And then the nerves set in. We’re flying in, but not renting a car because we are going to Chicago. I’ve only been there once before, but I know we don’t want to drive a car in Chicago. So, we have to get to the hotel. There’s a shuttle to the hotel, but my first instinct is that hubby will complain about the cost. We could take a cab, but same as the shuttle. We could take the El, but it’s 4 blocks to the hotel and we will already be cutting it close to get there in time for the starting of the event. Plus, there’s no telling how long it will take us to figure out how to purchase tickets and then hope we get on the right train. My heart’s beating a little faster just thinking about that. I’ve never had to depend on public transportation, so I’m not really sure I can figure it out. I have a great fear of being lost and stranded. How can I be almost 40 and still be such a weenie?

But it will work out, and we will have a great time. I’m not a big scotch drinker, but this will be so much more than that. Just the same, I do kind of wish that my brother or some of Al’s friends were going with us so that he would have someone who can truly appreciate this event with him. I’m just excited about seeing men in kilts. Oh, and that we are going to eat at Frontera Gill. I’m excited about that! I’ve cooked so many Rick Bayless recipes, that it’ll be nice to let him cook for me.

Ooops. I hear the very polite “pings” of my dryer. One more load done and a couple more to go. Then packing. Then running errands. Then getting Daily’s stuff together . . .

Let's Play a Game

I watched one of my favorite movies last night. See if you can guess it by some lines from it:


Is you, or is you not my constituents?

I've counted to three.

He's bonafide. He's a keeper.

I'm a Dapper Dan man.

I'm gonna r-u-n-n-o-f-t

(and this one is a dead give away)

We...thought you...was a toad


Know what it is? Seen it?

Still Not Relieved

By way of my brother, by way of fellow blogger Lisa, I bought Refuse to Choose by Barbara Sher. I was intrigued by the subtitle "A Revolutionary Program for Doing Everything that You Love." That would be quite the accomplisment because there is A LOT that I love. If I made a list of current hobbies and interests, along with what I want to persue but just haven't had the time, it would be so long that it would just depress me because I think there's no way I can do all that!

So, I may be a scanner. I fit her descriptions, some of them any way, especially the ones about wanting to do so many things that I don't do anything and once the discovery is over, I'm not interested and I move on. And I've always felt like there was something wrong with me and that I was inferior because of it. One time when I was telling my husband about one of my latest "maybe I should try" things, he was quiet and nonresponsive. When I asked him why he told me it's because I don't finish anything I start, so he doesn't have an opinion. Now, this was a long time ago. He's learned that being that honest with me is not a good idea.

But I thought he was right. And the result was two-fold: 1)I stopped thinking about all the different things I could do and 2) I stopped confiding in my husband what I was thinking and dreaming. (This is where everyone goes, "Oooohhhhh. That's sad.")

But after a while I realized, who was I kidding? I couldn't stop going in different directions and I couldn't stop telling my hubby about it. After all, why the hell did I marry him if I couldn't ramble on about nothing to him.

So, now here's a book saying that I'm a scanner and that it's OK. And it's possible to use it to my advantage. I haven't gotten very far into it yet, only about 40 pages, but I'm going to read the whole thing. Even though my pattern is to skim and jump around to the stuff that's interesting to me then put it away, never to think about it again. Yet another symptom of a scanner--all gung ho and excited to get started then lose interest when something else comes along.

Anyway, let's see how this goes. Then I'll pass it along to other scanners I know because I'll be knee-deep in some other project.

Dream Job

Taste tester for Ben and Jerry's ice cream. How do you get a job like that?!? I was just watching a special on the Travel Channel about ice cream palaces.

I want to go to Vermont. I want to work there--in R&D and Taste Testing, of course.

Actually, I'd be happy taste testing just about any ice cream. Espcially the chunky stuff. Every now and then I just want vanilla or vanilla with chocolate syrup, but usually, the more ya pile in it the better.

And on this show, the narrator was giving a list about things they put in ice cream, ending with "even pretzels." What's wrong with pretzels in ice cream? I loooooove pretzels in my ice cream.

Well now I'm having a craving. I'm the ultimate consumer--suggest it and I'll want it.

All Tuckered Out

It wore Daily out to supervise our snow shoveling.

Over a Foot!

When the snow finally ended, we had over a foot. The roads are pretty clear, though, because they were so warm before the snow fell. It was really beautiful this morning. This picture is looking out our back door.

How Scared Must Bush Be

A news conference out of the blue? A blatant political move to boost the conservative cause in a time of important elections, that's what it was. Bush is the lowest he's been in the polls, the Republican are in real danger of losing their standing in upcoming state elections, and there is no front runner Republican for president. What's a good little boy to do? Why, go on TV and talk about how much good he's done and how much good conservatives have done and how we should keep the "conservative" course. I sure hope Americans are smart enough to see through this.

An article about the conference is here.

One of the money quotes for me when asked about a day there won't be a troops in Iraq: "That, of course, is an objective. And that will be decided by future presidents and future governments of Iraq," he said. Great. Throw us into this horrible war that you didn't realize would be going on this long and that things would stay so bad, but it won't be your problem to finish it. That'll be the next president. I think it's a tactical error because when I heard that quote I thought, "You're damn right it will be someone else's decision--a Democrat's decision!"