The Winner of the $100 Gift Card Giveaway Is….

I’m excited to announce the winner of my $100 gift card giveaway! It’s none other than the DIY blogger Laughing Abi.

There were tons of entries and through Rafflecopter, she was randomly selected as the recipient. I want to thank everyone who entered my biggest giveaway ever, especially those dedicated folks who entered time and time and time again. I very rarely enter giveaways, so it was neat for me to see your diligence through the continual stream of comments and Tweets.

Also, clearly none of this would have been possible without Scotts Miracle-Gro. Thank you for reaching out to me and introducing me to your Premium Plants (which are doing great in our garden, BTW!) and sponsoring the $100 gift card to Home Depot.

Congrats again Laughing Abi!

mustache-abi-cropped-225x300

Laughing Abi.

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Wordless Wednesday: Kites at Lincoln Park in Chicago

Kites at Lincoln Park

This picture doesn’t do it justice, but there were well over a hundred kites flying at the Kids and Kites Festival. Some were the size of an SUV.

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Tasty Tuesdays: A Dinner At Chicago’s Pars Cove Persian restaurant

Hubby and I have always been pretty lucky when it comes to our friends. We think they’re amazing people and they are all different on the outside: from born agains to atheists, seven-figure executives to welfare moms, and corn-bred white farm boys to inner-city brown-skinned survivors.

One evening the scheduling gods smiled upon us and allowed for us to have dinner with another couple. She’s an amazing journalist and he’s an amazing musician. I have no idea why they like us, but I’m just glad that they do.

ParsCoveoutsideWe went to Pars Cove in Chicago’s Lincoln Park neighborhood. It’s a family-owned Persian restaurant that is snuggled along a bustling Diversey Avenue. It boasts of three quaint dining areas, sizeable fish tank, stained glass wall and fireplace. I can’t quite figure the motif, but you do feel as if you’ve stepped into the 1970s, but strangely, it seems to work.

Maybe it’s because the place opened in 1976. The owner, Max Pars, is a charming sweet guy who is fun to talk to. He weathered a rough bit in 2007 after his food sickened people at the Taste of Chicago festival, but hasn’t had problems since. People love this place and I can see why.

Hubby and I got to Pars Cove a smidge late because we were having a pre-dinner drink at Duffy’s Tavern & Grille. (If you are over the age of 25 or not a University of Michigan fan, I would suggest avoiding this place. When I ordered a lemon drop martini the bartenders made a big deal of me “classing up the place.” This is a college bar with an impressive, spacious layout.  But it embraces all that is good and bad about college bars. Again, if I was 22 and it was a University of Missouri bar, I’m sure I’d love it.)

But once at Pars Cove, we felt relaxed and at home. The Musician ordered a Grey Goose martini with a twist and though I usually go for wine, that sounded perfect. I suppose I needed to wash away the college-era martini of the previous place.

Honestly that martini went down so smooth and was so yummy, I wanted the glass to be bottomless. Admittedly I tried to create that affect by ordering round after round.

We started off with a wonderful appetizer called the Cool Sampler. It was a platter of Hummus, Kashk, Bulgarian feta, Dolmeh with a salad in balsalmic virgin olive oil.

 

Cool sampler at Pars Cove.

Cool sampler at Pars Cove.

The hummus is the best I’ve ever had, very fresh, bright with flavor and a smooth even consistency. It was hard not to lick the plate. If I was at home, I admit, the plate would have been licked clean.

For dinner I ordered one of the signature dishes, the chicken fesenjan, which is a marinated chicken breast simmered in a walnut and pomegranate sauce and is just as yummy as it sounds. I took a bite of the chicken and thought, hmm, that has a little kick. I didn’t think the fesenjan would be spicy. Soon we figured out that I was actually devouring the tasty chicken zarreshk, which  was a chicken breast marinated in saffron and simmered in a wild currant citrus sauce. The Musician had my chicken fesejan. We swapped dishes and though we enjoyed the other’s meal, we loved ours own much more.

The chicken fesenjan.

The chicken fesenjan.

Our table also had the lamb fesejan, which I think was the best meal at the table and I’m not a big fan of lamb. It was succulent, tender and mild flavoring blended perfectly with the rich, sweet-but-not-too-sweet fesejan sauce.

The lamb fesejan.

The lamb fesejan.

Finally dessert came and it was a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream, drizzled with honey.

Yum!

Yum!

As the meal was coming to a close me and the other journalist were presented with a rose. That’s part of the tradition here at Pars Cove, ladies are treated with flowers. Like the décor, it’s kinda cheesy but it’s also a nice touch, so it works.

RosebyShesWrite

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Just Write: Bad sax in the suburbs

I am sitting here in front of Potbellys in the suburbs because it’s a nice day and I want to write outside. Admittedly, it’s not an inspiring atmosphere because I’m at a café table on a sidewalk next to a black top parking lot in the middle of a bland strip mall that could be anywhere USA, but hey the sky is blue, there’s a slight breeze and I’m writing.

Image by valeo.

Image by valeo.

So no complaints here.

There is one weird/amusing thing though. There’s this apparently 60-plus year old honking on the saxophone. And he’s horrible. I suppose he’s practicing, I’m not sure.

I didn’t know a sax could sound that bad, and I remember when my nephew was in fourth grade and started playing the sax. He was, well, he was still better than this guy.

It’s been great to watch people’s faces when they get out of their car and hear his squawking.

One woman frowned and asked the guy next to her, “what the heck is that noise?”

“I don’t know, a goose I guess.”

To prove to you how much he’s really honking, I’ve overheard two other conversations identical to that one.

But part of me admires the Kenny G wannabe’s fortitude. He’s practicing his horn, honks included, for all to hear and he doesn’t seem to give a damn, which you know, is kinda cool. So cool that I don’t mind the squawking all that much, which is why I’m going to sit here awhile longer and just write.

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Scotts Miracle-Gro to fix my ‘green thumb’ and my biggest giveaway ever

Remember my earlier post about my lack of a green thumb? Well, you can imagine how happy I was when Scotts Miracle-Gro contacted me about writing a sponsored post. They gave me a couple gift cards and I hit up the local Home Depot to buy some new Miracle-Gro Premium Plants.

These plants boast of vibrant blooms that are fast-growing and last all season. Sounds good, right? It seemed like the perfect match for my not-so-green thumb. They’re a new product and only available during the month of May at Chicago area Home Depots, so I felt lucky to nab some.

Decisions, decisions.

I got marigolds and impatiens, plus some gardening soil to boot.

The goods.

When my 5 year old spotted the flowers and soil, he began to jump up and down, screaming: “It’s happening! It’s happening! We’re planting flowers! It’s happening!” Kid you not, he was more excited about these flowers than he was on Christmas morning. Who knew?

First we laid down the soil and worked it into the ground and then the digging began. We dug deep holes, deep enough to put the plants in. The ground had many squeal-worthy treats like worms, spiders, roley polies and six-legged creatures.

Digging is fun.

 

After covering up the plants’ roots with soil, they looked awesome. I felt a sense of accomplishment because instead of having to transfer some weak little wisp of a plant into a flower bed, I had these robust-looking flowers all set to go in the garden. There’s certainly something to be said for instant gratification.

Viola!

Not to mention, I’ve now got the best-looking garden in the neighborhood. (Ahem.)

So thanks Scotts Miracle-Gro! And I want to thank them on behalf of you guys, my readers because they are sponsoring She’sWrite’s biggest giveaway to date. It’s a $100 gift card to Home Depot to my Chicago area peeps and there’s several ways you can enter to win.

Enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway

The giveaway begins today Wednesday, May 8 and lasts one week until Wednesday, May 15. I will announce the winner on May 16.

Good luck and happy Spring!

For more info on the Premium Plants watch below:

 

**This promotion is sponsored by Scotts Miracle-Gro. It is in no way sponsored, endorsed or administered by, or associated with Facebook. You understand that you are providing your information to the owner of this Facebook page and not to Facebook. This promotion is powered by Rafflecopter. Metric Feat LLC (“Rafflecopter”) does not sponsor, administer, or endorse this promotion. Participants must read and agree to Rafflecopter’s Privacy Policy before entering and participating in this promotion. Promotion available to those ages 18+ and US Only.

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Wordless Wednesday: I’ve Heard Of Expectant Mom Parking, But This Is Ridiculous

The sign outside a medical complex near my house.

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Honoring the Plants I’ve Killed With a Vow to Improve My Green Thumb

There’s something therapeutic about working with my hands and now that Spring has somewhat arrived in Chicago, I have started making fragile promises of developing my green thumb by planting flowers and other greenery.

I call the promises “fragile” because I’ve made them before, only to watch them break as little sprouts wilt away.

It’s really sad because my 5 year old loves plants and watching things grow. He was going through a

The little green leaf in the middle belongs to a random seed that Logan planted. I hope it fares better than its predecessors.

phase where he snuck any seed he could find into our potted plants. Eat a grapefruit? He’d plant a seed. Same with an apple or orange. After faithfully watering the seeds, he’d check on them every morning and then squeal with delight when little bits of green poked through the dirt.

So I had a brilliant idea to give him his own pot and seeds to plant. Logan was stoked and dutifully cared for the plants.

As they grew, he would talk to the plants each night before going to bed and first thing in the morning. The plants flourished amid his tender love and  care, but when they grew so big it was time to transplant them to a new, more appropriate plot, that’s when they’d run into trouble.

That trouble was me. I’d always intend to transfer them, but would forget. And forget and forget.  The plants would get long, long, longer, so long they’d topple over their own weight or suffer a similar fate due to my neglect.

Logan has stopped sneaking seeds in the plants or asking for more seeds to plant, I think he’s tired of seeing his buddies die. So though my promises are fragile, I am really, really going to try to make a concerted effort to plant some plants. This time I’ll focus on hearty ones that can live outside and not require repotting.

Here’s a memorial to the plants.

This is the plant formerly known as a tomato plant. *Disclaimer: we are not responsible for that patch of brown you see in the background. The landscapers have yet to fix that up. If we were in charge of it, it’d be much browner.

 

Though this is only one pot, it’s been the home of numerous plants. Sunflowers, grapefruit trees, orange trees, pumpkins, and more have all known this beloved patch of dirt only to move on to the great greenhouse in the sky.

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Storytelling in Chicago: I’m kinda liking this whole stage thing

Driving down the Kennedy Expressway  at a whopping 13 miles an hour, I was white-knuckeling it. It wasn’t that I was running late (surprised?) or that I needed to take a whiz. It was that I was going to tell a story about one of my life’s not-so-proud moments.

Story Club ChicagoI was headed to Holiday Club in Chicago’s Uptown neighborhood to be a “featured performer” for Story Club Chicago, where people stand on stage and tell true stories about their life. I participated in Story Club’s open mic a few months ago and not only did I win, but the creative genius who is the mother of Story Club, Dana Norris, asked me to come back as a featured performer.

Natch, I said yes and so here I was. Creeping down the Kennedy. Nervous. Worried I’d mess it up, though since it’s a story that is about my life, how could I? Nevertheless I was nervous. To focus, I decided to read my story.

Yes, while driving. I figured it was better than the people around me who were texting, talking on their cells without being handsfree, eating, putting on makeup, painting their nails, or using their yoga skills to stretch into the backseat to put a baby’s pacifier back in his mouth.

After reading it over a few times, I started making some tweaks and changes. I changed the characters’ names because I knew I’d eventually put it on my blog and this is a nonfiction piece. I also reworked the ending. Yes, all while driving, it was good for my nervous energy.

And I had a lot of this energy. I’d been nervous since about mid-afternoon, but strangely the closer I got to the place the more comfortable I became. By the time I walked in the door, Hubby had already staked out a spot close to the stage and two of my bestest curly-haired divas were there.  A few minutes later I spotted one of my awesome gal pals who is like Martha Stewart, except she’s nice and not an ex-con. My support posse was rounded out with a friend who “knew me back when” and then one of my uber smart AP buds who would always snark with me about the stupidities of the world.

Seeing all my peeps wiped my nervousness away and I was giddy, giddy to catch up with people, giddy they came out and giddy to take the stage. Then Dana told me that I’d be going behind her, which I thought was a horrible idea because this girl is funny. Like milk-shoot-out-your-nose funny.

I know I can make you smile, possibly chuckle, but I can’t make you laugh so hard you wish you had a Kleenex.

Anyway, all too soon it was time for me to take the stage. I was caught up in the show and then realized Dana was introducing me. Whoops. Stumbling over my husband’s legs, I take the stage, praising the Lord I didn’t land face first.

I eased into my story and got a few chuckles and then a few more. Soon, I felt like the audience was right along with me, getting my humor and sharing in my experience. There’s something crazily unifying about sharing yourself, especially the ugly parts, in front of people. Because when they “get it” it makes me feel like I’m not the only loony in the nut house.

Click here for my story. I do think it’s better in person, but we didn’t record it so you’ll have to use your imagination. :)

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The Jackie Robinson movie and a case of deja vu when it comes to change in America

Sitting there with fingers buttery from the popcorn, I watched the new Jackie Robinson movie, “42,” and it struck me how many parallels his rise to play for the Brooklyn Dodgers mirrored Barack Obama’s rise to the White House.

We all know their stories: A black man works hard, fights the racism monster and breaks the color barrier to arrive at the major leagues.

That was not the part of “42” that resonated with me. It was the whispers in the subplots showing us the complex components of a country that was changing, growing, evolving. It’s a chapter in America’s past doing what history often does: repeats itself.

The buzz in the black community as Robinson went from Negro League baseball to play for the Montreal Royals was akin to Obama winning the Iowa primary in 2008. There were also similarities in the white people along the way who supported Robinson and those who backed Obama as well as the sentiments of others whose views on race evolved through time.

It didn’t seem like the film’s writer-director Brian Helgeland was trying to draw parallels between Robinson and Obama, he did an excellent job focusing the lens on Robinson’s story. (In fact, Oscar-winning Helgeland told the AP he felt “an enormous amount of pressure” to be very factual with the first-baseman’s story.)

So were the parallels all in my head? I had a healthy email exchange earlier this month with a philosophy professor at DePaul University, Jason Hill, to see what he thought about the similarities between Robinson’s and Obama’s paths.

He aptly pointed out that this is simply part of all social change.

Hill contends that breaking the color barrier comes in three parts. There’s the agitator, the implementer and the facilitator. The agitator is someone who disrupts the status quo, much like Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X. The implementer is someone who embodies that change, but in a manner that’s not alarming or off-putting to those in the majority, like Robinson and Obama. And then there’s the facilitator, the Branch Rickeys of the world. Rickey was the plucky Dodgers president who was determined to have a black player in major league baseball.  (I must say that Harrison Ford played Rickey so deftly, I forgot I was watching Hans Solo.)

Hill then noted how we see this change trifecta today in the fight for equality for the LGBT community. An agitator? The drag queens of Stonewall. Implementers? People like NBA player Jason Collins, Ellen DeGeneres and Max Mutchnick, the creator of the TV show, “Will & Grace.” The Facilitators? President Obama as well as the American Foundation for Equal Rights, which is leading the federal court challenge in support of same-sex marriage.

One thing that really hit me while watching “42” was the role of white people. Namely white people who pushed for integration.

I liked how Rickey made it clear to the other players to get aboard the integration train or else. Also, how manager Leo Durocher said he didn’t care if Robinson had stripes like a zebra, he was going to play ball.

“42” didn’t whitewash the push for integration, but had a healthy balance of what professor Hill calls “ethical white people.”

“Ethical white people, operating from the standpoint of normality can speak a language of universality that has, I believe, more moral purchase on the sensibilities of other white people,” Hill said.

In short, when ethical white people talk to white people who are on the fence, those whites are more likely to listen.

Though we often hear of the Branch Rickeys, John Browns, and Lyndon B Johnsons throughout history, what about people who don’t have such gravitas? The people in the whispering subplots?

They’re also essential to social change. It’s in their conversations with their families, friends, coworkers that they, you, me, we can appeal to people’s sensibilities.

With all of this talk of having a post-racial society and racism being eradicated, I worry folks won’t see how they can make a difference through opening their own minds and others’ in their daily lives. Racism these days can often be subtle and/or institutionalized so much it’s hard for people to recognize it for what it is. Then it grows to be just as damaging as burning crosses on lawns or not serving someone lunch in a restaurant.

I wonder how many people see the need for our evolution.

Like the evolution that Dodgers’ broadcaster Red Barber, who grew up in the South, had when it came to integrating baseball. And Obama had the same public evolution when it came to gay marriage. Whose evolution can you be a part of?

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Wordless Wednesday: Portland’s Wonderful Powell’s

Powell's bookstore in Portland

Powell’s City of Books.

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