PaperGirl Blog by Mary Fons

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19 Aug 2017

I Got a Mouthguard: Clearly I Am Cool.

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life, Sicky | 21

A mouthguard from a boxing match at the 2016 Olympic Games in Rio, or so Wikipedia tells me. Image: Wikipedia. — A (grody) mouthguard from a boxing match, apparently. Not my mouthguard, not my boxing match. Image: Wikipedia.

Pop Quiz No. 1:

Q: Two weeks ago, I went to the dentist to get a filling repaired. How did I break a filling?

A: Because I chomped ice cubes for like two months straight before my labs showed my anemia was so bad I was .5 ice cubes away from the blinkin’ emergency room.

You remember, don’t you, how I narrowly-avoided an ER trip — it has been known to happen — but got my iron infusions and avoided that at the eleventh hour? That was great. Less great is that my dentist, Dr. Tahbaz, confirmed that my ice-eating was probably the main culprit for my busted filling.

Pop Quiz No. 2:

Q: My dentist visit cost $250. Guess how much my iron infusions cost?

A: $3,600. After insurance.

I’m not sure what my face did when I opened that bill from Northwestern. Did it twist? Or was it flat? Did it buzz and fizz or was it numb? I don’t know because I kinda blanked out. I regained consciousness somewhere in the next few minutes, though, because I remember that I started laughing. Not because I was happy, or because anything was funny. No, I started laughing because I somehow kept opening mail and it somehow kept being bills for astronomical amounts: hospital treatments, tuition for grad school, condo payments. And I pay my own taxes, so I have to put money aside for that every quarter, which means that the money in my accounts isn’t really mine. I kept laughing to keep from crying or hitting things.

Life, man. A girl could just gnash her teeth all day over it all.

Except that she can’t. Because guess what else the dentist told her?

“You need to get a mouth guard. You’re grinding your teeth at night. A lot. Get a mouth guard. Today.”

It’s not earth-shattering news that I grind my teeth. I vaguely remember other dentists mentioning this to me. But either they were never really that concerned about it or I wasn’t listening, because no one ever did anything about my bruxism. Did you know that teeth-grinding has a name? It’s a real affliction/condition and it’s called bruxism.

Pop Quiz No. 3:

Q: If you’re a teeth-grinder (tooth-grinder?) and an annoying person at a cocktail party asks you about your theological, ideological, or political beliefs, how do you answer like a boss?

A: “I’m a Bruxist. Oh, look at the time.”

What I’m trying to get at is that I had to buy a mouthguard. The good news is that it was $25, not $250 or $3,600; the bad news is that I have a mouthguard I’m supposed to wear at night so I don’t grind my teeth against themselves but against a piece of inert plastic, instead. The news is bad because a) it’s sad I need protection against myself via the nocturnal manifestation of anxiety and existential angst, and because 2) mouthguards do not inspire a feeling of attractiveness, exactly. Mouthguards are practical, but they are not sexy.

But I like my teeth. Healthy teeth are sexy. So fine: I’ll wear my charming! clear! dainty! mouthguard when I’m sleeping alone. But should I have company, well, that thing is getting stuffed into the medicine cabinet before you can say “iron supplement.”

18 Aug 2017

The Chicago Tribune, Love of Quilting, and Hurray!

by Mary | posted in: Quilting, Work | 13

Pendennis made this. It is very fancy. Image: Pendennis.

The media frenzy continues! Quilts are in the news again — and I promise you, no PR agents were hired in the making of this big, juicy article. People just dig quilts, man. That’s a fact.

Two weeks ago, legendary Chicago reporter, radio personality, and consummate gentleman Rick Kogan came over to my place from the Chicago Tribune with a photographer. I offered them a beverage, Rick pulled out a notebook, and we all hung out and talked quilts. They put together a groovy video and Rick wrote a terrific piece all about a certain quilter, ahem. It’s a terrific thing for quilters and quilts when quilters and quilts can be in the news — thank you, Rick.

Part of what’s exciting about all this is that I got to tell the Trib/the world how I’ll be heading to Iowa in a few weeks to be a guest on Love of Quilting! The show is in such good hands with the beautiful and talented Sara Gallegos, of course, but Sara will be able to kick back her heels for a minute while I’m in Iowa to tape three episodes with Mom. Oh, how I do miss TV! I can’t wait to get in there, hang with the crew, and make some work with my favorite sewing pal: my awesome Mother Unit.

That quilt in the background, by the way? That’s one of the projects for the fall taping! So you can say you saw it here first.

Catch you later on the small screen, folks. You don’t even need to change out of your pajamas.

Love,
Mary

p.s. I did share the article/video on my Facebook page the other day when it hit the web, but I discovered the story was also a full feature in the Sunday print edition this week. And anyway, who says you can only celebrate a neat thing once??

17 Aug 2017

Feels So Good: ‘In the Year of the Boar and Jackie Robinson’

by Mary | posted in: Family, Luv | 9

The book looks like this! Image: Wikipedia.

“Shirley Temple Wong sails from China to America with a heart full of dreams. Her new home is Brooklyn, New York. America is indeed a land full of wonders, but Shirley doesn’t know any English, so it’s hard to make friends.

Then a miracle happens: baseball! It’s 1947, and Jackie Robinson, star of the Brooklyn Dodgers, is everyone’s hero. He proves that a black man, the grandson of a slave, can make a difference in America. By watching Jackie, Shirley begins to truly feel at home in her new country, and that America really is the land of opportunity — both on and off the field.”

That’s the synopsis of In the Year of the Boar and Jackie Robinson. Do you remember this book?

We read it junior high school, all of us kids there in Winterset Middle School sixth-grade Reading. And even the kids who weren’t super hot on reading — the same kids who I was jealous of as they kicked butt in gym and/or chemistry and/or woodworking, I’ll have you know — well, we all dug In the Year of the Boar and Jackie Robinson. It’s about baseball, yes, but Betty Bao Lord’s story is also about crying and then smiling your face off because Shirley Temple Wong is so real and trying so hard. Just like we were, all of us kids. It’s the same now, too.

The school system in Winterset is small but mighty. Hometown of John Wayne! And as if that wasn’t cool enough, they knew — they knew — this was an important book. “They” were right.

It’s such a fast, easy read, you could read it in three hours, probably. I won’t tell you what happens in the end. (I’m dying to, but I won’t.) If you don’t know, or if you can’t remember, the ending of this book is like 90 times better than Charlie playing a trombone solo for me. Better than me squeezing avocados at perfect strangers.

The book is better, even, than the fact that after all the achingly excellent crowd-stashing suggestions re: my mom’s fabric — all of them incredible but ultimately leading to not-quiiiiite-enough yardage or yielding the brown version of the fabric instead of the black — Anna Griffin herself heard about the whole thing and sent some to Mom so she could finish her quilt. Could you die??

I know. Me, too. But don’t die. Live, my loves, live! Live, and get to the library. Read In the Year of the Boar and Jackie Robinson like you’re just a kid.

You’re a good kid!

14 Aug 2017

Mama, Little Boy, and Squinchy Eye.

by Mary | posted in: Chicago, Day In The Life | 6

Another mother and her wee bairn. Image: Wikipedia. — Mother and bairn. Image: Wikipedia.

An author I admire a lot once said, “The best thoughts are conceived while walking.”

Ain’t that just the way? It’s certainly an encouragement to go for a stroll. Because even if you don’t think up anything good while walking — I spend a lot of time thinking about jokes and snacks, for example — you’re bound to at least see some stuff.

Which counts for a lot.

On Friday, I was walking up Wabash, headed to the newspaper office** and I saw the sweetest thing. It wasn’t anything remarkable, but it was worth the walk.

A woman was with her son. She was in her late thirties, maybe; her little boy was eight or so. They had stopped on the sidewalk because there was a problem with the boy. He was so cute, but he was not happy: There was something in his eye.

Obviously, this was not an emergency; if it had been, this would be a very different post. No, the blinky eye in question was plagued with an eyelash or a no-see-um gnat or something minor. But shorty was so grumpy, whatever it was, it clearly hurt. A gnat is big when your eyeball is small.

As I approached, I saw how sweet the boy’s mother was, helping her child steady himself while he frowned and scrubbed at his face. She tried to get at his lil’ peeper with a thumb; I heard him say, “I can do it! Ow!”

There were but a few seconds to take in the scene, but I saw it all: pure tenderness and kindness coming from the mother, pure trust from the boy, who knew he was safe, even if it hurt. Suddenly, I recalled Aesop’s fable when the mouse taking the thorn from the paw of the lion.

Now that I think about it, it’s precisely that mother-son moment and consequently thinking of Aesop that is proof positive the best thoughts are conceived while walking.

After I passed the scene, I remembered how the health foods store a block away used to stock these maple peanut butter bar thingys that I love. Mm. If I turned right a block early, I could swing by the health food store and then grab a coffee to go with it before going into the office.

See? The best snacks are conceived while walking.

**Did I tell you I got promoted? I got promoted to head-editor-in-charge of the school paper! I’m sharing the position with the brilliant and beautiful Irena, because we both were in the running for the job this coming year and decided that life, school, and working at the paper would be far more enjoyable/productive if we shared the duties of managing editor. Divide and conquer, that’s what we said, and we clinked glasses and went into the Publication Board meeting for our joint interview, which we nailed. We’re a terrific team and I’m in heaven, being a top-dog editor again. I really love being an editor. I might have to be one again, for a long time. I’ll keep you posted.

13 Aug 2017

Charlottesville’s Web.

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life, Family, Work | 7

Summerdance looks a little like this, you might say. Image: Wikipedia. — so Tulips in Grant Park. Summerdance looks a little like this. Image: Wikipedia.

Remember that time that car drove into a crowd of people in Berlin? It was Christmas.

It was awful. A terrorist drove a van into a market in Berlin and I thought of Claus, of course, because Claus lives in Berlin. What I never got around to mentioning is that when I went to visit Claus in January, my hotel was practically on top of the site where that man did that. It was just a few weeks later, when I walked past for the first time. There were still many lit candles. There were still framed pictures of people who died, pictures of those injured irrevocably.

Ruin and death.

Last night, I had dinner with Heather in River North. We had tacos. Afterward, I walked her to the bus stop at Watertower Place. I blew a kiss to my friend as she boarded the bus north and after we waved to each other through the window, I turned to walk the 1.8 miles home, straight down Michigan Avenue. It was obvious that’s what I’d do; I had seen the news. I needed to be around other people. The air was fine, I was physically fine, and I was wearing my hat.

Baby, you should’ve been there. The world was out there. Families. Couples in love. Teenagers. Older folks. Babies in strollers. All of us, on a mild summer night in one of the greatest cities in the world, walking along the sidewalk to get across the great Chicago River, all of us together there on the DuSable Bridge.

It would’ve been be so easy to plow a car through us all.

Michigan Avenue is a sitting duck, really. So many people to hate, and for endless reasons. All it would take is a head start, maybe followed by throwing the car into reverse to catch a few more of us. You know I’m on that bridge all the time. I’m on Michigan Avenue probably 300 days out of the year. So are many children, young lovers, old folks. Last night, we got across.

As I approached Polk Street, almost home, I heard music. My heart leaped when I realized Summerdance was going on.

Summerdance is this sublime summer series in Grant Park, right here in my neighborhood. Every week, pretty signs are stuck into the grass and a modest stage is set up in the clearing for a band or DJ. And every night, Summerdance celebrates a different kind of music. Like, one week it’ll be salsa, the next week it might be swing, or Calypso — really, any and every kind of music you can dance to gets its turn from summer to summer. There’s more: Professional dance teachers come and teach you steps from the stage! Some folks who come to Summerdance are incredible dancers and some people have two left feet, but you have never seen so many smiling people together in your life.

After the lesson, for a couple hours, the band or the DJ plays music so people can dance their news steps, under the trees, under the stars, together. There are usually about 400 people there. There is no racial demographic. All are welcome. All come.

Here is what is true:

I’m not doing enough to help protect the people on the bridge on Michigan Avenue. I’m not doing enough to keep Summerdance safe. It’s good to write to you, my friends, about how beautiful it is to be among all of my American brothers and sisters. But the internet is not enough.

If I don’t do more than I’m doing right now, the bridges will burn. The music will stop. And that’s just not gonna work for me.

If you’re new to this blog, and the Google people tell me there are, you should probably read this.

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