milwaukee – Britt Skrabanek

The Last of Every Little Thing

Tomorrow is my last day of work. This day, above probably anything else, is the finale of my life here. In this sweet little city of Milwaukee.

Although this is my third cross-country move, I’ll tell you something. It doesn’t make it any easier.

Excitement for a daring adventure veers sharply into bittersweet. Every place, every face, every little thing that I’ve known for the past handful of years molds reluctantly into a memory…the lasts.

The last time I will walk the familiar route to work, turning up my music to cover the traffic noise and glancing quickly down that one alley to avoid being run over by a delivery truck.

The last time I will smile at the security guard at work who says “Good Morning” in his sing-song voice like he’s part of a Barbershop Quartet. Maybe he is on the side. I don’t even know his name.

The last time I will buy a small latte from Carmen at the corner cafe. She’s always smiling, because she’s one of those rare people who enjoys her job and her life.

The last time I will walk the endless hallways of my office, passing people I know and will never see again, and those I don’t know and will never know.

The last time I will swipe my badge at an entrance before I surrender it forever. Even with that silly picture on it, I will miss it. It was the one accessory I always had to wear, my identification with a place I spent more time in than I did at home.

Each day has been filled with lasts. With amazing friends and family in some of our most beloved places in the city.

Nearly five years ago I moved to Milwaukee without ever having seen it before. What I will remember most about coming here was how lost I was at the time.

And through that confusion, I found myself.

I began teaching dance again, then later, through a life-changing emotional and physical test, I obtained my Yoga certification. And finally, after hiding from it all of those years, I had the courage to become a writer.

Even though I was a foreigner in a strange land, I always felt welcomed by the community here. That comfort allowed me to return to who I wanted to be at my core.

There are a few more days of lasts to endure, and they will be the most trying of them all as we say goodbye to those closest to our hearts.

But, the firsts will be coming very soon. And though they cannot replace the lasts, they will open our eyes to different experiences.

We will grow, we will love, and we will live through it all.

The West Coast Girl Finds Her Way

A little over a year ago, I started to get an undeniable West Coast itch.

I visited a dear friend of mine in San Diego for a long weekend. I hadn’t been back to California in many years.

After I landed we had lunch and Bloody Mary’s right on the beach, where the smell of salty fish greeted my nose like a long, lost friend. Then it was off to a different beach, a stunner at that.

It’s nearly impossible for me to explain what happens when one approaches the Pacific Ocean, but damnit I’ll try.

We parked the car on a residential street on top of a hill. I stepped out of the car, plucked my bathing suit out of my crack, then I stopped and stared.

There it was. Glistening in the distance, purposely drawing me into its majesty.

The sight left me speechless. So speechless that my friends thought I was insanely jet-lagged, when really I was just awestruck.

I hovered in a meditative state. My toes wiggled around the warm surface of the sand and my fingers dug deeper to feel the cool layer hiding beneath.

It was home. And after that day, it stayed with me forever.

But, this isn’t about finding my way back to California. This is about a finding a new way, a very different West Coast locale. One where neither of us has ever lived, one where neither of us has any family.

A place that is green inside and out. A place that is kooky with drool-worthy food. A place that’s got something casually awesome about it.

Portland, Oregon.

At the end of next week Mr H. and I and our two pissed off cats will be traipsing across the country on a 30-hour drive.

Why? Because it was absolutely the right time for us to do it.

We visited Portland several years ago, and we have never been to any place in the world more beautiful.

Yes, it rains…a lot. But that rain brings a magical brightness to everything it touches, turning the world every exquisite shade of green imaginable.

Uprooting our lives can be seen as something to fear, a perilous force writhing with anxiety, stress, and discomfort.

The lengthy drive with two cats will be the ninth circle of Hell. The cozy routine will vanish from our lives. The faces and places we have come to know intimately will fade. The unknown will be downright scary at times.

Yet, we are choosing to embrace this turbulent change for the sake of growth and inspiration. All of the new—the land, the culture, the people—will only feed our creativity and make us stronger.

Besides, my home is wherever my husband is. And together, we can do anything.

Cabin Fever Art

Since we are nearing the end of (fingers crossed, fingers crossed, fingers crossed) this jerk of a winter, I thought I would reveal the fruits of our cabin fever labor this week.

Mr. H and I have created a couple of makeshift masterpieces.

Because I’m borderline insane with all of this lumpy sweater, three pairs of socks, scarf face business, I’m sharing these with you against all of my better judgement.

Cartoon Face Finger Art

Inappropriate Magnet Art

Anyway, Happy Cabin Fever! May your creativity be mighty and swift.

(Come on, Spring. You can do it!)

How to Survive the Effing Winter

I can’t take credit for this amazing pic as it was flying around the social media world.

It sums up most of our feelings in the Northern Hemisphere during this (fingers crossed) last hurrah of winter, and inspired me to write a sassy post on survival tactics.

This is not a post about rainbows and unicorns. It’s not about my usual good vibes and “Go Life!” mentality.

This is real man, and it might get ugly.

Some of you live in places where there is no winter. I remember, I used to live there, too. Foolishly happy in a land boasting sunshine, leaves, and a welcoming breeze.

Run, save yourselves!!!

This post is for the rest of us. Those stuck in the “cold, gray, bucket of suck” in the worst of all wintry months…DUN-DUN-DUN…February.

By the end of this fateful month last year, I was teetering on clinically insane when I wrote Winter, you can kiss my pasty ass.

I’ve arrived a little earlier this year. Perhaps because this winter was less than desirable.

Sunshine? What is this you speak of? No grey and gloom? I don’t believe you…just go, man. Just go.

Leaves? I only see crypt keeper looking branches covered in – you guessed it – freaking snow. They point and laugh at me when I bust my ass on the icy sidewalk and land in a greasy, muddy pile of slush.

Welcoming breeze? For the first time in life, I’ve battled snotcicles. Funny, I thought I was being cute creating this word and urbandictionary.com beat me to it.

Does this sound pretty…

…nope, it doesn’t.

Okay, okay. You catch my snowdrift. (Sorry, it was right there.)

So, how do we survive these final days of dreariness and desperation? Hell, if I know.

But, here are some tips I came up with to share with you all.

Listen to Latin Music I can’t explain it, but it works like a champ. Spicy food, warm beaches, and strong drinks with those bright umbrellas are comforting visuals. Plus, a little rump shaking will help keep you warm. One of my faves is Argentinian singer Federico Aubele, who blends several genres brilliantly and takes you somewhere far, far away.
Eat and Drink Warmth Trade the salads in for soups and healthy comfort foods. I know it’s tempting to get ahead of ourselves with the promise of spring on the horizon and go for the cold, but don’t. You’ll be shivering…again. I recently came across a yummy warm drink that has been a lifesaver. It’s a lemony ginger tonic courtesy of the always wonderful Laura Plumb from Food: A Love Story. You can grab the rockin’ recipe here.
Lose Yourself In Creativity The past few years I made the mistake of working on novels straight through summer. Never again will I hole up when I should be frolicking. Whether you’re exploring your own creative mind or somebody else’s through books, films, etc., take advantage of the somber mood to go deep inside your mind and gain inspiration.
Oil Up, Tin Man Cracked lips, bloody noses, and itchy legs sound familiar? It’s dry as hell, so oil up. One of my saviors has been an Ayurvedic health routine called Abhyanga, where you warm up sesame oil, optionally mix in essential oils for scent, and massage yourself from head to toe. It’s AMAZING! Also, coconut oil is great all around. To fight off those pesky snotcicles, give your nose some love by dabbing a little coconut oil and tea tree oil up there before you head out the door.
Move Your Buns Motivation is hard to drum up…I get it. But, any sort of activity will help keep you energized and less cuckoo. If anything, amp up your workout rather than abandoning it. Yoga practice, for example, should be heated and moving to not only make sure the bod is ready for postures, but also to revive your lethargic ass.

Alright, snow bunnies…your turn. How do you survive the effing winter?

(Next week on a physical perspective, we will return to our regularly scheduled POSITIVE programming. Promise.)

Chicago: Beyond the Shamrock Shenanigans (And Dessert)

I don’t know why, but one thought came to me after my recent trip to Chicago…crème brûlée.

Perhaps because it’s complicated, rare, and amazing.

You can try it over and over again, but each time you crack its intricate surface, you’ve barely even started to devour the insane richness beneath.

I didn’t eat any creme brulee in Chicago last weekend for Mr. H’s birthday celebration. That’s because I ate the majority of his birthday cheesecake the night before we left, for breakfast the morning we left, and the moment we got home the next afternoon.

To say I have a love for dessert is an understatement. Without remorse, I devoured my spouse’s leftover birthday cake like it was mine…all mine!

In my defense, he totally had the first piece.

So, where was I? Creme brulee.

Mmm…creme brulee.

Sorry, where was I really?

Ah, yes. The windy city!

The other day I ranted about our St. Patty’s experience. Be sure to check out Chicago: In the Throes of Shamrock Shenanigans if you want to read what not to do for St. Patty’s.

Unless you’re the public lush enthusiast, then by all means…go!

Have no fear. I’m all done bitching about the clover clad half-wits. Moving right along!

So, once the drunkards stumbled back to their emerald caves, the city was manageable again.

This was my fourth visit to Chicago – a few were last minute “Whoo, whoo! Let’s go clubbing in Chicago tonight!” trips, and the other one was spent in Bucktown/Wicker Park visiting a super awesome friend of mine.

(Love Bucktown/Wicker Park by the way!)

But, this particular adventure was all about downtown.

Chicago is a big ass city, guys. Pick a neighborhood and get in there. Don’t bother seeing “it all” because you totally can’t.

GETTIN’ PLACES

Thinking of driving? Imagine this.

After countless hours in traffic jams at unimaginable times, followed by barreling down the wrong way of a one way street that came out of nowhere, you finally arrive at your destination. After your tenth lap around the block searching for a parking space, you think you finally see one.

But, guess what? It’s a mirage, and your ass is parked on the sidewalk and an opportunist is now selling souvenirs from your trunk.

For crying out loud, take some public transportation – the “L” is a guaranteed good time. I even sat across from a questionably alive man during my first ride. Give it a whirl!

And, a word of advice while walking around. Don’t use Starbucks or Walgreens as landmarks because they are on every freaking block, and let’s face it…they all look the same.

CRASHIN’ PLACES

We stayed at the W City Center and it was pretty perfect. An eight minute walk west gets you to Union Station. An eight minute walk east gets you to Michigan Avenue.

Centrally located, indeed.

Because it was Mr. H’s birthday I called ahead that morning and requested a sweet ass view.

I worked for a big name chain hotel for a couple of years right out of high school…in the trenches of guest services. When there’s a special occasion, don’t be shy.

Ask for a little extra, but ask nicely.

We ended up on the top floor with this rad view…

My only complaint with our hotel room was the vent in the bathroom, and it’s kind of a weird story.

Apparently, because we were on the top floor, we were very intimate with the roof top vent. As such, every time we turned on the bathroom light it sounded like a space ship was landing.

And even better, when you gazed up bravely from the toilet to check out what was going on, a strange black thing moved in a slow manner.

Between the spooky ruckus and the intimidating shadow, I whispered a desperate prayer for the aliens to leave me in peace each time I sat on the pot.

And, they did.

PLAYIN’ PLACES

Any die hard tourist would look at our weekend romp and say “Shame on you.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah we thought about going to some attractions – specifically the Museum of Science and Industry or the Art Institute.

But, we were only there for twenty-four hours. So, Mr. H and I did what we always do when we arrive somewhere…we strutted.

We tend to strut.

Even though I’m one of those super organized control freaks just about everywhere else in my life, when I travel I like to wing it. And Chicago is one of the best places to get lost.

Remember that creme brulee opener? Every spectacular building stood on display like one of those dessert trays in a fancy restaurant.

You know the kind, where you drool over every single delight and you can’t choose your favorite.

Like this one. How about this dark chocolate Burberry building with rainbow sprinkles and crisscrossed icing?

Or how about wandering into the old Marshall Field’s – now masquerading as a Macy’s – and hurting your neck staring at this ceiling treat that looks like wedding cake you want to swim in…

When you wander around Chicago, you can sample every tasty building with your eyes.

And, it tastes good…I take that back…damn good.

So, we gingerly cracked the surface of Milwaukee’s famous neighbor, the city of Chicago, our honking piece of creme brulee. But, what we tasted was perfectly charred and just the right amount of sweet.

We’ll be back again soon for more.