On the Road Again

To say our eating habits have been questionable for the past week would be the understatement of 2008. Since Christmas Eve, we have been snacking, nibbling, eating, and tasting everything that comes in front of us. Nick and I are now in Virginia, visiting my folks after a another trademark hurricane Christmas season. The travels are adding a few inches to our bellies. But, that's what the holidays are for - a little indulgence.

Christmas Eve mass was spent at our parish where we got 2nd pew seats because Nick was Eucharistic minister and one of God's top ten. As wife, I get a special view, too. We ignored the warnings to avoid the 4pm mass, which was rumored to be a madhouse with all the children attending, and I should have brought peanuts to feed the wild things. It was a gorgeous mass, but, woah...it was crazy.

From there, we went to Massillon, my old stomping grounds, and opened up gifts with my sister, brother, and their kids. We had a meal large enough for the US Army and barely put a dent in it. Nick and I camped out on their couches and were awakened at approximately 6am to a 3 year old loudly whispering, "Is Santa going to come through the chimney or the door?"



We stayed to watch the kids tear into their presents which included the largest toy dinosaur I've ever seen. A little around 8am, we took off for Russia. As every year, we attended the Cordonnier side and then the Borchers and made off with great gifts including a beautiful print out of a Cordonnier family tree, iTunes gift cards, a printer, food processor, a new camera lens, and hefty gift certificates. Nick received, twice, his request for a DVD copy of A League of Their Own. HOORAY!



The Borchers family had an unusual debacle of cinematic proportions when we went to see Valkyrie, the newest Tom Cruise movie. We ended up splitting up, uneven orders of popcorn, and a disastrous miscommunication about seating. The results were Kelly declaring it one of the worst moments EVER and Nick straining his neck for a full minute to see if anyone was going to pass him a bucket of popcorn. Keith reappears from the bathroom just as the movie begins while Jay and I just decide to keep quiet and watch the previews. It's one of those situations that doesn't sound like a big deal but just is when you're experiencing it. Lesson: always communicate before going into a family movie experience as to who is sitting where, how much popcorn should be ordered, who needs to go to the bathroom, and never ask questions if you get separated.

We all headed to Columbus to sadly watch the OSU Buckeyes get a spanking from West Virginia's bball team and then headed to Champ's for dinner. Kelly's husband, Tim, was nearly drowning in excitement to watch the UFC fights that night and so we headed off to his place for good night of Bud Light and UFC blood. Happy Holidays!

Nick and I took off Sunday morning for Virginia, where we are now, to spend time with my parents who couldn't make it up to Ohio for the holidays. It's amazing outside - a near 65 degrees - and Nick and I took a hike this morning for fresh air. It feels like the middle of April.

We'll be here until the new year to help celebrate a few things: our nephew Jesse turns the big TWO today. Tomorrow, my folks celebrate their 37th wedding anniversary, and, of course, we'll toast 2009 in together as well.

Cheers to the holidays and safe travels!

Merry Christmas!

The Cookie Monster

My sister Carmen and I tried to do something creative to take my medicated mind off the pain. So we decided to make Christmas cookies.

This was actually more of her baking and my watching TV and then hobbling into the kitchen to help decorate.

They were the most hideous looking things I've ever created.

I had to hold onto my stitches because we were laughing so hard at how ugly they were.

Winner in picture.

This is Me on Drugs

I had surgery yesterday.

I am in recovery now, about 60% "with it" as the anesthesia continues to wear off and the painkillers begin after the upteenth trip to the pharmacy.

Let me explain.

Back in 1999, the summer before my junior year at Xavier, I had a big surgery, the kind where they actually open you up, to remove ovarian tumors and cysts that were causing sharp abdominal pain. After biopsy, the report read BENIGN and confirmed they were dermoid tumors - relatively harmless, usually benign, but complicating the life of women like me nonetheless. I fully recovered and healed and went on my merry way of life.

After I got back from the Philippines, I went hunting for a good doctor and went through the whole assessment testing, which included an ultrasound given my medical record. According to my results, things looked a little fuzzy around my ovaries again and my doctor began consulting with a specialist. Nick and I started meeting with doctors over the past two months and they recommended Laparoscopy to take a look inside and remove anything that shouldn't be there - scar tissue from my previous surgery and these new growths that are being spotted again.

Laparoscopy pretty much reminds me of a three armed Inspector Gadget like person sticking one hand - camera and flashlight device - right below my belly button, and then two hands on each side of my waist which are like robotic hands to manipulate my organs and remove anything the doctor deems problematic.

Simple enough.

So, around October, my doctors told me I'd probably need this but a billion reasons to wait came up. First I needed to do additional appointments with another doctor who would be doing the surgery. That took 5 weeks. And then December started getting crowded. And then no operating rooms were available. And then insurance compatibility came into question. And then Sunday night I had 102 temp with a case of strep. With antibiotics, the doctor at urgent care wasn't sure if I'd be able to have surgery. We placed a frantic call to my doctor/surgeon. He said as long as we tell the anesthesiolgist, we should be ok.

FINALLY though, it all came to fruition yesterday. After all the months of waiting and getting sick earlier this wake, it was finally here.

My surgery was scheduled for Wednesday, December 17 at 1:30 and we arrived an hour early like they suggested. I had been so ready for this surgery, I didn't really feel all that nervous and I knew it wasn't go to be as extensive as the one I had almost 10 years ago. So, Nick and I hung out, admiring my name on the wipe board and gave the socially awkward nurse a new name - George. One, he looked like George Kostanza from Seinfeld and two he was a bit like George O'Malley from Grey's Anatomy.

Dr. Liu, the chairman of some uber important department at Case Western and supposedly the best in his field, was my surgeon. Grateful isn't a strong enough word when you have excellent healthcare and benefits. While he doesn't have a lick of Dr. McDreamy/Patrick Demsey in him, he was a thorough and surprisingly giggling doctor. At first, I was taken aback by his constant smiling and small laughs that followed everything he said, but Nick seemed to like it. He thinks anytime a doctor is not somber it shows your case is not that serious.

The nurse looked disapprovingly at my nose and said, "You'll have to take out all body piercings," but her look said, "WHY DO YOU YOUNG PEOPLE HAVE TO BE SO RADICAL?"
I asked if there was anyway to keep it in because I was afraid of the hole closing. You'd think from the look she gave me that I asked for a push of crack before I went under.

Anyway, the narcotics and drugs started pouring in around 1:50pm and the last thing I remember is watching a needle go in and a doctor's voice say, "this is a narcotic, it's going to feel like I gave you a shot of tequila..." and Nick saying, "Oh, it won't take much, believe me..." and then laughter. I felt my eyes roll into the back of my skull and the doctor yelp, "Woah!" as I slumped and don't remember anything else.

I awoke as they were prepping me in the O.R. and noticed it was all men fussing over me and tucking in my arms really tight at my side and wrapping me with blankets. I wished someone would talk to me as I started seeing little shapes in the air float around. One of the last things Nick said to me was that if his mom had been there as the nurse, she definitely would've talked to the patient, but everyone was too busy being nurse, doctor, or anesthesiologist to make small chatter. Too bad.

Then I was knocked out again.

I awoke to a nurse calling my name and feeling like a train ran over me. She was asking if felt alright and I nodded thickly, wanting to see Nick but not having ability to move. Something was up my nose and I felt like I was the only person in the hospital.

She leaned over and semi-yelled, "Would you like to take a nap?"

I tried to muster the strength to yell back, "Yeah if you stop screaming in my ear. I had tumors removed from my ovaries not my ears." But I just nodded and went back into a dream world.

I awoke to find Nick and my sister. And something in my right eye.
I could barely talk or walk to the bathroom, but felt like there was a grain of sand tucked behind my eyelid.

It was around 8pm by now and I thought I'd be home by 6pm. It was taking much longer than we anticipated. It was right around that time when I realized I was hungry. I wasn't permitted to eat since dinner the last night and felt weak and nauseated from my empty stomach. Nick placed a graham cracker on my lips and I took a bite.

It might have been the drugs. It may have been the fact I was so hungry I could have eaten a hippo, but I tell you, that graham cracker exploded on my tongue with flavors I've never experienced. The honey and sugar melted all over my tongue and coated my dry mouth. And the ginger ale! The sweetness waved over my teeth and I thought it tasted like heaven. My taste buds were reborn. I wanted to savor it.

In the meanwhile, lovely nurse Julia who I didn't rename because I liked her pulled some doctor from boofoo to look at my eye. The pain was worsening and he took one look and said I'd have to see an opthamologist to diagnose it. Thanks genius. I think my 3 year old nephew could have given that medical advice. The best part is that he was walking away as he said it. Nice attitude.

He came back and said to the nurse, "Well, just say that I examined her and it could be something. It could be nothing. You won't be able to find an opthamologist at this hour (harr, harr, he laughed - what the hell is so funny about that? I have a grain of sand in the back of my eye - how comfortable do you think THAT is)."

The he says, "Maybe conjunctivitis."

That's when I said in my head to myself because my lips were immobile, "Get this fool out of here. Even I know it's not pink eye and why in the hell would I have pink eye after I wake up after surgery."

He looked at me for once, "How do you feel?"

Pissed off at this Dr. Faux, "Terrible."

Lovely nurse Julia privately didn't like the doctor either. She kept saying it wasn't right to send me home in pain if it was caused by my surgery and didn't give me meds for it. She proceeds to call all these different doctors - all of whom, I'm sure - are eating their roast beef dinners in their condos or lake front houses. Dr. Liu, my surgeons is finally reached and gives a possible diagnosis that makes sense: corneal abrasion.

During the procedure it's possible that my right eye wasn't completely closed and without the lubricating protection of a blink or being fully closed, the gas used to pump up my body during the procedure had caused slight damage.

Fine. More drugs.

At this point, I feel old.

The eye drops feel like I threw rubbing alcohol into my eye and I nearly screamed in shock when they coated my eye. Nurse Julia, "Yeah, that's definitely an abrasion if it hurts." Great.

More drugs to combat nausea.

More graham cracker heaven and ginger ale.

We drive home.

It takes me eons to get on the living room couch and ask Nick for a strange compilation of foods: graham crackers, milk, peanut butter, banana. mashed potatoes, green bean.

I have no idea what that's about, but he writes everything down and jets off to the store while I am falling asleep sitting up.

The drugs are messing with my brain. I wake up three times with my arms in front of me, wacking the air and vision of neon parakeets flying in front of my face. I'm yelling, "No! No!"

Poor Nick has to deal with his psychotic wife who has delusions of a parakeet and needs mashed potatoes.

This is the prognosis that Nick gave me from my doctor:
The surgery was much more complicated than expected, but it was successful. There was considerable scar tissue from my previous surgery which took a long time to remove. Small dermoids were removed from my right and one larger one was removed from my left. The procedure, which he first estimated to take 1 hr and fifteen minutes took over two and a half. Poor Nick was in the waiting room with no one informing him of what was taking so long until George Kostanza/O'Malley came in to tell him everything went well. That was five minutes before the doctor came though. Nice effort, George.

So, right now, I'm in a lot of pain and keeping my mind busy so I don't think about it.
We thank everyone for their support and prayers. Recovery time should be about two weeks. I'll be able to travel for the holiday but will be sitting most of the time and steering clear from the stairs.

And just as 2009 arrives, I'll be as good as new.

Again, thanks to all for their prayers and well-wishes. Once I'm off the drugs, I can thank you properly in person.

LBJ

I went to my first Cavs game last week.

My brother, Fran, has season tickets and they were mighty good seats, too. As a season ticket holder, he was able to bring me out to the floor and I was able to touch the floor for good luck.

Lebron is simply a beast. Incredible. Superhuman. He's a beast. I was able to snap some good pics of him. I was in awe the whole time.

Stroll Down Memory Lane

It is the end of the year and I always right a Year in Review. That probably won't be posted until we edge toward New Year's Eve, but going back even further than a year, I was thinking about how much has happened to my life, Nick's life, our life since we smashed cake into each other's faces and our guests started taking bets who would win in a wrestling match. A lot has changed, especially this year.

Nick's doctoral program, moving to Boston, moving to Cleveland, buying our first home, my trip to the Philippines, Nick's new job, the garbage disposal...all these things have given us tremendous opportunities to grow and learn about ourselves and each other.

We thank God everyday for each of our friends and family members who have supported us this year. And while my Year in Review is still a few weeks away, we just wanted to take this time and say Thank You to all of you who have prayed for us, helped us move in anyway, and assist us in realizing our dreams.

So, thanks. (in a really, really big, Statue of Liberty kind of way)

(By the way, in case you don't remember, or didn't see our wedding cake fight, just know that I TOTALLY won. Look at his face if you need evidence.)

Thank You, Chicago!

I can't believe I forgot to post this, but I had my first public reading last weekend!

make/shift magazine, for which I edit, had a public reading in Chicago and invited me to read some of my work along with four other writers. I was so excited! My first public reading.

Unfortunately, Nick was still getting over whatever bug he had left in his system and we thought it best for him to just get rest so he can fully recuperate. Bummer, though, because it was a thrilling experience.

I drove to Chicago Friday morning and stayed with an old friend who lives in the city. That night, I expected about 10-20 people to show. I figured the weather was FRIGID - about 4 people died over the weekend in Chicago because of the cold - and I expected most folks to stay in doors. Would you believe we had a wonderful crowd of 40 folks or so, all interested in hearing us read our work and talk about our magazine. Isn't that lovely?

The weirdest moment came when someone asked me for my autograph. No joking. No shit.

My autograph?

"Would you sign it right by your name?"
Sure.
"Would you personalize it as well?"
Uh, ok.
Scibble, scribble - Thanks for your support, Lisa F-B.
"Can I contact you?"
Getting weird. Um, you can see my contact information on the website, my email is there.
"Can I send you something directly?"
No, that's ok. If you ever have questions about the magazine or my work, you can email me. Like I said, email is the best way for me.
"All they have here is a p.o. box address. Can I have your real address?"
NO.
"I like your dress. It's really cute."

Ok, now I am walking away from the guy.

So, other than that tiny exchange, I was all smiles at the Women and Children First Bookstore. The rest of the weekend was picture taking and, sure enough, the backdrop of Chicago is a beauty. Interested in some pics of the city? Click here.

The Christmas Problem

Last month I joined Facebook (an online social networking thingy that's oodles of fun and lets you keep in touch with your best friend from pre-school on the east coast) and have been putting weekly plugs in Nick's ear to join as well. His worry: it might be too much work.

(It requires you to periodically check an online account and click a button that says, "Yes this person _______ is my friend." CLICK. _______ is added to your friend list.
Nick still maintains this is work.)

I posted this picture on my Facebook account and entitled it, "The Christmas Problem," and promised to name the tree after whomever gave the best advice on how to move forward. Here's the background:

Nick and I were debating about fake vs. real trees. Of course we have completely different opinions. Nick grew up with the former. I grew up with the latter. I wanted the latter. Nick wanted the former. You can guess how this debate went. Finally, Nick said, "I just don't want our house to burn down." Apparently this happens more with real trees? I'm not sure of that, but it sounded pretty convincing so we decided artificial is the way to go.

So I'm out hunting for deals and spot the last 9ft. artificial tree in the window ON SALE! Of course, I can't pass that down, so I put on my aggressive face and elbow my way to the counter. She tells me there are none left. Sold out.

I end up buying the display and am so proud of my timing and skills on the Super Tall tree that I speed home to show Nick our newest purchase. Not wanting to spoil my excited blabbering about my great deal, he smiles encouragingly and pats my shoulder. His eyes flicker a bit when I boast that it's 9ft tall. "How's that going to fit?"

I immediately think, "Well, you turn it sideways and walk through the door. Getting it in won't be THAT hard."

He sees my confused look and clarifies, "The ceiling. We probably don't have 10ft. ceilings."

We don't?

No. (Take a look at the picture.) We don't.

So, after a week of having a tilted tree, we ended up taking out the middle section so it now stands at a boring 7.5ft.

I never received so many messages via Facebook about The Christmas Problem. The suggestions ranged from cutting a hole in either the ceiling or floor to sawing the middle pole. Amazing how no one suggested taking out one section. That was my idea.

SOOOO, I guess I'll name it after me: The Lisa Problem.

Baby Lombardo-Ball aka Baby Lomball

We love you and are so excited! See you in January!

ps- I knew these old photos of you guys would come in handy someday. Either for humiliation or blackmail! Yessssssss!

Nick's Sick

He's snoring like a whale, poor guy. He wasn't feeling that great over Thanksgiving weekend, but he mustered up all his strength to fully participate in all family events.

We returned to our beloved Cleveland and it was downhill from there. I woke up this morning to his ragged breathing and him poking me in the arm, "Leese? Could you get get me some medicine? And orange juice? And bread to make toast? And starter logs to make a fire? And some movies from Blockbuster?"

Now while some people don't like when their spouses ask them to do things, I absolutely adore it and jump at the chance to buy him things. Nick is so low maintenance that I get a thrill from buying him cold medicine. In all the years I've known Nick, this is probably the 4th time he's ever asked me to do something for him. Feeling domestic and all wife-like, I happily oblige.

And so I made him soup and stocked up on meds. We watched movie after movie today and had a roaring fire to keep warm.

He missed work today and since I am happily unemployed for the time being, I enjoyed the rare company in the house.

Here's a few photos of our first Thanksgiving in our house with my side of the family. It took place the Sunday before Thanksgiving. I was proud to host our first holiday and cooked my heart out. Click here for pics.

An Order, Not a Suggestion

No more leftovers.

You are Your Stocking

Decorating the house for the holidays always brings a smile to my face.

GO BUCKS

Sorry for the profane ending...but the video's still good :)

I shall be making the Anthony Gonzalez chicken in honor of my all-time favorite OSU player. (Go Colts.)

Arroz con pollo (Rice with Chicken)

One of Anthony Gonzalez's favorite recipes:
• 10 chicken pieces
• Garlic powder
• Salt and pepper
• Cumin powder
• 6 cloves garlic -- chopped
• Bouillon cubes
• 3 cups rice
• 8 cups water
• 2 packets of Azafran seasoning packet
• One can petite peas, drained
• One small jar diced pimento
• One can beer
Season the chicken with spices. Fry in extra-virgin olive oil and garlic until the chicken is almost done (about 25 minutes). Add rice, water, seasoning packet and bouillon cubes. Let cook until the water is almost gone and you can see the rice. Add the can of beer.
Cover and let cook on low for about 45 minutes.
Add peas (drained) and pimento on top.

Enjoy!

Michigan Sucks

Go Bucks.

Our Garbage Disposal

has been acting up and I hate when it looks like someone vomited in the sink and I have no ability to drain it.

With that lovely image in your minds, Nick and I called our house insurance folks to have someone come and take a look at why it's simply not turning on. And why, all of a sudden, is our dishwasher not draining?

So, Mr. Fixit marches in and peers down with a flashlight while I am explaining how stumped Nick and I are about why it's like this.

We reaches underneath the sink and flips a button that says RESTART.

It gurgles free.

"That'll be $75."

The Holidays are A-Coming

...and that means two things for me and Nick.

1) Massive Travel
2) Board Games

Nick and I were born competitive people so board games are a wonderful way to exercise healthy habits of winning and practicing coping mechanisms when we act like a disgraceful loser. One of my favorite things about spending time with Nick's family is the passion of board games. Everyone gets into it and it's every wo/man for her/himself. While my favorite is Tripoly, Cranium is definitely up there as well.

Here is a small glimpse into the hilarity of Cranium.

Background: Jay and Keith are one team. Jay is humming a tune that Keith must figure out. It's not an All-Play, but we certainly take turns with our jabs and teasing. Listen closely to Jay and see if you can figure out what he's humming before anyone else.

Let me make a prediction: you won't.

#1 Basically, The Shape

Let's start with some basics about Ohio. (By the way, this is in no particular order.) You gotta love this time of year when the map of America is shown all over TV to explain the electoral map of the US. My favorite is whenever the anchor person talks about how Ohio is the heart of America and it's quite clear that our state boundaries reflect that responsibility. We are a heart. Isn't that warm?

Then the anchor goes on to talk about how Ohio is the reflection of America. So goes Ohio, so goes the nation.

Translation: it's a place of power.

And I like power.

Not only that, but the heart shaped edges are a unique little factoid about our great state. Sometimes, when perusing the kitchen utensil aisles in the store, I wonder why someone hasn't made an Ohio cookie cutter. Who wouldn't love to take a great big bite out of Cincinnati and Dayton?

And so begins the list of Why Ohio Gets to Keep Us.

The Best of Ohio

So, Ohio -

How ya doin'?

You and I have had a long road together. Like a dysfunctional relationship, I keep coming back to you. I leave, but I keep coming back with a belief that I will find a new part of you that fits me.

You may win me over in the end. Maybe.

It's not that I don't want to be won over. I just need to be convinced. So, let's work together.

I'm beginning a new series on this blog that gives evidence of Ohio love; things that surprise me about you. (I really hope there's a lot.)

So, here's our deal: you keep revealing your coolness to me here in Cleveland and I'll keep record on this blog of how rad you really can be. Let's start there.

It's all about reframing. It's all about reframing. I'll reframe my experiences and fall in love with you, hopefully, by the end of my life. Right now, I'd say you're my really good friend that I go with to see the new James Bond movies. No hand holding, no funny business. We're just good friends.

You give me the O-H.
I'll document the I-O.
The series will be called: Why Ohio Gets to Keep Us

Let's get going.

Step Away

I just downloaded an obscene amount of holiday songs from iTunes.

I'm kind of disgusted with myself.

As punishment, I won't allow myself to listen to what I just purchased.

Because THAT makes sense.

Getting Ready for the Holidays

With Your Mouth Open

I used to be a horrible daughter that nudged my brother, Fran, for laughs when our Dad fell asleep with his mouth open. I would shake my head in wonder, Are you THAT tired, Dad, that you can't close your mouth?

Apparently yes.

Apparently that also runs in the family.

In an uber-productive weekend where we took to the leaves the way soldiers took to Normandy, and I tackled my closet and *finally* unpacked from a 4 weekend trip October, Nick and I accomplished much this weekend, domestically speaking. We cooked dinner, celebrated Books' 30th birthday with the loyal Tom Ward from the 'Nati, and even squeaked in an early 9am mass on Sunday morning. We rock like that.

After all that activity, I crawled to the sofa and sank into a poetry book, ready to be taken into a deliriously gorgeous Nikki Giavonni world, and then fell asleep, books on the floor, limbs sprawled like I'd been drugged, mouth gaping open. I was exhausted. Nick read Time magazine and covered me with a blanket. He's kind like that.

Life is so much easier when you're organized and wake up early. It's so much easier to decide what to wear when your clothes are actually hanging on hangers and not crumbled up like leaf piles on your bedroom rug. I may be converted to Nick's style of living - uncluttered and happy.

In other non-exciting details that we love to talk about, I continue to lament the lable of True Adult which Nick and I have humbly accepted. WIthout alarms, I wake up at 6:45am. Now for those of you out there who think that is not a big deal, remember two things:
1) I used to have nearly all evening classes at Xavier because I couldn't wake up before 11am and 2) I am unemployed

I suppose it's the rigor of raking leaves and rearranging my magnetic poetry that drains me and I need a fitful 8 hours to be productive. This transition is quite shocking, to say the least. Nick, in his balanced life patterns of wake, shower, work, eat, read, sleep gets routinely heavy lidded at 10:30pm (how embarassing) and rises to the world like clockwork at 7:30am. We don't even have kids to blame for our lameness. We are Adults.

November Cleaning

It's been a long week.

Beginning November is a weird transition.

In one moment, you are contemplating what kind of monster or rock star you will grace Halloween parties with and the next moment, your sister-in-law is asking whether you'll make the Turkey this year while you suddenly see a commercial that has jingle bells in the background with the new store hours to accommodate your shopping needs. Yeah, November's weird.

And then there's this historic election we just lived through. I can't even begin to write how glad I am it is over. It's a constant negotiation at social gatherings over what and how much you can talk about when it comes to politics. Never a fan of labels, I hate when people ask if I'm a Democrat or push the Palin love. I just want to talk about issues, not the blame, and I'm relieved that - finally - I can watch Grey's Anatomy without political ads bothering me.

It's raining yellow leaves in our backyard and our neighbors have probably pegged us the laziest Clevelanders in the history of yard raking. Yesterday, though, Nick took the day off (a nice benefit from working so many evenings and every weekend) and we took on the third floor of our house. It looked like our moving truck had vomited whatever was left in its belly onto the hard wooden floors. It's been a little over two months since I've been back and yet, I confess, there is not one thing hung on our walls or box unpacked.

There is no appropriate measuring stick to adequately communicate how much I loathe packing and unpacking. I HATE MOVING THINGS. I hate the concept of it. I hate doing it. I hate it so much, I want to crawl into a fetal position and whine in a dark corner. Everything that goes into moving, I detest. The sifting through of all your junk and realizing you should drop off 1/2 of your life at a salvation army, the dust from boxes that I am allergic, the polite questions from Nick asking if I going as fast as I can - I HATE MOVING AND ALL THAT COMES WITH IT.

But, what must be done must be done. So, we tackled the third floor with a vengeance and I must say, it looks pretty darn good. It is a guest suite/Lisa's gallery and writing floor/future children romping room. The greatest feeling was finally seeing all of my art supplies - canvas, brushes, paints, drop sheets, cleaner, paints, crayons, clear glue, adhesives, buttons, leftover denim, s/crap-booking materials, rocks, sand, rafia, paper, bows, old cards, and gift wrapping paper - in an enormous closet. For approximately 11 years, i have carted my crafty tools in beat up cardboard boxes. Much to Nick's dismay, I have a hard time putting those things away. Since I derive much inspiration in simply looking at the vast array of my creative guns, I leave most of it out in the open, waiting for lightning to strike.

I shrieked, "LOOK NICK! I ACTUALLY HAVE A SPACE TO PUT AWAY ALL MY ART SUPPLIES! I LOVE HAVING A HOUSE! I FINALLY CAN THROW THOSE OLD BOXES AWAY AND KEEP MY ART SUPPLIES IN A CORNER OF MY OWN!"

Nick hugged me, "That's great babe!"

But I could have sworn as he jogged down the steps, I heard him mutter under his breath, "...great for all of us..."

In the Fridge

1 bottle of champagne.

VOTE.

The Title Says It All

Go.

Happy Halloween

Candy corn rules.

Don't even think about giving out Brach's candy.

Give the Tootsie Rolls to the older ones with no costumes who don't bother to say Trick or Treat.

Play the Halloween movie theme music in the background all day.

Forgo fake eyelashes. I always get an eye infection when I try them.

Alligator Skin

I realized last night as I tried to muffle Nick's snoring that I haven't written much about culture lately. It's a topic that surfaces in our household, mhm, twice a day or so. There are usually a lot of questions that rise between Nick and I - how to negotiate certain problems, differences, etc - as they do in all marriages. One of the things that I've found quite interesting in our marriage is how the topic of interracial marriage is raised - or not raised - by our peers.

Nick and I trade stories about race, ethnicity, and upbringing all the time. At our core, I think we're quite similar in values (I mean, I wouldn't have married someone who believes in porn and killing off polar bears), but our personalities couldn't be more different. Among those differences is, obviously, race.

If you haven't noticed, I'm Brown and Nick is White. We celebrate different parts of our identity, sometimes more mine because it is much more difficult to feel a sense of belonging when most pop culture, education, history, media - everything - is not reflective of my identity and sense of self. But we're learning how to find balance in that as well. It most often comes up when we talk about having children.

One of the most odd and hilarious things that I get when we talk about having a family someday is when folks says, "I can't wait to see what your kids look like." Well, I hope they're dead gorgeous, but I hope they're a lot of other things first. We know the comments are just taglines to note an interest in bi/multiracial children, but it's not like we're a scientific experiment or something. I'm pretty hopeful the kid's gonna come out with four limbs, a brain, and a soul.

In these current times when race seems to be the hottest button in conversation - from church homilies to CNN - I try to remind folks that understanding difference is a process, one that you should be intentional about pursuing. It is my personal belief that, yes, eventually, "what are you?" is going to be a question of the past and racial features that distinguish cultures and ancestry will be dusty artifacts that only historic pictures will reflect.

As for Nick and I, while we remain supremely confident in the good looks of our future children, we do make it a priority that s/he will understand the Filipino flag as much as the American flag. They'll eat rice with Philippine cuisine, as they'll hear stories about small town Russia and their dad being the valedictorian and prom king. Our kids will hear stories about the racism their mom and maternal grandparents endured and how immigration was a messy topic once upon a time. They'll learn how to build faith in life, as well as death, and learn that kindness and grace begins in the family at home. They'll be mixed, yes, but they'll learn it's a blessing and privilege, not a confusing misfortune that resulted when two Xavier students fell in love in Cincinnati.

So, to answer a question that came up in the car from a good friend, "So, does, like race come up for you guys, since, you know, you're in, like, an interracial relationship?"

Simply stated, yes.

I was there, compliments of my friend and loyal OSU alum, Christy who was kind enough to take me to her cushion-y amazing seats at the OSU/PENN State game. I was about 65 feet from Lebron on the sidelines and got peaks of Tressel working his magic.

There are certain rules I abide by at big games and the guy behind me broke #2:
Thou shall not annoy another fans who are trying to enjoy the sporting event in an energized and civilized manner.

If you're going to be cursing up a storm, I'd rather you just blow f-bombs into the water instead of using the name of the person who, I happen to believe, is the savior of our planet.

STOP YELLING JESUS CHRIST INTO MY EAR CANALS followed by an expletive of how Tressel needs to move the safeties up. I know Maurice Wells has butter fingers, but STOP YELLING JESUS CHRIST at the top of your lungs. Not only does it massively annoy me, but I'm at the borderline of turning around and saying something along the lines of, "Shut up. Just shut up. You. Are. A. Disgrace." But, Christy shook her head at me. So I bit my tongue and just yelled all the louder, "COME ON D, HOLD THEM!" along with the thunderous Ohio stadium.

I'm not an uptight person, but put the Jesus Christ AK47 away because it grates just a weetzy bit too much on my ears. Say hell, shit, or damn as much as you want. Go CRAZY with the f-bomb. Even an occasional g-damn is better than a 2 hour yelling spree of about JC.

The first OSU game I went to was against Texas a few years ago. They lost. I feel like I might be a curse to big OSU games. I very well may just stay at home in the name of my fanhood.

Nick was at a dinner party (oh la la, we're moving up in the world) with coworkers, their significant others, his boss and pastor, and a lovely couple hosting them for dinner, where he confessed to me later he was surreptitiously watching the game. His cover was blown when he peaked and saw Pryor fumble the ohsoimportant ball that spurred Nick's rare outbursts, "Are you freaking kidding me?"

He then apologized for his outburst that interrupted the conversation.

When I thought of the potty mouth sitting behind me and the string of Jesus Christs he hurled out onto the field, it only made me love the "Are you freaking kidding me," all the more.

Nick if far too easy to fall in love with.

It's So Not 2001

Morgan is our niece. Two days ago, she just turned ten years old. I called to wish her a happy birthday and then passed the phone to Nick so he could greet her as well. This is what I heard:

Nick: Hi Morgan!

pause (obviously, I can't hear Morgan.)

Nick: Happy Birthday!

pause

Nick: That's great! What'd you do at school?....You passed out kit-kats? I be your classmates were loving that one.

pause pause pause

NIck: So, ten years old huh? You're getting old! What'd you get today?

long pauses, Nick is walking around the living room. My eyes (and ears) follow.

Nick: You got a bike? That's pretty freaking cool.

short pause

Nick explodes, "You got a cell phone?"

I hear giggling from Morgan.

"You got a cell phone? Of your own? ...Man, I didn't get a cell phone till I was out of college."

There you have it. It's official. When you compare the timeline between yourself and someone who is a decade old when you got your first cell phone, it's over. We. Are. Old. Farts.

What Brokers Look Like

...these days.

Good luck, America.

Dear Nick, Blame it on the Rain

Surprisingly (or perhaps, not surprisingly) references to Milli Vanilli frequently come up in our talks. Whenever we have a difference of opinion, Nick will squint his eyes, scrunch his features so his head looks wrinkled, put it two inches from my face and sings, "GIRL YOU KNOW IT'S TRUE! YES YOU KNOW YOU IT, GIRL YOU KNOW IT, YES YOU KNOW IT'S TRUE!"

The other day I off-handedly said, "...blame it on the rain," having no idea where that come from.

Nick thoughtfully repeated, "Mhm. Blame it on the rain. What do you think that means?"

"It means blame it on the rain." For once, I was the factually based one.

"No, the song. What does it mean? I think this is the first time I've ever thought of those lyrics."

Well, my darling wonder of the peanut butter sky, here are the lyrics. This is what I think it's about: a fool breaks up with his girlie; knows it's his fault; isn't man enough to apologize because of his pride; and blames everything but himself.

BLAME IT ON THE RAIN LYRICS by Milli Vanilli
You said you didn't need her
You told her good-bye (good-bye)
You sacrificed a good love
To satisfy your pride
Now you wished
That you should have her (have her)
And you feel like such a fool
You let her walk away
Now it just don't feel the same
Gotta blame it on something
Gotta blame it on something

Blame it on the rain (rain)
Blame it on the stars (stars)
Whatever you do don't put the blame on you
Blame it on the rain yeah yeah
You can blame it on the rain
Get
Ooh, ooh (ooh)
I can't, I can't. I can't, can't stand the rain
I can't, I can't. I can't, can't stand the rain
Yeah, yeah
Should've told her you were sorry (sorry) huh
Could have said you were wrong
But no you couldn't do that. No, no
You had to prove you were strong ooh
If you hadn't been so blinded (blinded)
She might still be there with you
You want her back again
But she just don't feel the same
Gotta blame it on something
Gotta blame it on something

Blame it on the rain that was falling, falling
Blame it on the stars that did shine at night
Whatever you do don't put the blame on you
Blame it on the rain yeah yeah

You can blame it on the rain
Cos the rain don't mind
And the rain don't care
You got to blame it on something
(Blame it on the rain)
(Blame it on the stars)
Whatever you do don't put the blame on you
Blame it on the rain yeah, yeah
You can blame it on the rain
Girl

Ooh, ooh (ooh)
Girl
I can't, I can't. I can't, can't stand the rain
I can't, I can't. I can't, can't stand the rain

Get
Girl
(Whatever you do...)
(Blame it on the rain yeah, yeah) x 3
You can blame it on the rain, blame it on the rain,
blame it on the rain baby
(Blame it on the rain yeah yeah)
Blame it on the stars that did shine that night
(Blame it on the rain yeah yeah)
Blame it, blame it on the rain
woo
I'm walking
I'm walking

Walking in the rain
Walking in the rain

(Rain, rain)
(Stars, stars)
Whatever you do don't put the blame on you
(Blame it on the rain)
yeah yeah
(Blame it on the rain)
that keeps falling, falling
(Blame it on the stars)
that did shine that night
Whatever you do don't put the blame on you
Blame it on the rain yeah yeah
Blame it on the rain (rain, rain)

Chewing the Big Apple

Nick and I returned late last night from our a-w-e-s-o-m-e weekend out in New York City. We left late Thursday night after work and drove to Stroudberg, PA and stayed at the Quality Inn hotel right off of I-80. My sister, her beau Tom, and Nick fell right asleep, but I, a bit too excited to be in New York stayed wide awake staring at the ceiling until 4:00am. Eventually, my heart beat calmed down and I was able to catch some zeez.

We were off the next morning, only an hour and half from New York and I drove, weaving in and out of the traffic and loving the smell of the eastern seaboard. Ahhh, how I miss the grit of the Big Apple...

We dropped Carm and Tom off to see the Empire State Building while Nick and checked the car into a parking lot. We walked the city, Times Square and made fun of everyone, inlcuding ourselves. I grabbed a lovely NYC falafel sandwich while Nick slurped down caffeine and met up with my best bud, Tricia, who has a fabuous two story fantasy apartment 10 blocks from Central Park and 3 blocks from Times Square. I tell you, some people lead extraordinary lives. Her fiancee, a chef who cooks Alex Rodriguez' lunches was off traveling somewhere in Boston. Nick finally met Pouzo (POO-ZOE), Tricia's famous bulldog. I wasn't sure how that relationship was going to go, but Nick seemed alright with him for the most part.

I headed off to meet my good friend, Jen Buckley, for coffee and Nick headed to meet up with the rest of my family. At 8:30pm, we all met downtown for a welcome reception. Delish food, wedding cake #1, and an open bar got us all off on the right foot as we toasted Geri and Jim on their wonderful union. My family - in from all over the country - had an awesome time just catching up and talking about the weekend, hugging, and laughing. There's really no replacement for family. Nick and I were glowing.

Saturday began with Pouzo trying to lick Nick's face and Nick jumping out of the roll-out we were sleeping on. We headed to Central Park for a nice long walk and experiened first hand why autumn in New York is arguably the best time of year in the city. Soooo gorgeous and relaxing.

If you remember my friend Becky, who was my dearest friend from my trip to the Philippines, lives in New York and met up with Nick and I for a quick lunch at Dean and Deluca. It was hard to tear ourselves apart and laughed for an hour straight while Nick just shook his head at us.

Off to the wedding at St. Francis Xavier...a beautiful church with rich music and lots of friends and family. I must must must learn how to take picures during the vows. I had to put my camera down because I was bawling when Geri started crying. Aigh, it was a debacle. I can never get a grip when people start crying. It's like someone else's tears are the keys to my tear ducts to lose control.

Off to Cipriani's on 23rd street where we partied like rock stars all night. If this gives you any clue how the night was going: NICK FAST DANCED WITH ME. It was like an alternate universe. I loved it.

Typical Factora family scenario: we waited outside on the sidewalk for 45 mintues because we couldn't decide where to go. Never mind we had native New Yorkers in the group, never mind that everyone was fine with WHEREVER, never mind that we were in walking distance of a gazillion of suitable bars and restaurants that could have accomodated us. No, we wait 45 minutes until my uncle states, "Ok, we're going to the Waldorf Astoria lobby and we'll decide there."

RED FLAGS, BUTTONS, RINGS, LIGHTS, AND BANNERS were waving in my head. Nick is shaking his head, "Typical Factora decision. We're in Manhatten and decide to go the LOBBY OF WALDORF to try and make a decision about where to hang out."

I kind of screech, "No!! We're going to Dewey's. It's three blocks from here. It's a bar. That's where we're going!" and proceed to march in the wrong direction.

Thankfully Nick redirects my shoulders and says appreciatively, "Nice effort though, babe. They'll follow."

So another 30 minutes later we finally enter Dewey's.

A bit of drama rama enfolded after about an hour: we were kicked out of the bar.

Oh, so typical...

We had two underage boys with us (my cousins - one 15 the other 7 year old - who were appropriately not allowed in the bar. We spoke with the manager who said that as long as they stayed with their parents and didn't drink, they'd be fine.

Cool.

So we sit and order drinks.

After they get their orders in and take 3 sips of their beer, the manager comes out and says, "please finish up and leave."

Uh, ok.

So, apparently he changed his mind that we could stay. Fine, I slirp down my crazy drink of tap water with ice and lemon while Nick barely had drank his draft and got up from the table. My male cousins, 827 men strong, are puffing out their chests like angry peacocks and flooding the bar, demanding to have their bill waived because they should have told us up front we weren't going to be allowed to stay and why should we now have to pay for a beer that we got 3 sips out of. Oh dear.

So, all hell is breaking loose and I'm rolling my eyes. I tell Nick, "Let's get out of here before we're all arrested."

Not to stereotype males in bars, but things can go from pleasant to out of control is .04 seconds.

So, I'm anxiously waiting for Nick to get out of the bath room so we can leave and I hear escalating voices from the bar. Oh dear.

Nick, where are you? Let's go! Let's go!

I sneak through tall people's armpits and raised glasses to find Nick standing absolutely still, enraptured in ESPN sports scores. While my family is having a throw down with managers and bouncers and threatening to sue, Nick is trying to figure out the Red Sox scores.

"NICK!"

"Ohhh! Hey!!"

"LET'S. GO. NOW. NOW."

"I was just checking -"

"I know what you were checking. Now is not the time to be checking ESPN scores."

So we exit in the midst of a lot of drama and make it home after an eventful night downtown.

Sunday morning we wake up and head to brunch at the Waldorf. Geri and Jim were upgraded into the finest suit they had to offer in the Waldorf Towers. Barack Obama had just checked out as the previous guest and Geri and JIm were next in line. Of course everyone - regardless of political party - was going crazy and my father whipped out his cap that said, "McCAIN FOR PRESIDENT 08!" while we feasted on our lovely brunch.

I was brainstorming what to touch in the suite so I could say I touched the same things as Barack and decided touching every door handle was the best option. I also plopped down and sat on the bed to make sure I got sit on the same mattress that our potential next president had slept in.

After a family picture, Tom, Carm, Nick and I loaded up the car and head west for Ohio.

This post doesn't even BEGIN to give this weekend justice. It ranks in the top 3 weekends of all time.

Pictures soon!

And We're Off

Nick's packing job for NYC, departure time: 5:15pm EST

Nick and I, along with my sister Carmen and her beau Tom, are off to New York City, the backdrop for my cousin's wedding. This has been a much anticipated event in my side of the family. Weddings are usually an enormous gathering of my cousins from all over the country and this will be no exception.

Geri, my cousin, and her fiancee Jim are in the NYC elite, selecting some of the finest establishments the Big Apple has to offer to hold their prenuptial festivities. Of course Nick and I are there to witness love sanctified by the sacrament, but it sure doesn't hurt when you get to have brunch at the Waldorf or dance your patooty off at Cipriani's where, word on the street claims, P-Diddy had his birthday party. The most exciting part, though, is for my whole family to be together and getting to hug my NYC, where I feel my blood runs most smoothly.

I was born a little outside the city in New Jersey and lived in both states before my family moved to OH-IO in gradeschool. Growing up, we frequently went back to visit our family who swear by the east coast waters. I must admit, while Ohio is my home, my heart still beats for the east coast too. It's the same way Nick feels about Russia. We live in different places as we get older and we love where we are, but, had life gone in separate directions, he'd choose Russia. I'd choose NYC. Dorothy said it best, "There's no place like home." So, we've packed our Sunday best, and then some, and are headed off to drive to the Big Apple tonight. We're staying over in a hotel a little outside the city before driving in Friday morning and then we'll be back late Sunday night.

While making the hotel reservations last night, I was having problems getting my perfectly clear American Express to go through in the reservation. I ended up calling American Express and spoke with Loraine who explained the card had been temporarily on hold in hopes that I would call because they noticed suspicious activity on my card. Some fool tried to buy Travelocity tickets and other purchases on the internet. I was furious with this nameless, faceless phantom who tried to use my card. I was half-panicked that someone was pretending to be me, doting a black wig and sunglasses, signing my unmistakably long name Ana Lisa F. Factora-Borchers on each and every purchase. The thought made me sick. Nick, the steady hand in sticky situations, was not too alarmed.

Nick reasoned, "Well, at least they denied those charges. We're not paying for anything that we didn't buy."

"I DON'T WANT TO PAY FOR SOMEONE TO VACATION IN THE BAHAMAS!"

He replied,"We're not. And if they try again, American Express will deny it again because of what happened today."

"WHAT IF IT GOES THROUGH TOMORROW WHEN THEY TRY AGAIN?!"

Nick looks to the side as he always does in thought, "Well, we'll call and cancel the card, explain the situation, and then they'll revoke the charges."

I calmed down, "I just don't like the idea of some fool trying to be me."

Nick is turning his interest to the laptop, "Yeah, but it's just someone trying to use your card number. They probably won't try again because everything was denied."

I get fired up again, "I PRESSED LORAINE TO TELL ME DETAILS SO I CAN FIND THIS IMPOSTER."

"I'm sure you did."

"I want to say to this fool, 'You want to be me? Just try it. I'll kick your ass if you try to be me.' Then, I'd ask them, 'You think you could pull off being me?' It's not easy to be me, you know."

Nick was patiently waiting for my rage to spill over, listening to my rants, "That's for sure. Now help me pick out what to wear to the brunch."

Cincinnati, By the Way...

is looking pretty amazing downtown!

Nice improvements, Queen City. Doesn't that just make sense the square looks this great AFTER Nick and I have left?

The Pumpkin Patch

If you want to see the greatest orange pictures of your life, click here.

By the way, these are my nephews and niece along with sister, sister-in-law, and brother thrown in there too. (Good question, Mandy...)

Photographing Munchkins and Travel Plans

Nick and I are back under the same roof, thank the good Lord.

Last week he left for El Salvador for a five day trip and I headed to Cincinnati for a wedding reception. I stayed with old friends, Julie and Pat (aka Goatee) Ryan with their too cute progeny, Nathan, (aka Sideshow). The Ryans live in lovely house in Loveland and I had shuttled myself between Loveland and downtown Cincy with trusted traveling icon, Moses (our GPS). It was a a terrific weekend.

One of my biggest fears of photography is photographing children. Wait, I should more accurately write, one of my biggest fears is photographing children with hyperphoto parents. In my quest to single-handedly bring down the portrait department of Walmart, I have begun studying the technique of photographing children. There's not much that can be done in terms of lighting, grips, lens, and aperture when children are just scared of this gigantic black device with a huge glass eye staring them down in the face, all the while you have stuffed animals flying behind them and high pitched voices asking them to smile. If I were a toddler, I'd start crying too.

But, I had the challenge to try and photograph Nathan, aka Sideshow, who is one of the cutest babies around and he's a completely adorable ball of fun. And then yesterday, I went to my first pumpkin patch with my niece nephews. It was another portrait session with Halloween and fall colors as the background. In both cases, it's hard to keep kids interested. Thankfully Goatee and Julie and my brother and sister-in-law are NOT the overeager, piggybacking the photographer kinds of parents.

In other news, Nick returned Sunday night from Latin America with a renewed spirit and commitment to social justice. We fell asleep that night, he - exhausted from travels and El Salvador, me - exhausted from driving and Cincinnati, mumbling about our plans to live a more intentional life so we can give more to those who are in true need around the world.

Our travel plans continue: this Thursday we leave for my cousin's wedding in New York City. We'll be driving with my sister and her boyfriend for one of those three day fancy schmancy weddings which we love to attend as guests. It'll be a nice Factora family reunion with lots of folks coming in from all over the country to party it up at Cipriano's.

While I continue to send pitches to magazines and reputable presses, i've also received a few inquiries into my photography services. YES! Continue to spread the word: I will travel whenever, whereever, and will be an awesome smiling photographer on your special day. In the meantime, more resumes are flying around like the dried out autumn leaves. Nick actually asked if I would be interested in working at a bank while something more permanent rolls around.

A bank?

Like, working with numbers?

The only award I ever received that included numbers was in the 4th grade playing travel when we had to memorize long division drills.

I don't think banking is for me. Just sayin'.

TO SEE SOME PICTURES OF FOUR SERIOUSLY ADORABLE CHILDREN, CLICK HERE.

Does NO ONE need a therapist anymore?

Or a photographer? Or freelance writer?

Those are the three avenues of job hunting that I've been doing.

If you're new to the Ratcho's life you need to understand something kind of obvious: I'm a writer determined to have my way with the world.

Now that we're all on the same page, you can understand that writing, unfortunately, does not come with any guarantees. It has the stability of, say, a 10 year old boy surfing out on Australian coastlines. It's volatile, my friends. (No McCain pun intended there at all.) And so, that means I must find a way of finding a sustainable income. First there's the practical part of me: the part that is a-d-d-i-c-t-e-d to all things academic and mental stimulation and books and theory and debating and learning. That's the part of me that loves to counsel, fight for women's interest issues, and psychology. The downside is that NO ONE IS HIRING BECAUSE OF THE LOUSY ECONOMY. Now, if I had fulfilled my mother's wishes and my father's demands to go into healthcare (Dad: Medicine is the ONLY noble profession. Or law, that's ok too.") (Mom: "Why not nursing? You'll always have a job! You can do anything!"), I would be set here in Cleveland, home to approximately 298716 hospitals and medical centers. With Cleveland Clinic so close and Case Western around the corner, medprofessionals are cruisin' the good life here in Brownsfanville.

Then there's photography. Ahh, my third love (Nick #1, Writing #2)...photography is this artistic release for me. It's the one thing that I seriously feel I could do all day and feel like I have not worked at all. It's simply a joy to look through a lens and calculate white balance, lighting, exposure, ISO, and all these other acronyms that I have no idea of what their function is (but I sound smart so I use them like I know what I'm talking about). I started shooting photography the moment I could afford a camera. If you didn't know this about art (especially photography and painting - my other obsession) they require quite the pretty penny; something without a steady income makes the starving artist/starving wife not very happy.

So, I've been doing a few weddings here and there just for fun and then Nick started getting on my case, "Why don't you just do this as a side business?"

My standard reply, "Once I start doing it for money, the fun leaves. That means I'm responsible for someone's wedding photos and I don't want to be the photographer that forgot to turn something on and -oops- I missed the bride coming down the aisle."

One thing you have to understand about wedding photography is that it's just like trying to find a home - there are mansions, impressive houses, condos, and apartments - lots of variety and it's all about fit. Some are definitely better than others and everyone has a price and quality they aim for (both customer and photographer). My pitch isn't for the population that can spend thousands upon thousands of bucks on photos. I want clients who want good photos that capture a story and who can't afford a great photographer. For folks struggling to make a wedding happen or just have a memory preserved, I want to be able to provide that for folks who may not otherwise be able to afford it. So, yeah, I've got a price, but I'm working on a sliding scale. As Nick loves to gloat, "You're not only awesome, but cheap, too! You'll be a hit!" I'm not looking for the mansion clients, just good people.

So after about, oh 3.5 years of shooting weddings for fun, I finally broke down and announced that I'm available for hire. Yep, I teamed up with a web designer to create: Lisa Factora-Borchers Photography

Preserving your memories since 2008!

Just kidding, that's TOTALLY not my tagline.

If you're interested and know of anyone needing portraits or a wedding photographer - go to my website:
lisafbphotography.com and you'll see my current work in progress.

Taking the Good and the Bad: A Poetic Update

With gaining a brother (in-law), you lose a sister to Knoxville
A brand new front loading washing machine, a leaky valve
Fresh black tires for the Corolla means a new rustling noise for Bill to diagnose
A gorgeous wedding in Long Beach Island, New Jersey lends itself to overeating in a major, major way

Hitting Philadelphia traffic is nauseating, but we were able to visit the Rocky statue (aka the most important monument in my life)
October Fall means trying to understand how to turn on a furnace for the first time
Nick leaving for El Salvador in 36 hours means begging my sister to move in for a few days
An impending fun Cincinnati trip this weekend means more traveling in the car
Wonderful opportunities to write means harsh editors and quick deadlines

Sending out resumes for awesome jobs means email rejections from time to time
Having so many terrific friends who choose the same Saturday wedding date means horrendous choosing for us (our 100th apology and love to Meg & Dave, Cara & Drew, and Kerri & Chris)

SIGH
[end of poem]

On deck: trip to Cincy for me, trip to El Salvador for Nick (5 days)
And then: NYC wedding for my cousin
And then: OSU vs. PENN State game for me, Nick sweating somewhere else in Columbus area

She's All Grown Up - Kelly Borchers to Kelly Norris

Putting the "Big" in Big Fun: Part II

After we completed as many tasks as we could, Keith arrived.

Perfect timing. He was all smiles.

By Thursday evening, everyone was tired, but every 59 minutes someone would say, "Thank God the hall is done." That would followed by a chorus of, "yeahhh....TOTALLY..."

We watched a little sneak peak of the slideshow because Kay "does not want any surprises," and I agreed. It's better to get the crying out now, I thought.

Of course there were tears and it was the first time I managed to stay dry eyed throughout it. I love watching people's reactions when they see funny or moving pictures set to music. It's almost like you can see their memories popping up in their heads.

FRIDAY
We woke up early and immediately went separate ways. Ron went on errands. Kelly went to go get her manicure and pedicure. The boys went golfing. Kay and I went to go get the dress. Ben Norris' wife and daughter, Bhumika (pronounced: Boom-ick- cah) (nickname is Bhum- prounounced "Boom") and Lilly were at the house while everyone disappeared to get the last minute things finished. When we picked up the dress and dropped it off at Kay's parents house, we hung it up and fluffed it out. It looked majestic. I didn't know if Paul would leak out a tear or two, but all seemed dry when we were on our way out.

"We better get going," Kay said to her parents after we were done hanging the dress.

"Yup," Rose would agree.

I started inching near the door thinking that was our cue to leave.

"Bhum and Lilly are at the house waiting there. We might go back there and take them to the hall."

"Oh, okay!" Rose said.

Paul was confused, "Who's BLOOMING LILY?"

I nearly fell over laughing so hard.

"No," Kay said, "Bhum - short for Bhumika - and her daughter Lilly. Not 'Blooming Lily!'"

We made it back to the house and began to get ready for the rehearsal and dinner.

The closed and ripped up roads provided a bit of struggle, but eventually everyone arrived at the rehearsal. It was a great time, including when Tim had to pull out his cell phone to practice his vows. Apparently, Kelly texted what he was supposed to say and it was held in the cell. Always a good resource, that cell phone.

Fireside, an old winery, was the perfect backdrop for the rehearsal dinner. Rog Borchers and Don Cordonnier were the trusty bartenders that night and were quite generous with the Crown, I must add. It was a great evening, but the highlight was the "siblings' speeches" that took place after dinner.

Nick, Keith, and Jay were all giving individual speeches and toasts for Kelly, a moving gesture I thought. Once I heard the plan I thought, "Oh, this'll be a ride on Disaster Transport. They're going to be bawling their eyes out."

Before rehearsal, Keith asked me to hear him out and I did. Twice. In the garage and then Kelly's empty room. It was good. Poor guy, I thought, he's going to bawl like a baby.

Then at the church, Jay asked me to read over his speech, handwritten in green notebook. Poor guy, I thought, he's going to cry himself to sleep tonight.

Nick jailed himself in the basement refusing any help or rehearsal with his speech.

So, the three musketeers marched up to the front of Fireside and stood shoulder to shoulder to deliver their toasts to their one and only sister, Kelly. I had Ron's video camera and thought it's be fun to get it all on tape.

First up: Keith. Funny, moving, delivered well. Choked up midway. Glanced at Kelly - bawling her eyes out.
Second: Jay. Bawling throughout. Miracle all the words came out. Glance at the audience. 65% crying. Kelly - still crying.
Third: Nick. Walks from side to side, dry eyed. Calm and sincere. I hear a whisper, "He talks like a pastor!" Glance at Kelly - tears are under normal control. Glance at self, train wreck. I'm bawling like a big fat baby and can't stop. Why do I have the camera? Whatta horrible idea.

We get through rehearsal and decide to end it around 11pm-ish.

I spot Tim and Kelly alone outside and hear her say good-bye to him. In reply, Tim says, "Next time I see you, you'll be walking down the aisle in your wedding dress." Another hug.

I look at Nick and start crying again. That's what you get for eavesdropping.

Quick Video Before the Ceremony

A few minutes before the ceremony, here the bridesmaids are downstairs of St. Remy Church with Kelly and Kay.

Big Fun Pictures

Remember, I wasn't the photographer for the wedding and made a conscious decision to put my camera away so I could truly be in the moment. That being said, this was probably a dream to photograph because everything was really beautiful and the lighting was perfect for the entire day. So, here's just a few of the pictures I have...if you want more, you'll have to wait for Natalie Baumgardner to finish up.

CLICK HERE FOR BIG FUN PICTURES.

Putting the "Big" in Big Fun: Part I

I am the sole creator of the nickname BIG FUN, aka the Kelly Borchers/Tim Norris wedding that just took place this weekend. September 20, 2008 will go down as BIG FUN: The Night to Remember.

Nick and I left Cleveland Wednesday night after work and didn't arrive until after midnight. Although tired from the long drive, we still couldn't help but make comments. "Why is the road closed?"

"Looks like they're doing road construction."

Mhm, that doesn't sound like a good start for a wedding weekend with lots of out of towners.

As the car bumped along and we passed my favorite street - marveling, once again, at Borchers Road - we turned to find most of the Russian roads ripped up along one side and enormous bulldozers and machinery scattered rather obviously around town.

First thought: Ouch. That doesn't make a pretty wedding picture. I bet Ron and Kay are pissed. Don't the construction people know it's Big Fun weekend?

Wednesday Night
Hugs all around as we enter the house and Russia's long lost one-time seminarian son has returned. It's always nice to see Nick light up when we enter Raider-ville. No matter how tired he is in the car, once he walks through the garage that connects to the kitchen, he's completely reenergized to be near his family.

So, the first night, Kelly, the lovely bride to be, Nick, Ron, Kay and I just talk about the impending nuptuals and all the craziness that goes on the few days prior to the wedding. The next day we would be decorating St. Remy Hall, home of Big Fun dinner and dancing (commonly known as a reception). We hit the hay and I wondered what exactly the Borchers house would look like under such a big event. The questions were endless:

Would Kelly survive all the questions? (It's a researched fact that brides answer approximately 1,000,000 -yes one million - questions in the timeframe of the engagement.)

Is there enough Crown Royal?

Will the bulldozers get out of the way?

Should I refrigerate the Red Bull now or Friday night?

Will it really be 80 degrees on Saturday?

Thursday
The next morning, I went for a long run around town. My new goal is to run a road race before I turn 30 (ahem, 2.27.09) and the lovely slightly manure-ed air of the countryside provided a nice backdrop to my jog. When I returned, I found Kay and Kelly - already having conquered the florist appointment - ready to head up to the hall. I quickly changed and followed suit, running two minutes behind.

I walked two feet into the hall, hoping I wasn't too late and found about 20 excited family members and friends generously volunteering to help decorate the tables. Nick spotted me and whispered into my ear, "Totally predictable, Kelly and Aunt Jan are already crying. Watch out..."

A quick laugh was needed as we all went to work with ribbon, linens, dishware, caramel popcorn (par-tay favors!) and votive candles. The highlight was definitely flicking up the wick of over a couple hundred votive candles with a tack. Ahhh, the manual labor of wedding prep. As we folded the napkins, i laughed and caught up with friends and family. It NEVER ceases to amaze me how generous Nick's family and friends are with their time and resources. All these folks here to set up chairs, tables, cover them, plan routes, hang clothes, wipe something until it shines - for free - is truly remarkable. Nick often says, "Yep, that's Russia."

As the hours pass and more questions surface, I begin having memories (traumatic ones) of my own wedding planning and remember the anxiety of wondering whether the food will satisfy everyone, if the plates look right, if the flowers are the right color. Weddings are unbelievably stressful, but in Borchers-style, they handled it unbelievably smoothly. Ron has lists, Kay has tears, Kelly is direct, Nick is sweating, Jay is still at work, Keith is leaving voicemail messages that he's on his way, and I am smiling with candle wax debris on my face.

The hall is done by 3pm-ish. Not bad.

The Cordonnier Tears

Getting to know Nick's family has been a blessing from the start. They've always welcomed me and made me feel so loved at every gathering, party, and celebration. After getting to know the two sides - Borchers and Cordonniers - I can now clearly see the differences in each and see how they influence Nick to be the man he has grown to be.

I thought that since they are his side of the family, the influence would stop with Nick. I am beginning to think I am wrong.

The Cordonniers, Nick's maternal side, shed some serious tears at emotional times. The first time Nick cried in front of me was back in 1998 when we were just good friends and hanging out. This was before I fell in love with him and thought he was a normal guy. We went to go see The Sixth Sense at the movie theater and while I was definitely emotional at the end, I couldn't believe Nick's reaction.

After you find out that Bruce Willis is really a ghost and departs from the love of his life, I got a bit choked up but it was contained. I sighed and grabbed my purse to get ready to head out. I looked to my right and saw Nick staring at the credits rolling, completely still. "Uh, are you alright?"

"I'm just really shocked by that movie."

I agreed, "I know, it was intense."
It took me a while to see through the dim lighting, but there he was - crying in a Norwood theater over a M. Night Shyamalan movie. I didn't say anything, but the shock of this guy crying next to me was more shocking than the Bruce Willis/ghost revelation.

We were quiet until I brought it up in the car. Remember, this was before we were dating, I couldn't really insult him by asking what in the world was wrong with him crying manly tears while I was completely dry eyed.

"Were you crying?" Nice subtle question.

"Yeah, it just runs in my family. My mom's side of the family cries at everything. It doesn't even have to be a big event. One time, Grandpa even cried during a basketball game in the Russia gym."

"Why?" I was incredulous.

"Because, it was an emotional moment!"

"Oh, I see."

But, that's the thing - I didn't see. Not until now anyway.

A few months ago, I told Kelly, Nick's sister, that I would be happy to do a slideshow for the wedding - aka BIG FUN - because I've been asked to do so many that it's not really difficult for me to create one now that I have the software and the right formula to put it together. Over the past few weeks, since I got back from the Philippines, I was pushing Kelly to move forward with it because it's a nice small momento to watch in the years ahead as Nick and I watch our slideshow the morning of our wedding anniversary. She conceded and sent me several envelopes full of pictures. I asked for photos of Tim and his family and friends and soon began sorting through hundreds of photos that folks had sent me.

Putting a slideshow together is really about detail - detail of getting the pictures in a sensible order, balance of each person, the right music, putting the transitions to tempo, beginning and end fades - so in the end a lovely story is told.

Kelly is the younger sister I always wanted so imagine my surprise when I find myself - not once, not twice, not thrice - but in MULTIPLE crying episodes as I have put the slideshow together. As the final touches are layered on this week, Nick has walked in as I hastily dry my tears and am rolling my eyes at myself. He smiles, "The Cordonniers are starting to rub off of ya, huh?"

Appreciating the Amish Life for 36 Hours

The remnants of Hurricane Ike swept through Ohio and left us without power for two days. The streets are a mess, and according to the rumors in Shaker Heights, herds of electrical workers were down south helping the more torn up areas and so less resources were available in NE Ohio.

No power for 36 hours. While you could hear a collective Cleveland moan when televisions went out at 8:15pm on Sunday night because you couldn't watch the Browns/Steelers war, I was more concerned about all my produce and poultry in the fridge. (Aren't our concerns mighty?)

Living by flashlight is certainly not the way of the Amish, but it did encourage a simplistic kind of living for a little while and it was fun to just sit in the dark and talk without the distraction of the computer, music, television, or even the hum of the kitchen appliances in the background. It gave way to a gentle quiet that we actually liked.

Monday morning we had all kinds of work done on the house - chimney inspection, shower head fixed, toilet worked on (poor guy) and then our car revved up for impending travels to Russia, Cincinnati, New Jersey, and New York - all in the next 6 weekends. Throw in Nick's 5 day trip to El Salvador with St. Dominic and you have a very busy couple who are determined to live life as a one car family. An oil change, air filter, serpentine belt (that just sounds cool to say), and four new tires got the Corolla ready for Big Fun (aka Kelly and Tim's wedding) and More Big Fun (the rest of the weddings in October) in faraway places.

I write this post from the inside of a car shop as I wait for the Corolla to be fixed. All I can say is, it is quite the happy family here in Shaker Heights, Ohio. Center Heights Service may be the most friendly car shop I've ever been. That's not really hard to say coming from Boston where most mechanics stare at your chest if you're a woman and coerce you into dropping several hundos for fixes and twixes you definitely do not need. But the folks here are wonderful. Bill and Tom are actually brainstorming places for me to send my resume and introduced me to Ann, another customer who works at a agency looking for psychotherapists. You don't come across that kind of service very often. They smile and are more than friendly. Most importantly, they're honest, don't treat you like an idiot, and even offer me a lift home so I don't have to wait around for the car.

Yes, this is a body shop.

Viva La Shaker!

Command...Or a Warning...Or a Suggestion

Never speak of USC again.

"Just Don't Wait Until Winter"

One of the things that Nick and I have noticed about life in surburbia, Cleveland surburbia to be precise, is how often winter is referenced. We went for a long walk last night after dinner to breathe in the Autumn-like air, and I got to thinking of all the things I've noticed about our new life and the people in it. When you don't have a job, your mind tends to wander into topics like that at night.

It's a funny observation that so many marketing strategies in Cleveland include a foreboding, "Don't wait until winter.." Winter has been brought up at least once a day since I moved here. Whether it's house insulation, window replacements, or firewood, everything comes with a reminder to GIT 'ER DONE before the snow comes. You don't want a faulty windshield wiper during a snowstorm now do you? You can't go without snow tires this season can you? Winter-proof your house now and replace your carpet floors!

Granted, safety is always best and it's always good to be prepared, but for how often people ask if our winter boots are ready for the lake effect, I have to ask: Do we live in the western frontier? Do we not have Triple A, cell phones, and emergency lanes in the highway? What is UP with all the winter fear?

AND

It's not like Nick and I just moved here from the Little Miss Sunshine state - we lived in BOSTON. A city where I bore three brutal winters and countless Nor'easters - snow that stopped trains, cold that ripped to the bone marrow of one's existence, ice that didn't melt until April - and still survived.

So, what is UP with Clevelanders asking us, "Are you ready for a Cleveland winter? It's something else..."

One eyebrow lifts, unimpressed. There are bigger things to be concerned with in this city than the winter months. First, let's deal with the Tribe or the Brownies. Now THERE'S something to worry about.

Home Depot 101

Now comes the moment in every homeowner's life where one has to drive to the most dreaded place on the planet (other than Walmart or Best Buy) - HOME DEPOT.

Nick has told me that we may have plaster walls and why don't I research how to hang frames on such walls. I nodded my agreement to his face but inside felt like telling him that, truthfully, I'd much rather eat an unwashed beet from a pesticide infested garden than research anything about plaster walls.

The internet is a constantly shifting mirage of information - it LOOKS like there is a lot of information, but sometimes you're better off on your own and dealing with someone face to face. This led me to Home Depot. Loaded with the phrase TOGGLE BOLT, I jetted to the nearest Home Depot, with graceful directions from Moses, our trusted GPS.

So, with Moses in the car, I was able to find Home Depot and even avoid getting hit by rocks as I passed a group of children launching small pebbles at passing cars on the street. I am not used to Cleveland children yet.

Home Depot is, in a word, absurd. That building is the most ridiculous place on the planet. Walking through the front doors, I noticed people just hanging out, looking as if they were going to greet me - all wearing Home Depot bibs and dirt on their hands. No greeting.

My face was one blank canvas as I navigated this universe of doors, appliances, wires, and screws. There is every kind of imaginable bolt nestled in an aisle the size of a bowling alley. My stomach starting hurting from the impending anxiety. No one was around to help. Ugh, I began resenting homeownership.

One thing I noticed about Home Depot is that nearly EVERYONE is standing still. Everyone is, like, PAUSED in front of something and just staring at a screw, sliding glass door, or garage door opener as if they don't know what to do. I looked the part as I stood, stunned and indecisive, in front of the toggle bolt section wondering how my life had come to pass so that I have to understand the safe hanging strategies for plaster walls.

Luckily, I can read and do math and ended up choosing two packages. This was after I perused the carpet aisle, laundry washers, window treatments, and door replacements.

No one helped me except Rebecca in the laundry washer area who kept persuading me to purchase GE's newest and brightest machine at $700 because I would save so much money later in the water bill with its energy efficiency. Right.

And so, I went home and tried to put up curtain rods and started a long crack in one of the wooden panels of the window. Oh brother. Nick had to demonstrate how to put pressure into a screw so I don't flatter the head with each of my pathetic twists and grab the stepper so I can reach the top of the panel.

I totally understand now why everyone says that owning a home is a lifelong project. At this rate, it may be Christmas before I can get the blinds and curtains up.