I can feel fall coming and I’m excited. I still keep out my capri pants, yet I swap my sandals for adorable canvas mary janes and pull out my beloved hoodie collection, which easily takes up a third of my closet. I own every imaginable color with the exception of sky blue. It keeps evading me somehow and forces me to long for it in the same way that I can slip into an endless vivid daydream about what kind of movies James Dean would have made had he grown old. Chicago in fall is amazing, and reflective of the people who live here. Relaxed and mild, with a very subtle breezy strength that reminds you to be grateful. Grateful for the fantastic summer you just had and gives you just a few more glimpses of it. Fall in Chicago is that “cool babysitter” that allows you an extra half hour of TV cause your parents will never find out. Every Saturday is filled with people strolling the sidewalks wearing college football jerseys and Sunday’s clothing is Bears orange and blue. The sky gets darker faster, and I have loving permission to wrap myself up in sweat clothes and cook things in a crock pot. For whatever reason, my love of cooking grows deeper in the fall. I like the heat, the heartiness. I love the warm feel of a bowl of soup when you cup your hands around it. When that rich, tomatoey liquid slides down your throat all the way into an empty stomach. The crunchy butteriness of the toast on a grilled cheese sandwich done right. All that, looking out the window into the dark and twinkling Chicago skyline, 7pm.....in sweatpants. Friends and I lately have been passing around recipes. I will be sharing more of my fall recipes, but I’ll start with my first favorite, Crock Pot Lasagna. The Crock Pot Lasagna is asked for and made once a month in our household. Enjoy!

CROCKPOT LASAGNA
INGREDIENTS
• 1 package ground turkey
• 1 onion
• 2 tlb minced garlic
• 1-2 jars of spaghetti sauce
• 1 container fat free cottage cheese
• 1 egg
• 1 package standard lasagna noodles (don’t cook them!)
• 1-2 8oz packages shredded mozzarella cheese
• Italian seasoning, crushed red pepper, salt to taste

DIRECTIONS
• Brown turkey with onion - drain
• In one large bowl, combine turkey with spaghetti sauce and seasonings
• In another bowl, combine cottage cheese and egg. Beat till smooth. Add shredded cheese.
• Spray Crock Pot bowl with PAM spray throughout. Begin layering. 1st sauce, 2nd noodles, 3rd cheese.
• Repeat till near top of bowl

• Heat on LOW for 4 hours. Turn to OFF for 5th hour so that lasagna is still warm but perfect for eating.
• Scoop in bowl to serve. Enjoy!

When I listen to my single girlfriends questioning love, my heart aches back in time to when I was in their shoes. Those single frustrated days sitting across from so many of my gal pals over an oriental chicken salad, congratulating them on their engagement, looking at their big diamond ring and asking the eventual question, “how did you know?” I always, always got the same answer and it would increasingly piss me off. “I just knew.” Fuck. WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN!?!?!? My 20s and early 30s dating life consisted of me endlessly watching romantic movies and searching hopelessly for the guy who closely resembled Bill Pullman from “While You Were Sleeping”. Funny, masculine, handsome in a non-threatening way. I found that I was either dreadfully disappointed in the men I was dating and they were equally disappointed in me. It was no use and it took me a long time to figure out what I was doing wrong.

Here’s what was wrong with me, and there’s a 99.9% chance that the same thing is wrong with you. You’re not too fat, too short, too tall, your hair is fine, you make enough money, etc., etc. You’re just not ready. There’s no “one person’ out there and you missed him and your life is over, etc., etc. There’s a TON of “the one” out there especially for you. It’s like confetti dropped from a helicopter. Chances are you did miss a few. They were simply ready and you were not. That is okay, once you are ready, they show up. You’ll recognize it immediately. You'll “know”. Seriously it is that simple.

So get ready. Here’s how. Be honest with yourself about what your bullshit is. You DO have bullshit baggage and don’t deny it. We all have it. Figure out what baggage you got. At least recognize it. Dig deep. Figure it out. Whatever you can solve.....solve. Figure out where and how and why, fix it if you can. Everyone has baggage. You are never not going to have baggage. The key is to get yours to the size of a carry on. Once you can fit your personal baggage into the “overhead compartment of life” you are ready. If you don’t do this crucial step the true you never emerges. You’re hiding. You will piss away your life hiding and people who are ready will sense it immediately and walk in the opposite direction. Do the hard work and you will be rewarded.

Once you are ready they seemingly materialize from thin air. Its like Brigadoon. They are the ones who did their own work and got their own baggage figured out because they wanted you. They wanted to be ready. They were excited to build a life with you and as such they got their shit together so they could.

I got married at age 36. It took me a long time to figure all this out. Longer than most. My head was stuck in the mud and I didn’t want to believe I wasn’t ready. I wanted to be saved. I wanted a knight in shining armor to sweep me up and tell me everything was going to be alright without me getting my hands dirty and digging into my baggage and cleaning it up. Doesn’t work that way. You gotta fix it yourself. I think of some of the previous boyfriends I wasted so much of my time and energy on that now wouldn't get past a first date. I was screwed up. I wasn’t ready. You gotta be okay with yourself and every flaw and skeleton and love and live your life the way the universe wants you to.

Being married doesn’t solve anything either. Baggage in overhead compartments may shift in flight. There are still struggles and victories and defeats and they change regularly. In a way, it’s worse now as you are dragging someone else into the daily mess. Then again, it's better cause there's someone that has promised to go through the mess with you. And you love them for it. You love them for a lot of reasons really. So it’s not a big deal, not too big a mess. I suppose this is where you “just know.”

Last night I was sitting on the butt-torturing chairs of the 24-hour Starbucks located on the corner of North Ave. & Wells St. in Chicago. My neighborhood. I wanted to get out of the house, write, see where the evening creatively took me. When I got there the only table I could find that also had an electrical outlet for my laptop was a 6 person one. I felt guilty for a moment then snagged it. After about an hour of sitting alone, a couple of young girls, no older than 20 or 21, circled in on me. They asked if they could sit on the end. No problem. I then pulled out my iPod from my bag in an effort to build a somewhat false sense of privacy, to drown them out and focus on trying to be creative. It was no use. Quickly their conversation began to smother the smooth melancholy of my Ray LaMontage songs and I began to get agitated. I was blocked, I couldn’t write. I had only been here an hour and I did not wish to give up. I tried harder to drown them out. Damn. After a solid ten minutes imaging all the various ways I could beat the shit out of them, I calmed. Let them be my gift. So I wrote. Both girls were roughly 21 years old, one wearing expensively adorable eyeglasses with a Burberry cheetah-esque print on them and the other a sweatshirt/cable knit combo that splashed “Abercrombie” across her chest. The girl facing me had whispery long brown hair which always makes the perfect ponytail and a mouthful of braces. Each looked 15, spoke 21, and from their discussion, longed to be 30. Their chatter began with a brief touch on professors and classes and roommates. The remainder of the evening was dedicated to their boyfriends. Boys they had been texting throughout the day and cuddling in their apartments and going to Jimmy John’s with. Boys they had only been dating, or “hanging out” (they themselves were not quite sure) for a mere few weeks. I became a spy. I cherished it and I let it shroud me. I would sneakily listen as each would dreamily contemplate their life-long plans with these boys aloud, they would do “real” things like make meals together, plan trips, double date with each other’s best friends at swanky Chicago BYOB restaurants. Twirling their tea bag strings and rotating their worn cups, each girl’s relationship fantasy would grow and grow till a crescendo of, “Oh my gawd, and I’ve only known him a few weeks.”

I imagined their childhood rooms in the suburbs of Chicago, nothing touched from the day they moved out. Mountains of stuffed animals and saved birthday cards and glittery BEST FRIENDS picture frames. Color palettes taken directly from IKEA catalogs. Those braces. Big honking chunks of metal bolted onto this milky naive face. Hair that has not yet seen a box of Clairol. She worried aloud to her friend why this boy always wanted to cuddle at her place but not his and why she had not met any of his friends yet. She tortured herself on what that must mean, her empathetic Burberry-cheetah eye glasses friend consoled her. “You know, you guys should think about where to go on Spring Break together.” she said.

I found myself agitated again. I began thinking....you don’t get to be in the same world with me.