This year's Memorial Day will stand out for me as one of the greatest, most meaningful experiences of my life. My husband Eric, who returned home safely this past Thanksgiving from his year-long tour of duty in Iraq, was named GRAND MARSHALL of the Park Ridge Memorial Day Parade. I got to ride along beside him.

Barely over the city limits line, Park Ridge is a wonderful little Chicago suburb, and it shows. Beautiful tree-lined streets, architecturally diverse homes, a small town feel within a big city. Best of all, the most amazing people.

The parade began in a somewhat slow, surreal style with the marching of the Maine South High School Band. The VFW (Veterans of Foreign Wars) Color Guard Brigade presented our car, a cherry red late model Mercedes convertible. Eric was in full uniform, all of his medals and ribbons in full order colorfully displaying his own military history and achievements. As we turned the corner to begin the 4-5 mile route, I was overwhelmed with the massive amount of people. Mile after mile of men, women and children lined the street, decked out in red, white and blue....cheering and smiling and clapping with an infectious enthusiasm that had me grinning from ear to ear. Front yards were filled with homemade posters and banners, lemonade stands and "breakfast parade" parties.

Then I noticed the most amazing thing.

As parade watchers caught sight of Eric coming, they would stand up from their lawnchairs, take off their hats from atop of their heads, and clap. Clap hard. Hand-hurting hard. I watched them look him straight into his eyes and mouth the words, "thank you". Many would look him into his eyes and yell thank you aloud. Every front lawn became a standing ovation to a hero. To my husband. By being GRAND MARSHALL that day, he represented all the men in Park Ridge, Chicago, Illinois, and this country that sacrificed their lives so that ours can be better.

Once I realized the significance of this....it was all I could do to not cry. I waved and threw candy until it was gone.

Eric came home safely. But he did sacrifice his life. He sacrificed our life together. He came home safe. We were lucky.

I have always known and appreciated the true meaning of this great American holiday, but this was the first time where I got to truly "feel" it. And I am eternally grateful.

WARNING: All that you are about to read is currently nothing more than a hypothetical rant that has been currently torturing me.

My husband Eric is looking into new job opportunities, some of which are not located in our current hometown of Chicago, IL. Although it’s not uncommon for families to move for a job, especially in an economy like this people “need to do what they need to do”. For whatever reason, in my mind I just never imagined us leaving Chicago. Deep inside the regions of my brain is this “ideal life” I had for myself and moving does not compute. What seems even more frightening is the idea of moving back to the state of my childhood, Iowa. One of the jobs Eric is considering applying for is in the town both my parents and brother’s family reside, Davenport, IA, two and a half hours away from Chicago. When Eric and I discuss our “maybes, our what ifs, and our could bes” about a moving to Iowa, we focus on the “pros” - lower cost of living, schools, family, less traffic, opportunity and security. Kids can be kids, run through backyards, go to public school for a top-quality education, and you can own a huge, beautiful home for the price of a 2-bedroom Lakeview condo. All good, if not great aspects. The only trouble is....it’s Iowa.

When I think of Iowa, I slam hard into the brick wall of my childhood. I think of this pudgy, four-eyed, awkward girl who was shadowed by her popular brothers and intense father, who didn’t seem to get anything right, and who couldn’t wait to get out. I didn’t seem to fit in Iowa. I easily faded into the background of my own life. Even now, when visiting there for a little too long, I sense myself reverting into that sad little girl. Seeking comfort in sweets, embarrassed to speak my mind in conversation, not belonging.

I left Iowa 3 weeks after graduating college and headed to the big city of Phoenix, Arizona. I bloomed. I wasn’t reminded of who I was and as such was given this free canvas to begin anew. I developed a person that wasn’t known as someone else’s daughter or sister, but carved from my experiences and challenges, ones that I took on alone and either failed or succeeded. I lived and learned there for 10 years. These last 6 years I’ve lived in Chicago, IL., and grew upon that person an even stronger one. I really like the woman I’ve become, and I don’t want to lose her. I’m nervous. Would I fall victim to Iowa? Lose my power, my strength, who I am? Could I become even more powerful, and make Iowa work for me? Turn it into the best aspects of both cities?

I do want to raise a family. I want the hustle and bustle of the city with a quiet front porch and hang my laundry on the line to dry in the summer. I want my kids to run through backyards and play street hockey without too much worry. I also wanna get good sushi when I’m in the mood and see a broadway-style play whenever I want. I adore hearing the train and yet I want my kids to catch fireflys in a jar. I do want to have a home, money in the bank, and a plan for my future. I do....I do want it all. Is that even really possible?

And of course....all of this....EVERY WORD AND THOUGHT....ALL OF IT....is hypothetical.

For now.

Before this year is over, I’ll be done improvising. I began in 1997 with Louis Anthony Russo and The OxyMoron’Z and I’ll hang it all up at Improv Olympic (iO) in Chicago before 2009 is done. A huge aspect of my life will be over. It’s time. The world of improvisation is an amazing drug, a gotta-have-it comedy heroin that will change your life forever. It has changed mine immensely.

Improvisation revealed to me an inner strength I had never known, lifelong friendships I deeply cherish, and opportunities that I never could have dreamt for myself. It seemed as if improv knew me better than I did....and as the years progressed my creativity soared. Everything became more vivid in general. Improvising drove my interest into writing, directing, traveling and performing in festivals. Improvisation made me a better thinker, organizer, conversationalist. I’ve been madlly in love with it, and I’ve hated it for taking over my life so fully.

In the last two years, I’ve been figuring out how to let improvisation go. It wouldn’t let me until now. Now it knows I’ll be okay. Improv knows that I’m ready for the next great things life has to offer me....a deeper delve into sketch comedy writing and performing, new interests that are nibbling at my heart, and family. That’s the way it’s supposed to be, and that’s the way that improv wants it for me. I’m eternally grateful. I fought this realization for a while, wanting to stay loyal and scared of the unknown combined. Now there is a peace. A wonderful, happy peace that now savors every moment of play until the last.This week begins the first show of my last team at Improv Olympic. It’s going to be fun. I’m lucky. I’m grateful. I’m an improviser.

(Let me just preface this note with saying that I am NOT in any way speaking about my own husband Eric. In fact, I am quite lucky.)

Over this past month I've come across quite a few men that in conversation have seemingly done their darnest to show to me their "tough side". They fit everything stereotypical of what THEY BELIEVED a REAL MAN was....and seemed quite proud of it. At first I found myself unimpressed, then sad....now...slightly angry.

Here is what my simple 3-step definition of a REAL MAN is:

1. A real man honors his wife. She should never for a second doubt that she is loved and valued.

2. A real man takes care of his children. Not only from the financial sense, but help them grow into their strength as human beings.

3. A real man praises God for his successes and prays for guidance throughout tough times.

Done.

I do not understand why....I swear to God Almighty I do not understand why...but I am increasingly becoming fascinated by Pie Birds. They seem so delicate and beautiful and intimate. Warm and sweet and pleasant. They have a specific and necessary purpose, making pies turn out wonderful. That seems like an amazing task to have in life. Can you imagine if that was your end goal for your life, to provide sweet happiness? Who doesn't love pie? All this tiny creature does is make things better.

Whenever Eric and I travel together we try to find a Christmas ornament to hang on our tree. That is the only thing I collect. We currently have ornaments from Nashville, Montreal, New Orleans, Tucson and Washington D.C. After this year is over hopefully we will have ornaments from Spain, Italy, Greece, Turkey, Malta and Seattle.

Now....I want Pie Birds. I want TONS of them. I want friends to bring me Pie Birds from their travels and I will be forever grateful. I'll replace my future emotional eating episodes with trips on Google and Etsy and search for sweet completeness in the form of a 3-inch ceramic steam pastry escaper. It's all I can do to not go online now and buy 4 & 20 of them. I want to "own" their simplistic, sweet life.

Perhaps one day I'll also bake a pie.

So on FACEBOOK within the "relationship status" area there is a range of various status levels one can choose.....Married, Single, Networking, In A Relationship, Divorced, blah, blah, blah. There is also one titled, "It's Complicated."

Lately.....I'm noticing various people changing their status levels from "Married" to "It's Complicated" and back again.....over and over. It's ticking me off.

My first thought/response upon seeing this was aimed directly to the person, chastising them for being a big pussy. Now I'm thinking about the title itself. One blanket statement really does sum it all up.

MARRIED.....hell yeah it's complicated. It's without question the most complicated endeavor you will ever experience. It's miserable, it's wonderful....it's nights when you are pissed off at your spouse and you long for the days when they went back to their own apartment and left you the hell alone. But you can't. You figure it out. You make things work. You talk and solve and promise and you try. You stick it out cause in this world marriage is one of the few things that isn't easy. That is what is so blessed about it. It's one of the few true things that one can EARN in this world. It's something that you build day by day by day. By giving it your all you forge your character and thus a life that you never dreamed could be so wonderful. Nothing that is worthwhile comes easy. And marriage is one of the most worthwhile things on this earth.

So stop going back and forth between MARRIED and IT'S COMPLICATED. We know it's complicated. It's also wonderful and easy and worth every ounce of blood, sweat and tears you put into it. Suck it up and work it out.

Marriage is the hardest thing one will ever do......and it's the greatest accomplishment you'll ever have.

Leslie Link-Mitchell: Status: MARRIED

I did it. I fought Banana Bread and won.....I WON!!!!!!

All the burnt loaves, all the nasty smells that came out of my kitchen.....all the "raw" middle sections that wouldn't cook while everything around it blackened. Eric fought me endlessly as I would throw countless loaves into the trash and he'd reclaim them.....but this time I did it.

This recipe is healthy, delicious, moist and flavorful. It cooks all the way through!!!! I pass this recipe on to you, this cumulation of trials and errors and various gives and takes of recipes past...and enjoy it so that you do not have to suffer as I did.

Leslie’s Triumphant Banana Bread

INGREDIENTS

• 3-4 ripe bananas
• 11/2 cups whole wheat flour
• 3/4 cup Raw Agave Nectar
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/4 cup applesauce
• 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
• 1 egg
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 2 teaspoons cinnamon
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1/8 teaspoon nutmeg


DIRECTIONS

Mash up bananas and add to all ingredients
together in one bowl. Mix well. Pour into a greased & floured loaf pan.

BAKE at 325˚degree for 50 minutes. Test with toothpick. Enjoy!

SUBSTITUTION: If no Raw Agave Nectar, use 1 cup sugar and set temperature at 350˚ degrees.

Life has not been all that fun as of late. The economy sucks, I'm not as busy as I'd like to be, it's February in Chicago and my toes and fingers are eternally cold. I just designed my butt off for 2 days on a logo that I came to find out the client only budgeted $200 for. I'm growing more and more grumpy. Then last night I went to a memorial.

It was a memorial we all should hope for. People, people and more people busting through the seams of this funeral home on this freezing night, not a parking space for 4-6 blocks could be found. Everyone was shoulder to shoulder, and the chatter was lively. The stories told about this woman confirmed my own impressions of her: Gutsy, lively and loving. Stories ranged from the sweet and sincere angelic kind, to the downright dirty and hysterical. I could imagine her in heaven (a heaven that no doubt resembled D'Agostinos bar) with a drink in hand, loving it.

I felt good having to have met her....I felt bad for "feeling bad" the last week or so.

In my office there is a large yellow Post-it that has written my GOALS for the rest of my life. It's been here for the past 5 years. It reads.

GOALS
• Be a great writer
• Be a better runner
• Have my own family
• Design my own home
• Travel & Perform
• Learn to Snowboard
• Go Whitewater Rafting
• Visit Ireland

I laid in bed last night and my mind traced to the fact that this woman died suddenly. The way I've been acting/feeling lately, if I died tomorrow, what would be left unsaid? So....if I die today, here's how I feel about it.

IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME - JUST KNOW....

I'm good with it. Me and God are tight and it was my turn. I didn't get to say when I started, I don't get to say where it ends. It's really okay.

I would have liked to have done more......maybe left a few things not done, but I got to do a lot and I'm grateful. I love my job as a designer....know that I'm good at it and enjoy it. So very grateful for improvisation and comedy. It saved me at a time I needed saving and didn't know it. It taught me so much about myself and helped me grow into the person I became. I met some of my very dearest friends through improvisation and I can't imagine my life without them. My family is great, thank you to my parents for giving me a realistic-yet-loving view of marriage. Thank you for staying married for over 40 years and giving me the foundation to live solidly on this earth. Thank you for introducing religion and giving me that foundation as well. Thank you Dad for being open and growing yourself as we got older so that you could become my friend. I love my nieces and nephews and want nothing more than their dreams to come true.

When I think of friends I'm amazed. People who know how crazy I am and love me anyway. I think of times at Iowa State, Phoenix, The OxyMoron'z, The Rays, Dan Ryan's Sports Grill, Dry Heat, Chicago and Girly. I think of my brothers as adults rather than us as kids. Moments in life that created me. People I can call when I'm freaked out and can just explode onto without hestitation. People sleeping on the floor of my studio apartment in the freezing winter. When it comes to my friends I truly won the lottery.

The best is saved for last with Eric. My heart won't let me write it here.

In a world of "expanding isolation" you would think with things like MySpace, Twitter, Facebook and whatever else that we would feel more "known" in the world. Isn't that what we are all trying to do? The further away life takes us away from each other the closer we want to be. We're all shouting, screaming for people to truly give a crap about us that we write it out hoping someone reads....but in truth....I don't need everyone in the universe to know me....cause I'm not going to know you. It's those handful of people that I already know - the relationships I've already built - that I need to strengthen. I'm no doubt writing this for them.....but mostly for myself.

So right now...yes, it's effing cold outside and I wish there were more to keep me busy. I wish times weren't tough for people. I wish a lot of things really. But if I died tomorrow....all I wish is that you know I loved you.

Eric bought my engagement ring at a swanky French jewelry store in downtown Chicago called Christian Bernard. Everything you could possibly stereotype from just hearing the name of the store is true. Fancy golden gate upon the entrance, elegant white carpeting that doesn't show the slightest hint of dirt, and a smell that perpetuates the air of superiority. My ring originally came in a elegantly carved wooden box that was in turn housed within a beautiful royal blue velvet bag, that was in another golden box with gold embossed french lettering, and that was in a bag which depicted a french colonial scene of people merely being beautiful to one another.

Once last summer I was shopping downtown and meandered in to have my rings cleaned. A woman with an incredibly thick french accent took one look at my rings and began to lecture me intensely on how poorly I was treating my rings, even suggesting that I did not deserve to have them if I were to treat them in such a vile way. She tisked and shrugged and shook her head. I mentally travelled back to 4th grade Catholic school standing in front of Sister Fintan. I left in shame and have since that moment always remove my rings whenever I even think to apply lotion.

Last week, our insurance company asked for specific detailed paperwork on the ring in order to cover it in our renters policy. Yesterday my husband Eric and I decided to walk there to get it. Christian Bernard is located in the Watertower Plaza downtown, a roughly 35 minute walk from our apartment. It was 15 degrees outside, so we walked fast.

We braved the elements, glided up the plopping water escalator and journeyed up to the 5th floor. When we got to the top, turned the corner and faced the store, we did not see the establishment at all. We saw a volcanic eruption of cardboard red, white and black signs all slapped on top on each other, vying for space to breathe and be read. LIQUIDATION SALE! EVERYTHING MUST GO! BANKRUPTCY! EVERYTHING 60%-75% OFF!

We made our way through the crowd, who were grasping for every necklace, bracelet and engagement ring as if a giant diamond pinata broke. Customers grabbing for a sales rep to help them. And the salespeople's heavy accents spoke faster, more hurried, more eager than I'd ever previously experienced. They weren't dressed as nice, they seemed more tired, the carpeting seemed trampled on and dirty. My husband's face was quite surprised. After a bit he found the exact woman who had lectured me the summer before and explained what we needed. She told him that all paperwork was sent back to the corporate office, and they would have to contact them directly. There was nothing she could do. She barely asked us our name. Eric was pissed. What my husband heard was...."thanks for spending a small fortune with us, we could give a shit what happens to you now, we're desperately trying to recover what is left of our own ass."

The walk back home seemed colder, and we were getting hungry. The thought of the leftover spaghetti from the night before and the subject topic of random friends and family members got us home before we froze solid. Eric will have to call corporate next business week and I'll no doubt have to deal with a pissed off husband a little while longer. My mind went back to all those ugly red, white and black screenprinted signs....we might as well have entered a pawn shop.

A pawn shop with french accents and a golden gate that soon will be closed forever.

1. My experience of Eric serving in Iraq made me (oddly enough) a better, more grateful American.

2. Whenever I emotionally eat, I pretend I’m someone famous.

3. People who use their creative talent to create messed up movies like SAW sadden & disgust me.

4. In order for me to pray, I have to “write” it. In church I’m sure it looks like I don’t care, cause while people are talking/singing/whatever I’m writing in a small notebook.

5. I was the first girl to play little league hockey in my hometown of Dubuque, IA.

6. I LOVE the movie “Grease 2”and know all the lyrics to the songs.

7. When I was 11 I played “Toto” in the Barn Community Theater Children’s production of “The Wizard of Oz”. At the time I thought it was so cool and that I was a star, I had a thick fuzzy costume, tons of stage time and had my own little cooler of Capri Suns backstage (directors fear of dehydration - the cowardly lion had his own too). Later on as I was going through a rough patch of puberty I realized I was playing a dog....and was embarassed for many years afterward and did not openly admit or talk about it.

8. In 6th grade I bought Chippendales playing cards from a Spencers store in the mall and my mom confiscated them, shunning me for being a degenerate.

9. I didn’t like my Dad till I was about 30 years old.

10. I kinda want to run another marathon.

11. Half the things I say aloud I wish I could take back.

12. In 1998, I had a 15 minute conversation with actor George Clooney. Just him and me. He’s a really nice guy.

13. I HATE, no....LOATHE dealing with the United States Military.

14. Within a certain circle of friends my nickname is SHREDDER.

15. I was fired twice in my lifetime. Once for not having enough computer experience, and once for being too harsh to my students. Big effing babies.

16. I know all the words to the Kenny Roger’s song, “The Gambler”.

17. In college, I attempted to be bulimic but crapped my pants on laxatives.

18. The only fan letter I ever wrote was to Wayne Gretzky. He wrote me back.

19. I attended Game 2 of the World Series between the Arizona Diamondbacks and the New York Yankees. I went for free.

20. My favorite food of all time is Chocolate Milk.

21. I didn’t vote this year. My first time ever. Neither candidate inspired me and my heart was heavy about it.

22. I never would have gotten a scuba diving license if it weren’t for Eric. I merely wanted to impress him.

23. I LOVE the card game Euchre, (typically an old German mans game) and would like to play in tournaments.

24. I hope I never see again any of my ex-boyfriends except one.

25. One "single-girl" Valentine's Day years ago, I once ate an entire roll of Toll House Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough - and got EXTREMELY SICK.