A whirlwind of the very best kind

The week before last was a whirlwind, a whirlwind of the very best kind. In a matter of six days, I soaked in the warm sunshine of northern California and endured one of Chicago's brutal spring storms. I indulged with an exotic cocktail of gin (always a good start) with honey and lavendar, and countless (just two actually) glasses of warming red wine. I ate rich squab and juicy steak, fresh produce and duck fat french fries and too much chocolate.

But it was only over a glass of wine at Chez Panisse two Sundays ago that it hit me - I'm having dinner at Chez Panisse! Meep!

Then something else hit me, something arguably more important depending on who you ask - I'm going back to school. Smile, sip, sigh.

I never gave much thought to going back to school, least of all journalism school. I figured I'd get my reporting chops up to snuff on the job, working my beat, impressing my bosses. Before long I'd work my way up and out, becoming the most sought after print-slash-video-slash-web reporter-slash-producer in the county. Nay! On the planet!

Needless to say, two and a half years after taking a job at a community paper, I've realized that will never be the case, no matter how many board of ed meetings I cover or freelance film reviews I fumble my way through. So, here I go. This September will be all about new beginnings. I will be back at school in a city I've never lived in with people I've never known. The question is, which school? Which city? Which people? Or, better yet, which farmer's market?

I know I should base my decisions on the program and job opportunities and financial aid - donations are now being accepted - and all sorts of other reasonable, pragmatic criteria. But pragmatic I am not, least of all when it comes to life's important decisions. Go to film school instead of studying international business? Sure! Spend my final undergrad semester traipsing around Paris instead of looking for post-graduation work? Go for it! That pesky voice is chirping in my ear once again and I can't help but find myself considering where I'd live, what I'd wear, where I'd shop, what I'd eat as important factors in my decision. Quite the dilemma. I know. I know.

I guess I'll have to sleep on it. Or maybe eat on it. I've often been told that I bake to forget my problems, but I like to think of it as a way of working through them. Really, nothing gets solved without the input of a good pie or cupcake. And my mom has been asking, begging really, for seconds of the rhubarb-apple crumble from Chez Panisse. This decision could prove to be a real piece of cake.