Emily Hurd

We passed a big milestone this week.  My daughter has been a Madison Children’s Hospital patient since she was born.  On Friday, we got the news that she’s in the clear, and we no longer need to see her craniofacial team. We celebrated with ice cream.

Reader, rather than reflect on everything this week, I wanted to ask a favor. As of May 8^th, there is a bipartisan bill that has been reintroduced to Congress. It’s called the Ensuring Lasting Smiles Act (ELSA), referred to as the “happy smiles” bill, and it would require private health insurance plans to cover medically necessary dental and reconstructive services for congenital anomalies or birth defects.

It would mean the world to my family if you could join us in calling your Congress-person and asking them to push through this bill.  Families shouldn’t have to pay tens to thousands of dollars to help their kids get a full set of chompers.  You can find your representative here.

Thanks for considering helping us.  Wishing you strength this week. See you next Monday. 
-Em

On Saturday, I went to Steppenwolf Theatre in Chicago to see the one-man play starring Brendan Hunt (aka Coach Beard from Ted Lasso). It was inspiring on a lot of levels. The stage set-up was simple—just a couch and end tables—but the performance was anything but simplistic. For 90 minutes, Brendan sent us all on an emotional roller coaster ride that left me in tears one second and in fits of laughter the next. I loved it.

But what I loved the most was his self-awareness.  That man loves what he loves, and no one’s going to make him feel otherwise. 

To me, there is no more attractive quality than a person who knows who they are. 

Case in point. I fell in love with my husband when we were teenagers because one of the first things he ever told me was how much he liked the band Hanson.  When he asked me if I liked them, I sadly had to tell him no. But I sure loved how fervently he loved them. And even though I still don’t love boy-pop, I’ve loved him ever since.

Reader, when we’re ourselves without caring what others think, we attract people.  Joy is infectious, but it's gotta be real.  I just thought I’d share a reminder as we go through our week that—if you want to find your people—be true to what you love.  Light yourself up, and they’ll find you. See you next Monday. -Em

Last week, I took members of my restaurant staff to Dancing Goat distillery in Cambridge, Wisconsin for their first ever Gin Academy.  We each got to use a still to craft a bottle of gin using our choice of 24 different botanicals.  We learned a lot and had a blast doing it. 

Later in the week, I headed to the studio in Chicago and wrapped up a project for a dear friend that I’ve been working on for months.  We recorded 5 songs in 6 hours, and I am so happy with how the tunes turned out.

Today, I’m back to finishing up my album and starting a new writing project.  I’ve got some books coming in the mail to do research for it, and I found myself checking the mailbox today with the energy of a 6-year-old.  

All this to say: I’m on a project-high.

My grandma used to say: “idle hands are the devil’s playthings,” and I remember thinking she was a bit intense. But the older I get, the more I agree. But more so about having an idle mind. 

Reader, having little on my mind can lead to needless stewing and rumination. But focusing on what I can create or build has been a brain-saver these days.  If you too find yourself spinning, trying to get a passion-project on your horizon.  It’s good for the soul. This week was a nice reminder of that.

Wishing you a clear head and passionate heart this week.  See you next Monday. -Em

OCD runs in my family. My dad had it.  I have it.  And my son was diagnosed with it. For us, it manifests as excessive checking, living our lives through rituals, and having cycles of intrusive thoughts.

We’re a lot of fun at a party…

My son’s therapist believes exposure is the best way to help him. What that means is: we face scary triggers so they stop having a hold on us.

One of my kid’s many triggers is an alarm sounding.  And if you live in northern Illinois, you know the wild weather we had last week; tornado sirens went off almost every night.  The first night was a panic. My family ran to the basement and curled up together. My son had a hard time catching his breath.

The next night was a little better.  We again curled up under a blanket, but this time we added flashlights and books.

The days went on, and each night was easier. By the last night of tornado sirens, we were casually heading into the basement, snuggling up, and putting random objects on our heads to “protect” ourselves.  We laughed til our faces hurt. 

We had changed the siren trigger from “we’re all gonna die” to “let’s get cozy in the basement.”  It was the first time I’ve been able to see first-hand how exposure therapy works. 

And it works whether we have OCD or not.

Reader, it is so liberating to face what makes us scared.  I tend to be the avoidant type, but this week made me want to stare down my fears. I feel triumphant. I wish this feeling for you and yours.  Sending you courage and face-hurting laughter this week.  See you next Monday. -Em

I celebrated my late father’s birthday last week by walking through the woods where his ashes are scattered.  I drank a little scotch.  I talked to him like he was walking with me.  It felt nice. 

When I looked down, I saw that the wild ramps, ramsons, and spring onions are coming up in the woods. I know they would have come up without my dad’s ashes there, but I still like to think he had something to do with it.  It would be just like him to try to find use for his body even after he left it. 

My dad had more integrity than anyone else I know.  He liked to have purpose, and he was almost too honest. He couldn’t find a dollar on the ground without trying to find its owner.  And while he didn’t tell me he loved me very often, he did have a different love language: he always knew when it was time for my car’s oil change. He took good care of things, and I was one of those things. 

His love was deep and sturdy.  As today’s world gets flashier and crazier, I find myself missing his quiet, reliable love. I find that love most often these days in nature.

Reader, if you’re like me, you were undone by our unhinged president threatening to wipe out an entire civilization last week.  I wish I could offer consolation, but I cannot.  What I can offer is the truth: there are more of us that crave the calm than there are those who wish to destroy it.  Unfortunately, the latter group is louder and powerful.

Look to Mother Nature when the voices of loud men trouble you. And don’t fear those men: they’re not as secure as they appear.  Let’s try to focus our efforts on protecting our peace and changing what we can this week.  I’ll see you next Monday. -Em

Most magicians are masters of making things appear and disappear.  

By this definition, time spent with New Yorkers last week felt like real magic to me.

I loved spending days outside in Washington Square Park, chatting up musicians, reading, watching dogs, playing pick-up games of basketball, talking on benches with kids on spring break, and listening to conversations in languages I didn't understand.  

I met a woman sitting by the fountain one day, and we shared our anxiety about the state of the world.  We talked a bit, and in doing so, I felt my own pain ease.

Magic.

One afternoon, I got turned around. I met a man named Cyrus who saw me looking lost and pointed me not only in the right direction, but also to the best pizza in his neighborhood. (It’s on Bleeker in the village, by the way).  I never would have found it without him.

Magic.

I could give a dozen examples of how small brushes with a stranger made us both feel seen and connected.  It was magical to me.  And it wasn’t done by sleight of hand: it was done by candor of heart.  I think New Yorkers get a bum rap.  Yeah they’re direct.  But they also understand they’re all on that island together.  I’ve never seen such clean streets and honest desire to connect and help one another. It felt great.

I’m taking the feeling with me back to Illinois. 

Reader, I think we’re all meant to bump into each other more in the real world. As an introvert, I tend to believe I need lots of time alone.  And I do enjoy it.  But I think we all need a little Manhattan in our lives.  Wishing you a week of real-world-care-free-run-ins with like-minded (but more importantly, like-hearted) folks. See you next Monday. -Em

Dear Reader, I'm in New York City with my family.  Today, we played in Central Park, went to the Statue of Liberty (somehow more impactful than I ever imagined), and ate the best ice cream I've ever had. More from me next week, but for tonight, I'm enjoying a little time with the family.  I hope you're enjoying the little things tonight too. -Em

Ever have one of those weeks where you wish you could catch a break?  

That was last week.  

Between the state of the world and an onslaught of problems at home, I was looking for something positive to happen.  Because when we're feeling helpless, there's nothing like a windfall of good news to lift your spirits. 

But what if there's no good news on the horizon?  Do we just wait for something good to find us?  

We make our own damn news. 

Reader, yesterday a friend came into the restaurant and asked me out of nowhere if I'd like to drink out of a coconut. A coconut. I don't think I've done that in 35 years. It was amazing. It changed my focus immediately.  The headlines in my mind shifted, from "Woman Fears Raising Children in Unstable Country" to "Woman Enjoys Coconut and Contemplates Writing a Novel Set in Aitutaki." 

I mention this not as a lesson in how to avoid reality but how to direct our attention to things that bring us joy.  No good can come to us by waiting for good to come to us.  Let's go make it happen this week, for ourselves and others.  See you next Monday. -Em

We lost power for about 24 hours this week. Our local school lost power too, so the kids were home in the dark with me.  Without missing a beat, they lit candles, hauled out the acrylics, and started painting an old wood castle.

Because their kid minds see what they can do.

My adult mind saw all I couldn’t do.  I was a mess on Friday. I couldn’t use the toilet, couldn’t brush my teeth, couldn’t work on my computer, couldn’t use my electric piano etc.  I spent half the day floundering because my plans had been upended. And I was a grump.

What a waste.

Reader, in life, we can either tank our spirits by thinking of all the ways we’re powerless, or we can lift them by thinking of all that the power we do have. I know I’ve been feeling powerless lately.  But this week, I’m tackling it with my kid mind: by thinking of all the creative ways I can do things about it. 

Let’s do what we can this week, dear Reader.  See you next Monday. -Em

I’ve never worked harder on a record than I have on the one I’m making now.  

I’m headed back into the studio again this week, recording the same song I’ve tried to capture a dozen times.  Yesterday, I thought I was getting sick, so I started our family’s secret cure-all: eating chopped up raw garlic and ginger at every meal.  My forearms hurt from so much time at the piano.  I’m trying new vocal warm-ups (“straw-singing”…thank you, Sue Demel), and I’m sucking on slippery elm as I type.

I stink. I’m sore. But when you want something, you pull out all the stops.

Reader, what’s the last thing you wanted so badly that you missed sleep and food and time with friends for?  The last endeavor I worked this hard for was my restaurant, and it has been the most gratifying project of my life.  Working for a passion project is rewarding in ways I can’t describe. If you’ve got an idea brewing that you want to go for, let this blog be the sign: go for it.  Shooting the moon is taxing and exhausting and exactly what we’re here for.

I leave you with this picture of my kids and their buddy, Otis.  We left them with a babysitter on Saturday night, and we got back, they were dressed up in “disguises” so we wouldn’t recognize them and they wouldn’t have to go home.  Pull out every stop, Reader.     See you next Monday. -Em