ahhhh...two days of peace

It's been just about exactly 8 months since I left my job in Huntsville and ventured to the big city.  I have so enjoyed living here that I know it will be very hard to leave whenever I do move back "home" to Alabama.  My enjoyment, however, has been in 2-day per week pieces.  The other 5 days of each week are less than stellar, and put such a damper on the whole experience.

To say I haven't exactly enjoyed my job is somewhat of an understatement.  There have been times in the past 6 months or so that I've actually tried to calculate what it would cost me to leave it.  If I leave the company within a year of relocation, I have to pay back the cost (prorated).  The benefits with Navistar are really good, and beginning 2011 I will have 4 weeks of vacation per year.  4 weeks.  Hard to beat.

There's also my lease on the condo which is locked in through April.  And I love it, and I love living here.  So what to do?  Actually, what I did a couple of months ago was sit down with my boss and tell him straight up how unhappy I was.  He was sympathetic and understanding and willing to do whatever I felt it would take to make things better.  It all boils down to a couple of points:  a) I was never given a job description, and I was never truly interviewed for the position in particular, and b) I am completely and utterly not qualified for the job.  I had no knowledge of the area that my job covers, but felt tremendous pressure to know it and do it and be perfect from day 1.

My predecessor is still with the company, and actually just moved to a different position in the same department, yet, I got no help or guidance from him of what I should be doing and how.  And to top it all off, I was not the only one who was new to the department - my immediate boss came in at the same time from another division, and was learning the ropes, and my counterpart in the department was also new to her position and very young and green and struggling.

After my discussion with the bossman, he learned some things that helped make sense of the situation.  One was that my predecessor did not have any help or knowledge of the job when it was thrust on him, so he had to learn everything the hard way, and thought I should too.  Gee, thanks.  Another was that he really had no idea of my background or what I expected, and assumed that I had been interviewed and chosen for the job based on qualifications.  Wrong.  I even said I didn't want it, but was enticed by the promise of being involved in other areas also and broadening my knowledge.  That had not happened because I also was short one person on my staff.

All of those things jumbled together have made for a tough time, and something I've really not wanted to document or discuss - but it is part of my experience here, and I want to document at least something about the whole of my experience.  Things are better - with time, I've learned more and am feeling more comfortable with the tasks set before me.  I've had support from my boss and from others who know my work and capabilities.  And hopefully I can work toward restoring my reputation and status within the company as a valuable asset, which I feel has been tarnished (unfairly) by my slow start.

At the very least, I now feel I can manage through the remaining time that I'm here, however long that may be.  The coming new year may bring many changes and opportunities, and I just need to take as much advantage of them as I can.  It's hard some days to drum up any level of excitement about going into work, but overall, I can do it.  Besides, they actually pay me pretty well and have given me this chance to step outside my comfort zone and test myself.  Everything about it can be a positive for me going forward...as long as I treat it as the adventure it is and not take it too seriously.

Plus, I have those two wonderful days each week to relax, recharge, and release the frustrations of the previous 5 days.  Weekends are a gift from the gods to combat the demons of work.

okay, i'm not 20 anymore...

If I'm still 20 in my head, why will my body not just give in and go along with it??

Last Saturday was the SEC championship game between Auburn and South Carolina.  Being the Auburn alumni and fan that I am, the game was an exciting time as we try to make the National Championship game for the first time.  Now, ever since forever, it's been my little tradition to jump around and sing the fight song when Auburn scores.  Never have given it a thought.  Seth and Lacy are very familiar with my little dance and have seen it numerous times, even joined in on occasion (but mostly laughed at me).

For some bizarre reason that is beyond me, providence took offense at my dance and choose at that moment to remind me that this is not proper behavior for a grown woman of a certain age.  I heard a loud pop or snap or crack that definitely wasn't Rice Krispies.  At the same time felt as though I'd been shot in the back of my leg.  I've never actually been shot, but I'm pretty darn sure that's how it would feel.

Of course, I'm down, wondering what the hell was that, and not believing that something actually tore in my leg.  I've always heard that you can hear when a tendon snaps, so my immediate thought was my Achillies, given that it was at the base of my calf.  Actually, after visiting an Orthopedist on Tuesday, learned that (evidently) I ruptured my calf muscle, basically where the tendon connects to the muscle.  This was the doctor's expert diagnosis, although he took no X-rays, did no MRI, and actually did little but look at my leg which looks like a normal leg.  I'm trusting that, given he is a specialist, he knows whereof he speaks.

So I acquired a contraption that looks like a Stormtrooper boot, and was told to wear it for, oh, 3-4 weeks.  The tear will heal on it's own.  How we know this without some sort of closer examination, I'm not sure, but I have to trust that it will heal and all will be well again in time for the National Championship game, when I will refrain from my traditional dance.  I am in luck, however, that it is my left leg, and I gave up on manual transmissions a couple of years ago, so driving is not a problem.

All-in-all, I'm okay with the injury.  Not much I can do but be okay.  I'm very thankful that it was not worse, as it was enough of a chore to tend to myself living alone and hobbling around the house.  And thank you, Target, for having Bertolli frozen dinners on sale the week before.  Without that "buy 4, get one free" deal, I would have had nothing but mac n cheese and field peas to eat.  I did have to reuse my last coffee filter a couple of times, but at least I had coffee.  That could have been a major disaster!

So, after over-doing it a bit the rest of the week, I'm determined to take care of the leg and listen to my body and not think I'm superwoman.  I can't make it go away, or heal any faster, but I can delay the healing by straining it as I've done a few times.  Beside, I have a couple of good books, ingredients for some taco soup, and the forecast is for rain-turning-to-snow.  I have the city out my window, plenty of on-line Christmas shopping to do, yarn to knit, card games to play, and enough peace of mind to be happy doing any of these things.

I seriously doubt I would be able to manage that kind of contentment at 20, so I guess there's a bonus to being "of a certain age".  It brings an ability to enjoy, even relish, simpler things and having time or occasion to do them.  As long as the 20-year-old in my head doesn't start trying to take over, I'll be fine.

let it snow??

There is no secret as to the trepidation I feel regarding driving on frozen roads.  My idea of how this should be done on I290 at 6:00 p.m. any weekday is to outfit all the vehicles with foam rubber front and back and let everyone join bumpers in a friendly sort of way, each pushing the other along to their respective exits.  This would be so much more civil than moshpit skiing on four wheels.

Regardless, the day is coming soon that I will join the moshpit, hoping to stay on the fringe and not end up in a stage dive into the fray.  That day is not today, though.  Today I woke up to a lovely blanket of white on all of my now-familiar rooftops, water tanks, and deck gardens.  I had imagined snow in nice big fluffy flakes floating freely and framing fresh footprints far below.  Okay, I ran out of f's.

Today's snow is fine flurries (sorry) much like I would see in Alabama but that never amounted to anything more than a tease of snow cream and closed schools.  Here the tiny flurries fall thick and fast and constantly, ever so slowly adding nths of layers to the batting already covering the city.  By day's end, accumulation will be measured in inches, and hopefully by Monday, it will be mostly a memory.

The fine white stuff also is not making for too much of a problem on the streets.  It's not cold enough to cause buildup on the wet roads, at least in the city.  I know, however, that this has to be an anomaly, and that most other snow I see this winter will be be less likely to offer this sense of security and safety.  At the moment, I can just sit here and enjoy the view, in awe of the obvious magnitude of tiny flakes continuously wafting down from the sky and creating a sheer-curtain effect as I look out.  It reminds me of a perfectly clear, cold night in rural Alabama when you look up and suddenly find that the sky is almost completely covered in tiny twinkling lights; so many that you have to wonder where they've all been until then, knowing they've been right there, just not as visible.

I'll enjoy this first snow, knowing I can do that without trepidation.  The only thing I have to worry about is busting my butt when I go out walking in it.  At least I'll find out just how good my new fuzzy winter boots are.

focus shift

Well, I've not totally abandoned my little diary of city life.  I have, however, shifted focus a little.  In light of family expansion, I finally have started trying to document a little history of my family life with  stories I remember from growing up, and stories of Seth and Lacy in their early years.  I always enjoyed sitting around the table after a holiday dinner, listening to daddy and granddaddy and papa tell the same stories I had heard many times, but that never got old.  Some I only remember the gist of the story but not the names of the characters.  Some were closer to home, involving family members along the way.

My favorites seem to be the ones that had to have been humiliating to the poor soul who was the subject of the joke, but that were just too funny not to enjoy.  Like the guy who thought a mouse had run up his overalls.  He grabbed the wad, took a pocket knife and cut a big hole, only to find he had just cut his chewing tobacco out of his pocket.  Or my cousin who got the "snipe hunting" joke played on him.  You could hear the echo through the woods....clang, clang, clang...."here snipe".

I know everyone has those stories; funny, poignant, history-documenting stories about their heritage.  Some are passed through the generations, but most are probably lost along the way.  I hope that by writing out what I can remember, and maybe enlisting the help of other family members, I can have something to present my children and grandchildren that will provide a sense of where they come from.  Where they come from may be less distinguished or wealthy, and more simple and country, but none-the-less, it's a heritage of strong family values and love, spoken or not.  And I'll guarantee the stories are better.  :)

rain and the city

I've been lax in keeping my little diary up lately.  Work has been a bitch, and it's typically 7:30 or later when I get home.  That makes for a 12+ hour day and I feel like doing very little by the time I pull into the garage.  I didn't even try on the new boots I had ordered online until the weekend - they sat in my living room for 4 whole days.  Seriously, that's a little scary.

The past couple of weekends have been nice and sunny and not even very cool.  Still, I've not been out much; between being tired from the week and stressed from the job in general, motivation is hard to come by.  I've been wishing I had a good excuse to be so lazy, like a rainy day that just forces you to lay around and read or watch old movies, napping in and out.  Well, today I have it, and I don't want to stay in.  I need to get my motivation level in sync with the weather.  I hate when it's off like this.

Despite the rain, I fully intend to hop on the Brown line and rock 'n' roll up to Wrigleyville.  I'm sure it will be a small group at Messner's for the game, but I really want to get out before it's too cold to justify walking even 4 blocks when you don't have to.  Plus, my bud Muddy is in town and I promised I'd be up there in case he survives the Northwestern/Michigan State game.  Hopefully it won't be a monsoon just as I leave the house - but my luck is against that.

It doesn't rain here a lot, so I'm wondering how it can snow so much in the winter.  I'm sure it's just my anxious anticipation that has Chicago continually white (or gray) throughout the winter, when it's probably only a few days altogether.  This winter is supposed to be "average", which according to weather.com means the average low for December and January will be 16, but the average precipitation for both months is about 2".  Which reminds me - I need to look for seat warmers and a new battery.

Rain in the city doesn't seem to slow things down very much.  Road traffic is still constant, although foot traffic not so much.  The city isn't as impressive - the mostly-glass buildings become gray just like the mostly-concrete or steel buildings.  You can't see the top of the tallest, and you can't see as far.  I guess the thing that I miss about rain, though, is I don't hear it on the roof.  I can't open the door and hear it playing on the tree leaves like cymbals, I never, ever see red mud, and it never seems to rain straight down.  Surprise.

So the longer I sit here the less appealing it becomes to get out, so I'd better do before that motivation meter starts sinking toward low.  Besides, it's not going to rain forever - it's sure to be over by the time I head back home.  As long as I don't leave Messner's at half-time.

War Eagle - every week gets more intense when you're undefeated.  Especially when it's 2 undefeated teams playing each other.  Especially when you never expected to make it this far with a 0 in the loss column.  And especially when you've been here before and walked away with nothing (see 1957, 1993, and 2004).  Still, it's fun to have something to be excited about every Saturday for 3 months. :)

thugs in the night

Heard on the news this morning that there have been a rash (a rash?  exactly what is a rash?  what number of a thing do you have to get to before it can officially be a rash?) of muggings or beatings or robberies - I guess they're all muggings - in this normally safe part of town.  These attacks didn't happen in dark alleyways or unlit street corners.  They happened out in the open, albeit at night, in heavy-traffic areas.  One in particular that caught my attention was the robbery of a doctor at the corner of Michigan Ave and Superior.  That is a corner I know well, and in fact, walked through just this weekend with Lacy and friends.

One thing that I love about my neighborhood among the highscrapers is that I have always felt safe.  I can't say that I'd go strolling at 2a.m. but generally, in the daytime, and even early evening, I feel perfectly safe.  There is a lot of traffic at all times, there are very few unseemly characters lurking about, and there are always people walking within shouting distance.

It's a part of town that is in town without actually being in the concrete jungle itself, so to speak.  Four blocks to the south is the river, and on the other side of that is the real commercial district; where executives execute during the weekday, where the buildings are less residential and more financial, where there's a Starbucks literally on every corner rather than every third corner.  It's a part of town that is full of condos and apartments and restaurants and hotels and tourists.  And it's the part that is probably the safest area of the "downtown" area.

I hate that recent events have taken some of that away, and I pray that it's a fluke, a coincidence that a "rash" of these events happened within a few days of each other.  I hope that it does not signal the end of one of the few safe havens in this town.  Still, for now, I guess I have to be more careful about going out after dark, and more cautious even in the daylight.  I do love this city, and still feel it's one of the cleanest and safest I've ever been in.  I still have faith that it will stay that way.

Maybe they'll put more of those cute Segway cops patrolling around here.

i've learned

If you're going to drive in Chicago on a Monday night when the Bears are playing at home, there's no sense in being in a hurry.
When the sky is clear and the sun has just set, the orange and peach and cream and blue is the same here as in Alabama.
Sharing a few days in my world with people I love and am familiar with leaves a lingering level of comfort that keeps me warm and safe.
It's not so much that I'm more adaptable than I expected, it's that anyone comfortable with themselves can adapt more easily.
The antenna lights on the Sears/Willis tower (or just "the tower") can cause support for most anything just by changing color.
You need good brakes and a horn to drive around here.
It's hard to be homesick for a place when you no longer have a home there.
It's easy to be homesick for people and events regardless of where you are.
Lacy makes a mean chocolate martini.
312 is an area code, not a number.
ZoCAlo is pronounced ZOcalo.
People over 30 are more friendly than people in their 20's.  At least to older people.
You can always find something you can't live without at Marshall's.
Joy can come from the most unexpected places at the most unexpected times.
There is such a thing as a "benign tremor".  Yes, tremor.
The smell of the chocolate factory across the river is exactly like the chocolate gravy my mother used to make.
When they say it's the first day of Autumn, in some parts of the world, it actually feels like it.

And, that....it's an effect of growing up in a small town that when you walk outdoors in the afternoon and the air has a certain coolness, freshness, and the shadows are long, you feel like you're supposed to be headed to a football game.  I will forever be ingrained with that feeling.  It takes me back to the excitement of putting on the band or cheerleader uniform and heading to the high school field where the fans are pouring in and the popcorn is popping in the concession stand and you know the hot chocolate is so hot it will slosh and burn your hand and the majorettes sparkle and the shoulder pads smash together with that familiar clack and for a couple of hours, you're in a different world.  I can't walk outside on those certain clear Autumn afternoons without being transported to that world.


 

g'mama

Seth and Christine came to visit last weekend.  It was the first time Tine had been to Chicago other than flying through on her way to some other place.  From O'Hare it's not easy to get a feel for the city other than the crowd of tourists and how far you can walk and still be in the same place.

While they were here we had a great time - it rained a little Saturday morning (which didn't dampen the bacon waffle), but by mid-afternoon, the sun was out and we were at Oktoberfest in Lincoln Square.  Tine felt right at home and was thrilled to find traditional German food like her mom makes.  We got little German flags and watched the parade of German-Americans and local school marching bands.  Mayor Daley, who had just that week announced his retirement, was on hand.  It was a small, but friendly, festival.

On our way back to the city, we stopped off in Lincoln Park and walked to the Zoo, which was another thing that Tine wanted to see.  It was late, so some of the indoor facilities were closing, but luckily the animals had moved outdoors to enjoy the coolish weather.  We got a good view of the lions, and the female put on a show by coming to the edge of their enclosure and stalking back and forth while letting out an occasional low growl.  It was as though she was posing for the photographers in the group of onlookers.

The apes were fun as usual, and the lone seal was huge and sleek, and the zebra went into hiding just as we walked up.  I think we got the most fun, however, from watching the polar bear.  He would swim 'round and 'round in his pond, gliding along and occasionally kicking off the wall with his huge paw.  Obviously a ham, he swam straight up to the glass viewing window below the surface of the water, and pressed his nose right up to the glass as if for pictures.  Then he would turn, kick off, and circle back to face the glass again.  I half expected to see him climb out and open a bottle of Coke.

Leaving Lincoln Park, we headed back to the house to clean up for dinner.  I didn't tell them where we were going, but walked them to the end of the block and back to a restaurant right next door to my building.  Blue 13 was all it was cracked up to be - small and funky, rock music playing but not too loud, tatoo'd staff completely attentive and knowledgeable, and divine fare.  I've never seen a pork chop that big, or tasted one that melted in your mouth like a kobe filet.  Tine's quail was very slightly gamey and very flavorable, and my steak medallions were tender and tasty.  Dessert was heavenly.

Being stuffed and happy, we walked it off at Navy Pier, taking in the carnival atmosphere then cabbing it back to the house.  Sunday was tourist day.  I drove them around Oak Park looking at the beautiful old houses and quaint shops, then headed back to town to do the tower.  Luckily it was a beautifully clear day and the line was short.  I still couldn't make my feet take me into the glass observation boxes, though.  My stomach turns upside down just thinking about it.  Seth would live there, I think, but Christine was more like me.  She did close her eyes and let Seth pull her out for a picture.  You can see the hint of absolute fear in her eyes in the souvenir pic.

From there, we went to Buckingham Fountain at Grant Park which is magnificent, and over to the "bean" and Crown Fountain with the faces that spit on you, where we soaked our tired tooties for a bit.  Off to Lou Malnati's for pizza, and home to relax and catch the final episode of True Blood.  All in all a fun and packed weekend before I dropped them off at Midway early, early Monday morning.

Oh yes - - - and they brought me a present.  A huge surprise in a tiny package.  The gift that keeps on and on and on giving.  It was also very fitting, since Sunday was Grandparent's Day.  How coincidental was that, given that the trip had been planned since way before they knew they were with grandchild?  Not to mention that the due date is my father's birthday, although it's not a Friday the 13th like his.  I warned both them and Lacy/Jeff that they were not allowed to conceive before I was back in Alabama, or at least on my way.  Guess that's what I get for trying to control nature.  So I'm going to be a grandma, or as my friend Marsha (who's daughter-in-law is pregnant with twins) has come up with, g'mama.  I guess I'm g'mamalynn, since mamalynn is how many of my "adopted" children back home refer to me.

Am I surprised?  Yes!  Am I thrilled?  Hesitantly.  I think it's normal to be concerned and nervous when your children take any big step - moving out on their own, marriage, house, children.  You just want everything to be okay, and for them to handle it well - or at least better than you feel you did.  Tine is the same age as I was when Seth was born, and she is much more worldly and secure than I was.  Seth is older than his dad was, and is a little more grounded - he has a real job, and is in college, and although he still has a lot of maturing to do in some ways, I think he'll be okay.  This boy who has never taken to children much reminds me of myself in that regard - and once he takes that tiny life in his hands, he'll know what it is to love beyond bounds, more than he ever thought possible.

My life as a young mother was spent in turmoil much of the time, alone much of the time, and lost much of the time.  And somehow we all survived.  My two kids managed to grow into happy adults with full lives of their own, and that which literally did not kill me seemed to make me stronger.  My hope and dream for my first grandchild is that he or she (it's a girl, I just know it) has a full life of love and wonderful experiences, even if he/she doesn't have the benefit of growing up in a little rickety farm house in nowhere Alabama without benefit of air conditioning or carpeted floors or central heat or plentiful anything except pecans and adventures.  I'm sure that  his/her life will be almost as rich regardless.  And I know that he/she will have no shortage of love.  And that I will definitely be in Alabama next April to be among the welcoming committee.

back to school

Its easy to think of Chicago as a safe, friendly city.  That is until you starting watching the local news.  I do feel safe in my neighborhood, and for the most part, around the downtown area in general.  I feel safe driving to work, even though I usually travel on the fringe of a less than desirable neighborhood.  I don't generally think about safety or violence, but I have to admit, wherever I am in this city, it is somewhere in the back of my mind.

The first time I ever came to Chicago was when I worked for Brach & Brock Candy Company.  I started working with Brock Candy Co., and small family-owned company with a long history in the Chattanooga area.  Two months afterward, the announcement was made that the Brock family had sold out to the much larger E.J. Brach company out of Chicago.  The decision by the new company to move their corporate headquarters from Chicago to Chattanooga was a bit of a shock to everyone.

So the first of my several trips to Chicago to facilitate the transfer of knowledge and management was due to this change.  I remember clearly the briefing I received prior to the trip; put my purse in the trunk of the rental car, keep doors locked at all times, don't roll the window down for anything or anyone.  The instructions were due primarily to a recent drive-by shooting at the Brach plant where the corporate headquarters were also housed.  But also because the neighborhood - on Cicero Ave - was like a dark alley you just know you don't want to be in after dark.

After this and the many follow-up trips, I shouldn't be surprised at the actuality of the risks of living here.  It's just so easy to forget...until you're reminded.  School started this week in the city of Chicago.  The first fact that got my attention is that there are 425,000 students in the city school system  That's something like 100k more than people in all of the Huntsville metro area.  Not students....PEOPLE.  That brings some amount of brevity to the more negative statistics, but it's still tough to hear that over 30 kids were shot and killed in Chicago high schools in the 2009 school year.

I haven't been able to pin down the number of total shootings, but just think about the subject at it's simplest form - - - there are kids with access to guns in the city schools.  How you aren't able to control, or crack down on, guns at school is just beyond me.  Understanding that there's no budget to put scanners in every school, I still am in awe of the possibility of guns in schools being just a fact of live.

Only a few days into the 2010-2011 school year, the count is 1.  One teenage boy killed.  One teacher stabbed.  The first week of school.  Can you just imagine how difficult it must be to go to school every day knowing your well-being is not much different than if you were walking into battle in Afganistan?  Would you not just want to pull the plug at the first opportunity?  No wonder drop-out numbers are high, and unemployment and welfare recipients are high.  Can't get far without a high school degree, but how far can you get going to battle empty handed?

It's not just in schools, it's not just South Side or near West, it's not just one race or another.  But the victim and perpetrator are almost certainly black and from south of the city proper.  Police here met with leaders of known gangs to try and encourage peace; they caught a lot of backlash for the meeting.  I understand that it seems an oxymoron to meet with gang leaders, but maybe that's a way to get the message to the gang members.  If they don't control, they will be the ones to pay.

I keep going back, though to how it feels to be faced with this danger every day of your life.  How much courage it must take to play jump rope in your front yard (where a young girl lost her life recently).  How difficult it would be to break the silence and rat the assailants out at the risk of your own life.  It's hard enough to consider how, at any time and place on any day in a city like this, you could be the one caught in the crossfire.  Even downtown, in a good neighborhood, surrounded by good people, or driving to work through good neighborhoods, or riding the L any place in town.  Tragedy, violence, or mishaps can hit no matter where you are, but when the odds are a good bit higher, maybe we just need to be a little more cautious and aware.  Hard to do when you're caught up in the magnificence of all that surrounds you, so the question remains - do I avoid the magnificence because of fear, or do I embrace it in spite of?  Can't live much of a life avoiding the hard stuff, and I like to think that is how students are able to continue going to school every day.  Hopefully it's a quality that is carried with them through the rest of their lives, as long as they're able to survive past Senior year.

weagle weagle

So football season is upon us.  One of my favorite times of the year, even during a less-than-stellar season for the Auburn Tigers.  It's one of the many things about Fall that gets the blood pumping and has you feeling that something great is just around the corner.  I guess the start of any season is like that - Spring is about life renewed and fickle weather, Summer about being outdoors and enjoying the sun, Fall is beautiful colors and brilliant skies and the clash of shoulder pads; crisp air and out come the sweaters.  Winter is time for indoors and quiet reflection, catching up on hobbies, and practicing patience as you wait for Spring.

Shortly after moving from Alabama, it occurred to me that I would not be able to watch Auburn football every weekend here as I'm accustomed to.  Hopefully, I thought, I'll be able to access the games online through ESPN, or there will be a package available through Direct TV.  As September got closer, I started searching for venues that would carry at least most of the games, and I happened upon the Chicago Auburn Club.  Hallelujah.  My peeps.

I've mentioned the CAC before - I joined a group of members at the White Sox game last week to witness former Auburn football player and baseball great, Frank Thomas, have his number retired.  It was a proud and touching moment, especially to see him in his Auburn uniform on the big screen as they "slide-show'd" his baseball life.  And to share a moment like that - even though I have no allegiance to the Sox or have never seen Frank play in person - with other Auburn people was a good feeling.

Saturday was the official start of the college football season, so I trekked up to Wrigleyville to watch Auburn's first game with the group of War Eagle fans.  I had been looking forward to this for a couple of weeks and was excited to experience the game in a new way - far from Alabama and in a room filled entirely with people as enthused as myself.  My usual gameday experience is either at home watching with Seth or by myself, or at a bar with a mixture of supporters of Auburn, Alabama, Florida, Tennessee, and other schools from across the country.  Either way, I could enjoy the game (or not) while keeping an eye on other teams and sharing the excitement (or disappointment) with others, whether in person or by phone/text.

Saturday's game was indeed a different experience, and, to be honest, a little disappointing.  It was very crowded and loud, and listening to the game commentary was difficult.  Most people were focused on the game, as was evidenced by the cheers or groans, but I just didn't feel that rush of enthusiasm that I'm used to.  Maybe it was because we're all so far removed from the actuality of Auburn, or maybe because I was with people I barely know.  Maybe it's just that this time of year is intensely exciting in the state of Alabama, and here in Chicago, there's more concern over professional football than college.  Or, just maybe, it's because I would rather be sharing the moment with Seth and Lacy and the other people that I'm used to sharing it with.

I would like to have been at West End Grill, even if I did have to listen to the whoops and taunts of the Bama group.  Or at Mason's hearing Dale go on and on about how Florida will survive without Tebow.  I would like to have shared thoughts with my son on the new qb for Auburn, and how good it is to see Etheridge back in the secondary, and how well the offensive line played, even if the defense had some holes.

I would like to see SEC teams' banners on houses and flags on cars and even the Bama fans eternally decked head-to-toe in crimson everywhere they go.  Being with fans in Chicago is better than not, but there's just nothing like football in Alabama, or in the South.  Regardless of the number of Ohio State, Notre Dame, Northwestern, Illinois and Purdue fans here, there's just not that intense rivalry and camaraderie you find at home.  I'll make it through the season, but I'll be happy to catch at least a couple of games this Fall in the bosom of the SEC faithful - if only when I travel to Alabama.

of traditions

I just put dinner in the oven.  It's a tuna casserole that my Aunt Sis (who is one of my readers - thanks Aunt Sis!!) gave me the recipe for years and years and years ago.  It's still the only tuna casserole I like.  When the kids were growing up, it was a bit of a staple around our house.  It's cheap, easy, and yummy, and those were the kind of meals necessary in our little farm house in Fackler.

When the kids got out on their own, they each called at some point asking for the recipe.  They both also have the recipe for Beef Noodle Bake, which was my mom's favorite dish to make, and my brother Tim's favorite to eat.  I guess both recipes have become a sort of tradition in my family - three generations and counting.  So, as I was putting together the casserole, I was thinking about traditions.

When I became mom, I knew that I wanted my kids to have a strong family base.  Not necessarily to be living on a compound with all the kin around, but to learn to value family.  Growing up myself, we had what I didn't consider traditions at the time, but looking back, we did things that became important to me, and that I carried forward to my own family.  We always, always opened presents Christmas morning, never before.  We always went on some sort of vacation together every summer.  We visited the grandparents often, and celebrated every holiday as a family.  There's more, but these are the kinds of things I tried to instill in my kids.

Seth and Lacy will attest to the strict rule about Christmas morning, although we would usually allow one present Christmas Eve.  And for several years, I would read the passage from Luke that told the story of Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus, just like on Charlie Brown.  My parents also started a tradition of having breakfast with us Christmas morning so they could see what Santa brought the kids.  They would make the rounds between everyone's house, and then at some point, we'd head to Big Coon to have family Christmas with turkey (usually dry; my mom never mastered turkey), dressing and gravy (necessary for the turkey), green beans that had been canned the prior summer, and all the rest of the fixings.  We would also travel to Woodville to visit with the other grandmother, making sure we ate something before we went (she was not what you would call an accomplished cook either).  The holiday shuffle, we called it.  Thanksgiving was much the same, as was Easter for a while.  Then I put my foot down and decided that some holidays would be enjoyed as a family unit unto ourselves.

We also took vacations, although not as often as we would have liked.  Going to the beach was an adventure - we couldn't afford a hotel, so we camped at the state park.  It was hot, and sand against sunburn was more prevalent than in a hotel bed, but there were good showers and hot dogs on the grill, and full days spent making sand figures and picking up shells.  Those are some of my most favorite memories.  Often, my parents would take us all on a trip - to places like the Lost Sea or Cherokee.  I think my dad planned these trips out of pity for the kids that had to sleep in tents in the sand at the beach. :)

After I was on my own and living in Huntsville, a couple of new traditions developed.  Thanksgiving became a day for non-tradition.  We would have chili, or chicken and dumplins, or "itty bitty turkeys" (cornish hens), and once it was just Lacy and myself and we spent the day watching chick flicks.  Christmas was the most fun - the kids would come over Christmas Eve and we'd play Trivial Pursuit and have eggnog and beer and get crazy and have a great time being our little family of three.  Of course, presents waited until the next morning.

Things change, however, and although I hung onto my traditions as long as I could, I've learned to let go and allow the kids to start their own.  We've had Christmas on Christmas Eve, we've had Christmas when everybody was scattered to the wind, and Thanksgiving?  Well, Thanksgiving is a toss-up.  We never quite know what we're doing, but at some point over the weekend, we try to get together for a meal of some sort be it breakfast, lunch, dinner, or just finger foods and football.  And we've not had a vacation together for some time, but we've had two "destination" weddings, and now we have visits to Chicago.

Easter has become an tradition of it's own with an adult version of the kid's tradition - the Easter Beer Hunt.  For three years, we've had the gathering at my house in Huntsville, with a gang of friends and eager hunters, grilling and games and fun - be it cold and cloudy or, for once this year, a beautiful, sunny day (although it did rain early).  I've been told that I have to bring the tradition to Chicago, as a few of the participants actually live here now, and I'm positive that I'll have to make a trip south to join in the fun wherever it lands next spring.

This year, the holidays are going to be full of new adventures.  I'm sure I'll head south for Thanksgiving and the Auburn-Alabama game.  I'd love to have everyone here for Christmas, but it will depend on weather and the other families that we have to accommodate.  Maybe a New Year's trip up would be acceptable - and tons of fun for girls and boys of all ages.  Whatever new, one-time "tradition" we end up with this year, I know that family will be at the heart of it.  I'm glad that my kids have family instilled in them and I feel secure in knowing that they will instill the same in their own kids.  And that they will build traditions of their own.  It's good for kids to have something they can count on, and that is solid and known.  It's good to have traditions to take comfort in, and to build fond memories.  And it's good to reach that point when you can stretch your wings a little and develop your own traditions.

Now it's time for traditional tuna casserole.  :)

same difference

Sitting on the balcony and listening to the sounds around me.  Traffic, trains, dogs playing in the little dog park on the next block, an occasional laugh from a sidewalk table below, more traffic.  And the sights; buildings of varying height made of varying material, lights at Cellular Field (evidently the Sox are in town), cars, trucks, motorcycles, buses, limos, cabs, Merchandise Mart all amber, the antennas at the tower just starting to glow.  The clock at the Boeing building.  Green Holiday Inn and blue Chase, and rose to the west as dusk sets in.

If I were still living in my little house with the big yard outside of Huntsville, the sights and sounds would be somewhat different....and the same.  Instead of traffic it would be cicadas or crickets or tree frogs along with the occasional vehicle on the street.  Kids playing, lawn mowers, trains, sirens on the highway, an occasional laugh from a neighbor walking the oval with kids or dogs.  Sights - stars just beginning to pop out, the candle I might have burning on the deck, lights of the towers on Monte Sano, and rose to the west as dusk sets in.

Different, but not so much so.  Just as life here is different, but not so much so.  There's more variety in what to see and do, but still a lot of the same type things.  Sports, walking, shopping, eating, air shows and boat shows and concerts in the park.  There, I'd be less inclined to do these things by myself, or to go out of my way to meet with strangers with whom I share a common bond.  Here, I'm forced to do just that; the things I never would do otherwise.  I hope that, once I return to the familiar climes and landscapes I've known all my life, I manage to hang on to the willingness to go out on my own or to seek out others who enjoy like things.   There are many experiences I hope to take back South with me, and I'm starting to realize that I may take more than that.  I may take a new me, or at least, a different me.

Different, but not so much so.

of air and water

Although I've truly been jonesin' for the white sands and salt water of the Gulf Coast (first year I've not been there in several - not even sure how many), it is nice to have a body of water nearby that offers something fun or relaxing at any time.  Lake Michigan is easy walking distance, and if nothing special is going on, you can just sit and watch the boats and people....especially the people.  They come in all sizes and shapes and colors, aboard all manner of transportation, from feet to blades to bikes, segways, pedal-carts - you name it.  They come dressed in anything from full head-to-toe coverage (whether for cultural/religious or for sun protection purposes) to oh-my-lord-please-cover-that-up to why-wear-anything-at-all.  I have a couple of times just taken a towel and a book and some water and sat on the steps, watching more than reading. 

 
Throughout the summer months, there are special events along or above or on the lake.  This weekend is the annual Air and Water Show.  I don't think watching the Blue Angels could ever get old, but the typical bi-wing daredevil stunts become boring after a while.  Not discounting what they do and the skill and courage it takes, but once you've seen one loop-de-loop-de-loop, you've seen them all.  Jets, however, are fast and exciting and powerful, and make big noise.  For some reason, that always gets me in my center and I'm jealous of the thrill it must be to be behind the wheel, so to speak.  I've always had a thing for the fast and furious, although I've rarely had any actual experience. Given the opportunity, I'd probably scream my head off before losing whatever stomach contents I possessed.  If I had a bucket list, it would definitely include sky-diving and riding in a race-car, two things I would never have risked while my kids were growing up.  Now that they're on their own and don't depend on me for food and shelter, it's more of a reality.  Don't think I wouldn't.

In two weeks, another long-time dream of mine arrives on the lake - the "Tall Boats" come to Chicago.  These are all tall-masted sailboats, from sloops to majestic mammoths like the "Bounty".  In fact, the Bounty will be here - the very ship that was in the Marlon Brando version of the movie, and also in one of the "Pirates of the Caribbean" movies.  When I was around 20, I saw an advertisement for a working cruise, called "Barefoot Cruises".  It was on one of these tall-masted sailboats, and you could take a cruise on one while also being part of the crew.  I don't know if they still have those, but I so badly wanted to do it then.  I'm not a huge water person, I don't swim well, and I hate for my feet to be dangling down where I can't see what's about to grab them, but I love sailing.  Maybe it's akin to my fascination with gliding and hot-air balloons - working with the forces of nature to soundlessly (or almost) be propelled along the water or in the sky, like a bird or dolphin, riding the wind and waves.

If I were the type, I'd say "in a former life I must have been a bird".  I really think, though, that I view being in the sky or on deep water as a means of being away from the noise and stress and worries of everyday life here on the ground.  It's a way to still your mind and just take in the world as it was at the beginning of time.  And maybe how it will be when you finally quit this earth and become one with nature for good.

Yes, I realize the contrast between "fast and furious" and "calm and silent", but we all are really made up of opposite ends of the spectrum, and live our daily lives somewhere in the middle.  If we're honest with ourselves, we are always longing for the extreme of one end or the other, and we rarely allow ourselves either.  We should.  We should take every advantage to "live life to the fullest" - and what does that mean but working both ends?

happiness is....

Some of us remember those cute little naked (or nekkid) people in the cartoons that read "Happiness is..." and then some mushy sentiment of love or caring or whatever.  On the way home from work I was thinking about happiness.  Happiness vs contentment vs serenity - can you be serene and not be happy?  Or can you be happy and not content?  And so on.

It stems from my own question of happiness.  Am I happy?  What do I have to be happy about?  I asked this of myself, and myself answered (in both angel and devil forms) "I have my kids" (who I miss).  "I have a good job" (which I'm not exactly thrilled with).  "I live in one of the best cities in the world" (alone).  "I can still laugh at myself" (maniacally).

One of my foremost goals in life is just to be content.  I don't have to be overjoyed.  I don't need to be utterly at peace with the world.  I just want to be content.  With my life, with the products of my life, with myself, with those around me.  I want to be the wise gramma who always has the answer, and cookies.  I want the house and garden and dog and cat and baggy old pants and a man's hat.  That's all down the road a bit, but I need to start practicing now.

I've been thinking, and dammit that always gets me in trouble, about who I am and how I am and why.  Sometimes I think I need to seriously grow up, and then I think that it's not nearly as much fun.  I wonder if I look absolutely ridiculous in my clothes, and wouldn't it be more appropriate to wear holiday sweaters and knit pants and sensible shoes, and then I think how I really don't care if I look "age appropriate" as long as I don't look like a hooker.  I think, really, I'm afraid that if I grow up, I'll grow old.  I was old in my 30's when I tried to be the serious breadwinner and make sure everything was taken care of while my ex-spouse had the time of his life.  And that's part of what caused us to be on opposite ends of some spectrum.  I grew old and he grew away.  Not that I'd have it any other way now.

Still, I should start practicing a little to be the old coot.  The purple wearing spitting woman of the poem "When I Am An Old Woman".  But then again, maybe that's who I am and I don't realize it.  The older I get, the less I care.  Not about life but about appearances and keeping up and acting my age, whatever that means.  And by golly, if the big truck hits me tomorrow, one thing my family better be able to say about me is that I was me and I was happy with that.  Maybe there are a lot of ways my life could be better, more full, more "robust" as they like to say in the professional world.  That would take too much work and I'm content to be a bit more mellow than that.  So happiness is....being yourself and being content with just that.

hits and misses

Now that I'm fully ensconced in my new homeawayfromhome, having procured an Illinois drivers license and license plate(s), and having almost closed on my beloved house in Alabama (where the grass is surely crunchy and the shrubs and trees in danger of dying a shriveled, crispy death), I have decided I have to come up with some justifications for being an Illinois resident.

One that easily comes to mind is the $35 mani-pedi just half a block away.  The Asian owners and employees have a limited vocabulary, and the end result may not be perfectly professional, but it's pretty damn good and well worth $35.  The discount price is only Monday - Wednesday, but outside of those 3 days, it's still only $45.  I've spent $65 on a pedicure alone back in Huntsville.  Frankly, I'd never gotten a manicure until I walked into this place - I've never had nails, using the fact that they are ridged and they peel and are thin and fragile as an excuse to keep them cut back.  Not that they'd ever grow anyway - with my propensity to digging in the dirt and hammering and cutting and nailing (different kind of nail), they never stood much of a chance.  It's also difficult to quilt with nails; the thimble doesn't fit.  There are all my excuses, and none really apply here (although I do hope to start a quilt this Fall).

So every 2-3 weeks I walk down to the the mani-pedi place and indulge in a massage chair, foot and lower leg exfoliation and rub down, hand/arm massage, and pretty toes and fingers.  Even if I am broke, I can dig up $35 for that luxury.

Another plus is the celebrity action.  Transformers 3 is currently filming, right in here downtown, and while I haven't actually managed to see any of the well-known participants, I have caught a little of the action.  Just seeing the way they can turn hunks of styrofoam into wrecked cars, torn up streets, and pieces of bridge is pretty amazing.

I also have the chance to see Bruce Willis live and in color at my favorite beverage store - well, one of the many locations of my favorite beverage store.  He'll be there for a charity event and admission requires a donation to the charity, but it still would be a chance I wouldn't have back home.  There are celebs that actually live here and tend to frequent the many festivals and shows around town, so a sighting is always possible.  Lacy even saw Opie at a breakfast place down the street!  I'm sure he's fairly tired of being referred to by that name these days.

I have to admit there are reasons NOT to like being here, but most of them are far removed from my actual existence.  The senseless murders that tend to pepper the south side - 13-year-old boys being shot as they ride their bicycles, cops killed outside their homes, bodies each weekend in double-digits.  There's also the proverbial "omg the winters!!! and the traffic!!!!", but even worse are the waits for dinner anywhere on a weekend night, if you can get in at all, the racing crotch rockets that love to take the curve from Ontario onto the long expressway ramp at insane, helmetless speeds, and how lonely a city of a gazillion people can feel at any given time.

Most of all, the downside to being here is when I wake up feeling lost and missing my family, and I can't just call them up and say "let's do coffee, or lunch, or dinner".  I miss "paint-n-pours", I miss after-works at the Nook, I miss lunch at Bandito or Blue Plate, I miss watching football with beer in hand on a Saturday afternoon, and I miss having them all a few minutes away.

There are lots of pluses to the move I've made, and one of them is having the kids come up and enjoy a weekend in the city.  But there's a big minus in not having them here all the time.  Hmmm....think I'd could convince them all to move??  :)

winter in july

Why would I wake up in the middle of the night thinking about winter?  Is it because I'm already nervous about what I may be facing come November?  I've been nervous about it since moving here, like a dreaded visit to the dentist; you know it's coming, but you don't have to like it.

One of the 2 things people gasp about when mentioning Chicago is the winters (I've already addressed the traffic).  I really have no idea what I'm facing until it gets here, and hopefully it will be kind to me.  Still, being a true Southerner, I have major concerns.  It's not the cold that wakes me in the middle of the night - I think I can handle cold; you just bundle up and try not to be out in it more than necessary.  The white stuff is what has me sweating bullets.  I don't do snow.  I think it's beautiful, and love to see it falling, and think a pristine landscape of new-fallen snow brings a luster of midday...I mean, is a wondrous sight.  All of this is because I so rarely experience any of it.

Snow, where I come from, is a treat.  It's a rarity, especially more than a "dusting" of it.  Even more rare is enough snow that it causes driving issues.  Last winter in Alabama, we did have more snow than in a decade or so, but still never more than an inch or two at a time.  The problems caused by the snow was not so much the snow as the low supply of salty stuff to melt it from the roadways.  When you don't expect to need much, you don't waste money stocking up.

Here, people talk about snow as a fact of life, and I'm sure it is.  But I thought they had things like snowplows and salt trucks to whisk it away, making driving no more of an issue than any other day.  Evidently, there's not enough of either to clear all the roads, and while my drive to work consists primarily of main thoroughfares, I suppose I will be forced to face a snow and ice covered street somewhere along the way.

Co-workers suggest I will need to swap my perfectly good tires out for "snow" tires.  My imagination soars...tires filled with salt that sprays out ahead of my path and clears the way, or tires with little spikes like boots climbers use.  Research, however, tells me they have special treads that bite into snow for better traction, and softer rubber to stay flexible in the cold.  The biggest question, however, is what to do with my "regular" tires?  Put them in the living room covered with a comforter and call it a spare chair?

The best suggestion by far is the "practice" suggestion.  A guy said at the first snow, I should find a big, empty parking lot and practice driving.  Sound advice except for two immediate holes - first, how do I get to the big empty lot without driving in the snow, and second, where the hell am I going to find a big empty lot in downtown Chicago?

There are all kinds of ways to practice things, like your golf swing, or surfing, or skiing, without going to any of the actual venues for those things.  Where can I find a place to practice snow-driving before faced with the reality?  Unfortunately, my practice will take place in the real world, and just like everything else here, once I try it a few times, I'm sure I'll become quite the pro.  If my car is still in one piece.

home is where your stuff is

Given that I have 3 weeks of vacation time to burn this year, and I only had taken 3 days to this point, I took a week off work.  Of course the only thing to do was to go home for a few days.  See the family - the ones that had not recently been here - and a few friends, stop by the plant to see if they miss me, and finish clearing leftover junk from my soon-to-be-someone-else's house.

I left Chicago Saturday morning early and hit the road.  I figured if I drove down, I'd have a car in order to do whatever running around I needed without inconveniencing anyone else.  Besides, I've always loved driving.  It's a great time to have long conversations with yourself and settle whatever issues may be hanging around in the back of your mind.  And it's not a bad drive at all - pretty countryside, only a couple of cities large enough that you have to time it around rush hours, and once you hit I-65, a straight shot to Alabama so you don't have to concentrate too much on missing turns.

It was good to be back in Huntsville and to see the kids and kids-in-law, and my brothers and their families.  I delivered Gino's pizza to Seth and Christine, 312 and 90-Minute beer to Lacy and Jeff, and a Hard Rock t-shirt to Sydney, making everyone happy.  The rest have to bring their rears up here to get their own souvenirs.  I was looking forward to a good time, and possibly feeling a little sad to head back North.

It's funny how expectations can be completely off track, and once you realize it, you are shocked that you didn't see it coming.  I didn't see it coming.  Being "home" didn't feel like being home at all.  I felt disjointed and depressed.  I didn't want to see anyone outside my immediate family, didn't want to answer the same questions over and over (how's Chicago???), and certainly didn't feel like I was on vacation.  I felt like I was a visitor, which is exactly what I was.  I was in the position for the first time ever of actually "visiting" my kids.  Always, I've visited their houses and then gone home.  Or visited with them out at a restaurant or shopping, and then gone home.  This time I visited for days instead of hours, and home was 600 miles away.

I wanted to come home - to Chicago.  My heart and love are with my family, but my stuff and therefore my comfort zone, is here.  I can't say I'm going home again when I go to Alabama; I will have to say I'm going to visit.  I'll be a visitor.  I'll visit.  That awkward status of being not where you belong and not completely in control.  A guest in others' homes, in their comfort zones amidst their stuff.  People do it all the time.  I guess I'm people, too.

So, here I am, at home, feeling odd for feeling odd.  Realizing that this new and foreign landscape is where I feel most comfortable.  Not because my heart is here, but because my life is here.  And my stuff...at least for a while.

heat wave

just had to say two things....

one - it's amazing how just when i'm missing crickets and mowing and mountains and (not) mosquitoes, i look out my window and see this.  and i'm still in awe of the magnificence of it.  the tower is just head and...antennas....above everything else, so it's like a mountain peak among the foothills.

and the 2nd thing is that today it was low-to-mid 90's with a dewpoint in the 70's, so the heat index was near 100.  i was outside at mid-day, and i thought it was the coolest 100 i had EVER felt.  made me wonder if these folks have any idea what heat really is (yes, it's the humidity).

heading south in 2.  :)

My Home's in Alabama...

One more catch-up...

My house has finally sold - or at least I have a bona fide offer on the table and it seems to be one that will go through.  I will sign my house, that I lived in for 5 years, that I worked and sweated over, in, through, and around, over to the relocation company who will in turn sell it to this nice couple who I'm sure will appreciate all the fine elements - the kitchen most of all, the landscaping, the deck, the colors, the huge yard - as much as I have.

What this means, I realized today, is that I now, officially, am no longer a resident of the state of Alabama.  I no longer have an address that is mine and mine alone, and I have nothing grounded and solid to call "mine".  I'm a nomad, a wanderer with no roots.  But most of all, I no longer have a home in Alabama, land of my birth and the birth of my children who I cherish with all my heart.

Okay, quit the sentiment.  It's temporary - I'll have a home there again.  But just for this small time right now, it hit me and brought an ache to my achy breaky heart.  Just to spite the whole idea, I am going to renew both my driver's license (which is expired) and my license plate (expiring this month) while I'm "home" next week.  By golly, if I can't actually have a home in Alabama, I can make other people think I do.  :)

The Saddest Fireworks I've Ever Seen

I'm just going to make this brief.  I still have trouble sorting it out in my head, but I always do have trouble reconciling these kinds of things.  It makes me sad for the whole of mankind like that big blueish guy in "Watchmen", or maybe I think of him just because it makes me blue.

We - Lacy, Jeff, myself and another friend that was in town for the weekend - walked down to the lakefront to watch fireworks on the 4th of July.  It was a little disappointing that the city wasn't having what evidently is typically a magnificent display, but Navy Pier was providing a bit of a show for the occasion.  We carried blanket and cooler (actually a bag in a bag with ice and beers) and found a spot with an open view of the sky.  And waited for dusk.

Around and behind us, also on blankets and enjoying the nice summer evening, were others waiting for the show - families, couples, kids big and small.  It was a nice atmosphere all full of anticipation.  Finally, the fireworks started, and they were wonderful!  Really nice configurations I had not witnessed before, and was awed almost as much the tiny girls behind us that squealed and clapped with each bang of scattering bits of light.  Then....then the evening was destroyed.

A horde of people that must have been waiting over by the lake, came rushing in and actually, get this, actually proceeded to just stand in front of all the families and kids and us, blocking our view completely.  Jeff, along with several people in the "blanket" crowd asked them to please just sit down.  I just don't want to go into any detail, except to say any request to sit was ignored, any mention of the small children trying to see was ignored, any attempt to reason was ignored, and finally explaining what inconsiderate assholes they were was met with only mild argument.

We left, disappointed, angry, sad.  For me, it was one of the saddest moments I've ever witnessed.  Here were grown people, even if some were not much more than mid-teens, if that, who had such complete disregard for others, such utter lack of manners, upbringing, consideration, or any sense of humanity, it was incredibly disheartening.  It doesn't matter if you know there are people (can we call them people?) like that in this world, or if you've been privy to incidents here and there, seeing it to this degree and with this much blatant apathy is a sad, sad thing.

I hate to even mention that almost all of the offenders were of a certain race and a certain gender and a certain age range, but when the stereotype is in your face, you have to recognize that it isn't entirely a stereotype.  Not at all to say it's indicative of all who are of a certain race, gender, and age, but the element is certainly out there.  And I hate to mention what I overheard, but it just has to be told.  As the discussion of whether these apathetic assholes would ever make anything of themselves past begging on the sidewalk ensued, I heard a comment that went something like "man, some people got no respect.  I thought now we got Obama in charge, this shit would be done".  Does anyone wonder why there are still those out there who would give life and soul to keep segregation a fact of life?  And have we ever seen prejudice that exceeds the prejudice exhibited in that statement?  Or the expectation that one man of half-color would be the savior of the poor, downtrodden, welfare recipient, heat-toting, rap-listening, drug dealing, child killing, lazy ass, do nothing masses?  I was raised to be accepting of all people.  Regardless.  And I've always done my best to adhere to that philosophy.  But I'm not blind to discrimination, prejudice, and bigotry on all sides of the issue.  Yes, I admit there are elements of this type in all races and in all places.  I'm just so saddened that not one person could say, hey, these kids can't see the fireworks; man, we've seen fireworks a dozen times - let's let the kids enjoy this.

Okay, not so brief.  But I cannot put into words how this experience affected me.  And I can't find a word other than sad to describe how I still, over a week later, feel.  I would feel the same sadness if it had been a mostly white, or latino, or asian, or scandinavian for God's sake, group.  Except for the reminder of the expectation of ultimate excuse to be this way made by the Obama statement.  Maybe that is what makes me saddest of all.  I want a world where people have a natural respect and regard for one another, and no matter where I live, who I am, or how hard I may try myself, it will never be a reality.

Happy fucking forth of July.

Dear Diary

Dear Diary - it's been a while and I have so much to catch you up on (make that "on which to catch you up"...no..."up to which you catch on"...forget it), I don't even know if I can remember all of it.

Lacy and Jeff were here again.  He surprised her with a trip to Chicago for her birthday, which was on the 7th, and they were here for the long holiday weekend.  I say he surprised her - it was a surprise when he told her a week or two in advance.  He is like us - me and the kids - in that way; can't keep a surprise in his pocket.  He gets as excited about a gift as the giftee.

So they were here and we did some neat stuff.  My gift to Lacy was a Silversun Pickups concert at a very cool venue.  The Aragon Ballroom is an old, well, ballroom.  It was built in the 1920's for something like a million dollars which was *gasp* in those days.  It is designed like a medieval village or really what it reminded me of was a Shakespearean theatre, the way they were sometimes open air with balconies all around that looked like little buildings.  That makes no sense, does it?  So I guess you just have to see it.  It was beautiful, and the band was great.  They're a classy bunch and I love their music.  Oh, Lacy loves them too.  :)

Another neat thing we did was a boat tour that went up the river a bit and then back out to the lake.  It was a beautiful day - not terribly hot - and the views were lovely.  Being on the lake was a nice perspective.  We also walked to Millenium Park, and walked just into and out of Taste (crowded with a capital crowded) and browsed the Art Museum.  We ate good as usual and just enjoyed the time together.  We had one negative experience, but I'll not address that here.

That's it on the visitor front for July so far, and I expect it will be all.  I am headed south this weekend for my first visit home.  It will be good to see mountains, and drive fast, eat some Po'Boy and Blue Plate and West End, and yep, it will be GREAT to see family and friends.  It will also be a little sad to drive back although I do like being here.  Always and forever, there's no place like home.

Lines

Is it just in Alabama that you can get postage stamps from your ATM?  That's incredibly convenient, but I haven't seen it here - at least at my bank.

Lunch errands - only 3 simple errands that shouldn't take long at all.  Make a deposit, get some stamps, and some lunch to take back to the office.  No worries.

First stop; the bank.  I'm quite accustomed to long drive-thru lines at the bank in Huntsville.  Redstone is notorious for slow drive-thru service because they'll have one teller for 3 or 4 lanes.  Here, I bank at Chase.  They have lots of branches, and they offered me $100 to open a checking account.  Well, I'm no fool - free money and convenience all in one?  I'm in!

I pull up to the drive through and luckily (I thought) there were only 2 cars, one in each lane.  I watched for who I thought would be out first, and saw a tube making it's way down to one of the cars.  I pulled up behind it, and after some back-and-forth between the driver and the teller, realized he was not quite finished.  The other car then received their tube, only to stuff something else in it and send it back.  Hmmm.  I waited.  Eventually the first driver got the tube back again.  Finally!!! My turn!!  Oops, he's sending it back.  Same with the other guy.  What the heck (I'm censoring)!!!!

This went on for 10 or so minutes before I decided enough - I'll go inside.  Inside there were no lines, and there was one lonely teller that got her "can I help you??" out before I barely made it through the door.  2 minutes tops and I was out and back on the road.  Lesson learned.  Oh, I asked the teller if the ATM had postage stamps.  She looked at me with a "oh you poor thing" expression and sweetly said "No ma'am, but you can get them at the POST OFFICE across the street...".  Maybe it's a southern thing.  Or a Redstone thing.

Portillos a block away, home of some pretty doggone good italian beef and pretty quick service, too.  This time there weren't 2 cars to wait on...the drive-thru line stretched around the building and out into North Avenue, causing all kinds of problems for people trying to get in or out of the parking lot.  Still, it was moving pretty quickly, and I determined the sandwich was worth it, so I made my way into the line and out again a few minutes later with my #4 with iced tea and hot peppers in hand.  Ahhhh...someone is going to have to introduce Huntsville to italian beef.

Last stop - Post Office, where evidently I can get postage stamps according to the nice teller.  Of course they have no drive-thru (but isn't that a nifty idea??) so I have no choice but to go in.  They had no vending machine for stamps either, so another line.  Complete with tiny Latino children wreaking havoc all over the PO.  And two postal workers who looked ready to go postal.  At least the wait was not long and I could get back to my desk and my Portillos.  All in all, it took an hour to run my three simple errands and get back to my desk.  None of this was more than 2-3 miles from the office, so it left me wondering how it took that long.

I can be a fairly patient person, and my blood pressure no longer shoots up into record levels when I have to wait.  I've learned that it is what it is and getting upset is not going to make things go faster or make people less...frustrating.  But it does seem to help sometimes to let an expletive fly (roll the windows up first) or to bang the steering wheel.  Then all the world is well again and I'm at peace with the gods of patience and kindness.  As long as the idiots get out of my way.

Random thoughts....

What was the Saturday Nite Live character's name?  That did "random thoughts...by ??".  Big prize to the first to remember.  :)

Had to share these while I be thinkin' on 'em.

There are 3 signs I see every morning on my way to work.  All three are within a mile or so of the plant, which somehow makes that last mile of my drive to work a little easier.

The first sign is a very old, very large neon sign and lettering that reads (no joke) "Self Service DRUGS & LIQUOR".  One of these days.... yep.

The 2nd is a billboard that reads, in very large letters, "YOUR WIFE IS HOT", and in very small letters underneath "time to get your AC fixed".

The 3rd is advertising property for lease on a new building - "Bill Goodwillie, Inc".  I've been looking all my life for a Goodwillie.  Now I've found one.  If I can just remember to jot down the number.

Traffic (and I don't mean the band)

Okay, let's talk traffic.  I think I've mentioned before that there were 2 things that people would say when I told them I was moving to Chicago; the first was always "do you know how cold it is there???" and the second was "oh, my....the TRAFFIC!!!".  Even now, people here will ask me "so, how are you adjusting to the traffic??".  What is the big deal about traffic?

Honey, I've driven in Atlanta, which is much, much worse than here.  At least to my memory, but maybe I was just less tolerant in my younger days.  And I will admit that I'm generally going the direction of the lesser traffic.  I can see that it's heavier coming into the city in the morning, and heading to the 'burbs in the evening.  But even on Sunday morning the traffic on the interstate is pretty thick.  And at 3 a.m. the traffic in town is surprisingly heavy.  But there's just so many people here with things to do and places to be, and in spite of a good transit system, we like the freedom that having your own car brings.  Frankly, I'm not so sure that driving to Wrigleyville on a game day would be any worse that cramming into the train with a bunch of sweaty fans.  :)

But the traffic....yes it's heavy, and yes, there are crazy drivers just like anywhere, and there are people who's signals don't seem to work (I always want to stop that guy in the $80k car and say "you know, for that price it looks like they'd include turn signals, doesn't it?"), and there are people who are just rude or not paying attention, like anywhere.  But for the most part, people seem to just accept that it's going to be like this, and there's nothing you can do about it, and you may as well just go with the flow.  I've only rarely encountered someone that would not let me into a lane, or that insisted on riding my bumper even though I was closer than I liked to the car in front of me.  And rarely have I seen the idiot that flies in and out of lanes like their trunk in on fire and they're trying to out run it.  Hard to do when all lanes are packed and everyone is going 40. 

One thing that contributes is that half the lanes on most of the interstates are closed for "summer repaving".  It's something they do here because the "winter salting" causes so much damage to the road.  I guess if I want clear roads in the winter, I have to deal with fewer lanes in the summer.  And while I'm thinking of it, the interstates here are not interstates.  At home we say I-65 or I-24 or even just 565 or 75 or 20, without the I in front.  Here, they're "Expressways".  Sounds fancy, and fast, even though they're neither.  It's the "Eisenhower Expressway", or the Dan Ryan (who??) or the Kennedy.   And exits are labeled things like "To The Western Suburbs", as though "I-290 West" wouldn't be good enough.

Traffic is not just heavy on the "Expressways"; it's pretty clogged in town, too.  Again, why anyone would drive into town, and deal with which way is this one-way, and hunt for, then pay $10 for 2 hours for, a parking spot...well, I guess that explains why probably 1/2 the cars in town at any given time are cabs.  And there are cabs.  Constantly and in good supply.  Unless you need one.  If you're walking down the sidewalk, cabs will actually blow their horns like "hey! I'm available! need a ride?".  They're cab prostitutes....hey baby, you lonely tonight?  Only $10 for a quickie.  I have soft leather seats.  I'll take you anywhere you want to go - for a price.

I don't mind the traffic at all, really.  It is what it is.  The only thing to do about it is look for a way around it.  I'm good at finding the side street that gets you around the main drag when it's jammed, even here.  Hey - they don't call me map-bitch at home for nothin'.

Home

I've been slackin' of late on documenting my adventure in the city.  For the handful that actually read this, I apologize.  What time I've not been busy with visitors or work, I've been too tired to think.  But that's what happens with this thing we call life.

Yesterday was a "home" day.  I haven't been feeling actually homesick, but there are things that I see or that happen that just make me think "home", and make me a little sad or lonesome for the familiar.  The constant news about the gulf and the pictures of the beautiful beaches I've known since I was too young to even remember make me extra sad - it's like I left Alabama and now I can't ever go back.  I can't go back to Orange Beach and sit on the blindingly white sand and see the blue-green water splash onto the shore.  It's now mucky sand and mucky water, and it's not like those years of the red seaweed or trash a hurricane blew in - it won't go away that easily.  But, then, we hear about it every day and there's little else to say, except I sure wish someone would have taken it seriously 2 months ago.

Another "home" thing yesterday was the heat.  I walked out at lunch and it was hot and sunny and humid - just like home.  It made me smile, even though it was sticky and sweaty and the car seat was scalding.  In the late afternoon, a storm came through.  This was not your typical little afternoon shower, this was a STORM; the kind that is defined in the sky like someone pulling a blanket up over your head.  You see the front edge, dark and menacing, coming in fast.  The wind was bending trees over as though they were made of rubber.  Limbs starting rolling across the ground, and then the rain hit.  Hit is a good word for it too - it was a hard, driving rain that slammed against the windows and brought traffic to a halt.

I had not left work yet, but my desk faces large, continuous windows across the front of the building, so I had a front row seat.  When it did let up enough to make a run for it, I did.  Friday afternoon traffic is bad enough; throw in some rain, downed power lines and trees, and a lot of people thinking the same as me (it's going to take twice as long to get anywhere), and it becomes a good time to have a book on tape, or learn French as you drift slowly through the streets.  Unfortunately, I had neither a book nor a "Learn to Speak French" CD in my car, so Edith Piaf sung me home instead.

Winding through Oak Park, around closed streets and utility workers, I saw a beautiful thing.  Something I had not seen in almost 2 months.  It caught me so by surprise that it brought tears to my eyes and I wanted to follow it until it stopped, and get out of my car and hug it and say "home!!!".  It was an Alabama license plate.  Mobile County.  It was beautiful.  Of course, I see the one that is still on my car since I haven't changed either plates or drivers license yet, but this was someone else here in the city far from home.  Were they having as much fun as I?  Did they miss the South?  Were they here to visit, or on a grand adventure like me?  Guess I'll never know, as they went straight on Lake as I turned on Harlem.  I little while later I saw a Mississippi tag, but it didn't feel the same.

The last bit of "home" for the day was at the Green Door Tavern.  It's a neat little place around the corner that is supposedly the oldest tavern in Chicago, was home to a famous speakeasy in the day, and still has the original green door from then, hence the name.  As I sat there enjoying a cold one, a man in a familiar orange shirt walked by.  No, not Auburn burnt orange, but close.  It was the brighter orange of the Florida Gators.  As he went by I said "War Eagle" and he stopped in his tracks.  We chatted a little about the SEC, and I lamented that I would not be able to see all of the games here.  He told me about Sully's, where they will carry any game you want.  Reminded me of the End Zone at home - dozens of TV's with every possible game every Saturday in the Fall.

So I got a large dose of home yesterday, and I can't wait to get it for real.  I'm flying to Nashville the weekend of July 4th, and hoping someone will pick me up and take me home.  Of course, someone also has to take me back to Nashville on Monday so I can come back to what has easily become a foster home, a surrogate, an adopted home.  And since it's 80 and beautiful outside, I'm going to get out there and meet a little more of it today.

a funny, a missing person, a unexpected kindness, and a tear

1.  Okay, I get the "windy city" part.  There's always at least a nice breeze here, and sometimes it's a stiff breeze, and sometimes it's a blow-you-over breeze.  Sometimes, like this evening, it feels good and fresh and is just cool enough to refresh.  Sometimes it's not quite enough as the heat rises from the sidewalk or street.  And I'm sure that in a few months, I'll call it horrible names.  But sometimes, it can make you laugh.

Walking back from a trip to Borders yesterday, bag of books in hand, I came upon a breeze strong enough to actually sway a heavy bag of books and almost stop me in my tracks.  But the funny part was that it lifted the cap I was wearing right off my head.  I turned and skipped after my cap as it scooted down the sidewalk.  Just as I got to it, it scurried off again, and again.  Have you ever seen Benny and Joon?  That's what I felt like. I couldn't help but laugh.  When I finally captured the cap, I turned and almost smacked right into this guy who had seen the whole ordeal and was laughing too.  It's healthy sometimes to have a good laugh at your own expense.

2.  Also yesterday, I noticed that the un-homeless guys' space was a little emptier than usual.  His doorway home had become quite crowded with all the paraphernalia he had collected.  This evening as I walked by, I looked more closely and it seems he's moved on.  All that's left is a cooler and a trash can - I guess he couldn't carry those on his bike.

Can't say I'm sorry to see him go, and I hope he's got a better place to stay, and maybe a job.  I didn't feel threatened by him or scared of him, but I do feel a little easier walking by that spot.  Let's just pray that a "vacant lot" sign doesn't go up.

3.  One of the best discoveries since moving here is Chipotle.  It's a quick, inexpensive, but wonderfully delicious mexican restaurant chain.  They have a small menu - you can get a burrito, a salad, or a bowl made with your choice of chicken, steak, pork or veggies.  Like Subway, you get to choose what you want included, and everything is fresh and yummy.  And it's big enough to make 2 meals.  For me, anyway.

Tonight I ordered a bowl with steak and all my usual fixins, and a "chips and guacamole" on the side.  A guy with a really nice smile and obviously pleasant personality turned around and said "I'm working on the guac now so it'll just be a minute".  Now, this stuff is worth waiting for - they make it from scratch and it's truly scrumpdilliumptious.  After 6-8 minutes I had my bowl, guac and chips and was headed out the door.  The guac guy came running out the door after me and handed me a Chipotle gift card.  "Sorry you had to wait - it's on me".  How sweet.  And what he didn't know was that I would have waited a lot longer to have that guac to take home with me.  I was tempted to take him home with me too.  But only if he'd bring more of that green goodness with him.

4.  After what seems like months, my house in Huntsville is finally on the market.  Someone will buy it, soon I hope, and I officially won't live there anymore.  Jeff is the listing agent which is great - I know he will find a buyer that appreciates all the good things about the house, and overlooks the things that could be better.  Of course, the kitchen is the jewel of the house.  It was the main thing that made it hard to leave.  That and the beautiful Japanese maple, and the Chinese dogwood I just planted late last summer.  No, I don't choose trees based on nationality, it just seems that way.

Tonight I looked at the house listing on the MLS website.  The pictures are good and really make the house look great.  But the picture of the kitchen - the hickory cabinets with their variations of light and dark wood, the range and fridge that I was so proud to finally have, the ceiling I fought with to hang, the sink I installed myself (complete with disposal which I wired myself) and the faucet I paid way too much for...but mostly the cabinets made of the most beautiful wood I've ever seen - seeing that brought a tear.  I guess I inherited my love of wood from my father, and maybe even my grandfathers, who made their livings as carpenters.  A tree is transformed into something functional, or decorative, and is warm and sturdy all at once.  It's grounded; it has roots.  I can't think of anything else that does that.

My grandfather, Papa, once said of a tree "that is a living thing.  It gives us shade from the sun, the leaves cool the wind, it provides food for humans or animals.  Don't ever forget that a tree is a living thing".

Yep, I think that's where I get it.

Bursting Bubbles

Let me just give you a small piece of advice.  If you're a Costco member, and you plan to move to Chicago, go ahead and cancel your membership.  It's not that Costco has anything amazing, but I've always been able to spend more there than I really needed to or planned to any day of the week.  Whether it's movies, or books, or household stuff or food or wine...I have rarely gone into Costco at home and come out with less than - okay, realistically - $50 worth of things I didn't plan to buy.  And most of the time it was much more.  Enough that they insisted I have an Executive membership.  Enough that my AmEx rewards for 2 years was close to $100.

Wouldn't you just expect that everything in the big city is bigger and better?  So far, everything I've come across has been worthy of this fair city; the food, the shops, the transit systems, even the familiar stores.  All just a step or 3 above what I can find at home.  Today, Gypsy (my GPS) and I headed north to the nearest super membership warehouse.  Not far away, just up near Lincoln Park.  With anticipation of great things to come, I grabbed a buggy - excuse me - cart, and made my way into the store.  The layout was different; I never did locate the household cleaning products, but I didn't look terribly hard.  The one positive thing I'll say is that the wine selection was much, much larger.  Everything else was, well, a disappointment.  It's like they tried to jam so much more into the store that they ended up with less.  Less selection, and Costco has a limited selection as it is.

I'll not carry on about a subject that means little to me or anyone else, but I just wanted to express that my bubble has been, if not burst, well, made a little smaller.  Or less shiny.  I can handle traffic, and weather (although winter is far away), and being away from anyone I know.  But to learn that not everything is bigger and better just makes the city a little more common.  Common isn't bad except when you expect more.

Oh - for maybe the first time ever, I left Costco with nothing.  It was such an unusual experience, I couldn't figure out how to get out of the store without going through checkout!  Now I know. 

Nightlites

When I first moved in, I was so enthralled by the view from my windows that I would go to sleep gazing at the city view.  I even moved my bed from one side of the room to the other in order to have a better view.  The lights from the city - and when I say city I mean that I have a view of a large portion of both the northern side of the Loop and the north river buildings - shine pretty brightly, and if the light weren't dissipated, individually low but as a whole, fairly luminous, it would be a problem.  For me, though, it's somehow comforting.

I have for most of my life been drawn to the night sky.  The moon and I have a personal relationship, and "big O", better known as Orion, is my protector.  Here, I've lost sight of big O but I have no doubt he's still up there watching over me.  And the moon, and her brother (in this case), the sun, are my precious offspring, permanently tattooed on my back and in my heart.

This new view, so foreign and nevertheless comforting, is almost like the stars.  You can look at the stars for hours and continually see something new - a new pattern or shape, and endlessly new points of light in the distance.  My view is much the same; almost every day or evening I see something I didn't notice before.  A new building, smoke stake, pattern, antenna...you name it.  There is so much out there it's impossible to take it all in at once.  Or twice, or thrice....

Pretty much smack dab in the middle of the view is the famed Sears Tower (now renamed the Willis Tower).  I was excited at the prospect of having this building which held the title of tallest in the world for many years, and the two huge antenna towers on the top, in my daily life.  The odd thing, though, is that it's not a very attractive building.  It's tall alright, but there's nothing interesting or beautiful about it.  I'll give it this much...it is certainly impressive, but it's not my favorite building in town.

My favorite is the Merchandise Mart.  It's not so noticeable during the day - you almost have to point it out - and even I didn't notice it at first.  But at night, it's the most graciously beautiful sight.  The lights, which reach the length and I'm sure the breadth (a full block) of the top two stories, glow a soft amber, making the regal facade of the place most romantic.  The amber glow is echoed in the end turrets and the middle tower, both castle-like.  The fun element is that the under-lighting of the middle tower changes color.  Sometimes also amber, but around Mother's Day, it was pinkish (more peach, actually), and for a couple of weeks they've been blue.  Over this past weekend, however, and continuing into this week, they've been red.  This could be in commemoration of the Veterans that have shed their blood for this country, or it could be Blackhawk red, or it could be a coincidence that the 'hawks are 2 games up in the Stanley Cup, and everything in the city is red and black.

I guess the bottom line is that, of all the amazing sights from my windows at night, this old and venerable massive plain brown hunk of a building becomes the first thing to draw the eye, and the heart.  Maybe it's a symbol for all of us that are surrounded by taller, newer, shinier sights, telling us that there's a glow about us that, if someone is looking just right, shines through.

By the way, I still sleep with the shades up and the city lights shining through the windows.  I'm not at all sure I'll ever close those blinds.  It's my nightlight.

light show

At 1:20 a.m., I woke up.  I evidently had been snoozing quite nicely, but something was disturbing my sleep.  Then it happened again - a bright light flashing against my closed eyelids.  Then the distant rumble.  A sweet summer thunder storm.  I had to get up and go to the balcony to watch a bit of the light show.

At first it was too distant; the light was bright, but was not always accompanied by sound.  None of the sharp flashes of eerie fingers pointing to the earth.  The storm did slowly cross south, bringing all of the elements with it.  I watched the light reflecting off the dozens of buildings at various angles making it hard to tell where it was coming from.  The glass buildings seemed to refract the light even more, as though there were a huge maze of mirrors, each sending the light to further illuminate the city.  I was too sleepy to watch for very long, so I returned to bed with the blinds wide open and kept my eyes open as long as I could.  I love a good storm as long as there are no tornados threatening to hoist me away.

The other light show at 1:20 a.m. on a Sunday night (Monday morning) was the hundreds of cars weaving their way through town.  I can't help but wonder who are all these people driving through Chicago, or riding in cabs driving through Chicago, in the middle of the night.  I realize it's a holiday weekend, but weren't Friday and Saturday enough?  Lacy reminded me that someone has to work in the bars and restaurants, so maybe they're all workers headed home.  It's the country in me, I know, that is puzzled by the amount of activity at any time of the day or night.  I'd really be torn up in New York City, I'm sure - it's Chicago multiplied by 100.  If New York is the city that never sleeps, Chicago must be the city that only naps now and then.

I'm a little jealous of people that have the motivation to go out when I'm going to bed, and return home shortly before I'm waking up.  What an exciting life, I'm sure.  But how much of the day do they miss? Do they ever see the early morning sun rising over the lake?  Or smell fresh baked pastries?  Or see the runners and dog-walkers and think "this is going to be a glorious morning"?  Their glorious morning is from midnight to 3 a.m. and I'm sure there are lots of wonderful things that can happen in that timeframe.  My morning is quieter (except for the garbage trucks), slower, more conducive to serene thoughts than dreams.  I guess I'm old but I've never been able to pass up a beautiful day, even if I'm inside looking out at it.

Instead of a light show bouncing off the disco ball, my light show is a steady stream of sunshine.  Boring, maybe, but I'm okay with that.  I can't do all night like I used to, and even if I could, I'm not sure I would want to very often.  It's not the 3 a.m. that gets me - it's wasting the entire day following because I'm too tired or hungover to do anything at all.  I'd rather miss the party and enjoy the morning

Thanks to the followers

I'm tickled to have followers!  If you have feedback or suggestions or criticisms or anything, please post your comments.  I'd love to hear (good or bad) what you think, or if there's anything in particular you want to follow up on or know about.

thanks!!!

Doormen

Another of my criteria for a place to live was security.  Most of the condo buildings around town have a round-the-clock doorman (doorperson?) who guards the inhabitants from unwanted or uninvited visitors.  Of course, it's not one person that is at the door 24/7, it's actually, in the case of my building, 5 people that have their own shifts - 3 full-time and 2 part-time.  They're all very polite and helpful, some more personable, some less.  I feel very secure having them there.

There's another doorman in the next block.  He's a true doorman - he lives in the recessed doorway of the building.  It's obviously not a currently functioning doorway; I think the building is in the process of becoming a condominium.  So this guy has taken up residence in a pretty ritzy building on a pretty busy street in a pretty nice part of town.

I first noticed him a cold morning 3 or 4 weeks ago when he was rolled up in a sleeping bag trying to stay warm.  It was just a lump of faded blue, and could have been anything under that fabric, but most likely a person, whether alive or not.  In the next couple of weeks, the lump turned into an actual man of undeterminable age, as most homeless people tend to be.  Actually he's not homeless, as he's established a home of sorts in the doorway.  He has a bicycle that he chains to a nearby tree, and has somehow acquired a hodgepodge of possessions - a basket, a smoker grill, what appear to be clothes and at least one more blanket.  I try not to look too closely when I pass; I don't want to become too familiar to the man, but I do pass there quite often.

It does amaze me that he's allowed to just take up residence in this public space of maybe 15 square feet.  I expect to find this in alleyways or under overpasses - less visible locations.  I'm sure if the building owner was aware, they would have him removed, but until then, I'm waiting for him to hang pictures and plant a garden.

Last weekend, when I had visitors, I pointed him out to them.  Well, I didn't actually have to point him out; it was quite obvious as we walked by that he lived there.  At lunch, Lacy had her leftovers put in a box with plans to drop it off to him.  The intentions were good, but I guess there's a limit to our sense of benevolence.  When she discovered she had left the box in the restroom at the Merchandise Mart, we didn't hike back to retrieve it.  So, the doorman didn't have a gourmet dinner that day.  And since he's managed to acquire quite a haul, I feel less charitable toward him.  If he can manage to find all of that stuff and maintain a home in a doorway, it seems he has the capacity to manage a job of some sort.

Maybe he's training to become a real doorman.