Well, my 1-year anniversary is just a month away. Of course it doesn't seem possible that it was a year ago that I picked up and moved to this great mid-western city. Never quite understood the mid-west part but maybe this was mid-west before they realized how far it was to the Pacific ocean. Once early settlers reached the mighty Mississippi, they were HOPING that they were half-way there.
I can tell that Spring is upon us. It was warm enough yesterday to walk to both my massage appointment (ahhhhh) and my dental appointment (AAAIIEEE) in just a sweat suit. It's sunny and looks warm outside today, but the weather people say it's going to be much cooler today.
Another herald of Spring is the groups of Spring-breakers I encountered yesterday, the increased traffic at all hours, and, to my chagrin, the motorcycles. Of all the sounds of the city, this is the only one that grates on me - but it's because people on motorcycles like them loud and fast, and the on-ramp to the expressway just beneath my building is the perfect drag-raceway.
And speaking of sounds in the night, it happened again last night....sirens that didn't continue past on Orleans, or onto the expressway, or over on Grand, but came right up my street. This is the 4th time I remember this happening in the past year, and the first 3 times I jumped out of bed to see whether it was my building that they came to visit. Last night, I was too tired to worry about it. I knew that someone would be banging on my door if I needed to flee.
The scary things about being awakened in the middle of the night to cries of "fire" or "leave the building" are a. having to grab something decent to put on that is also suitable for whatever weather is happening, b. the thought of fire in general and the danger, the destructiveness of it when it get loose in a building, and c. losing my home and possessions. Actually not in that order - I would go into the street naked if it meant that my home, and that of the others here, would be safe.
It's very easy to tell when the sirens come down my street. I live on the last block of the street, which is one-way all the way from the lake, and no one wanders down this part of the street unless they have a reason to be here. This block is mostly residential, and at the end you must turn one way or the other, or drive through the park and into the river. There are 4 restaurants on this block, meaning much of the traffic in the evenings is diners. So, a firetruck or ambulance would not use this part of the street as a route to anywhere but this part of the street.
It's an odd bit of knowledge I've picked up, but if you cross the river on one of the several bridges in the area, and wind your way back roughly across from the park at the end of my street, you'll find a continuance of Ontario that goes all the way to Oak Park. There's no bridge on Ontario, but it's as though there were. It's the same with several streets without bridges across the river - they just pick up on the other side anyway. And they run several miles toward the West. In Huntsville, a street would have changed names 20 times between the lake and Oak Park. That's just what they do in Huntsville. I guess it's part of the grid design of Chicago that is supposed to make navigation in the city easier. And maybe just in case someone decided to build another bridge at some point, so they wouldn't have to rename part of the street or cause mass confusion because the street suddenly changed it's moniker.
So, anyway, this has been home for almost a year now, and yesterday I signed a lease for another year, so it will continue to be home for a while more. As much fun as it might be to have a different view, and discover a different part of the city, I like being right here. I'm not tired of the view, or the rooms I inhabit. It's convenient, the employees are super, the kids know how to get here, and it's become my home. I'm glad my landlords agreed to have me stay on. As expensive as it is, it would cost more to move, and why move when you've got the perfect place already?
Home, sweet home, Chicago.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Saturday, March 5, 2011
showering babies
I was "home" last weekend to help Lacy with a baby shower for Lennon. She had worked so hard getting things together and planning, I felt bad that I could do little from here other than agree or make suggestions. To make up for it, I spent most of Friday night through Sunday preparing or participating or post-cleaning, which I was happy to do. I'm happy for the time it gave me with Lacy, creating decorations and gifts and favors, shopping for more decorations and gifts. Buying and preparing food, putting it all together Sunday morning and waiting for the fun to begin.
I'm also happy for the time it gave me with Seth and Christine and Lennon (although he's still hiding out, which is good). Watching them enjoy the games and their friends at the shower, watching them open the many gifts. The glow of pride and anticipation on their faces, the thankfulness toward the givers of gifts, and the love that was apparent in the room - between friends and between family. Even a mishap Saturday night couldn't dampen the joy of Sunday. The shower came off beautifully.
It's both odd and heart-warming to see my son - the one that you would never expect - so excited about the prospect of fatherhood. It's so apparent that he wants to be a good father, that he welcomes this opportunity, this requirement, to be an adult, to be responsible and do all the right things. It feels like he has a realistic handle on the brevity of parenthood, and of the changes to come, and more importantly, is prepared for it. Seth is a quietly strong, but very emotional, person. I think like me in that respect. Seth rarely shows emotion, but when he does it's huge. Like me, he can take a lot, but when he snaps, he SNAPS. And he is slow to allow feelings to show, but when he reaches the breaking point, good or bad, feelings ooze from every pore. I've seen him, and held him, while he bawled with hurt and sorrow, and I've seen him steel and hold both happiness and sadness inside, the frozen grin that's almost a grimace on his face that I know means it's just under the surface, and tears (whether of joy or pain) may be just behind his eyes.
Seth has always worried me in this regard, in this way that I know he inherited from me. It pains me to know that he feels the same emotions and confusion and misdirection that I've felt in my life at times. The regrets over not doing the right thing, or at least the better thing. The way we beat ourselves up more than anyone else beats us. It's because of this that know he'll be a good father. It's a chance at redemption. A chance to undo life until now. A way to put those experiences behind him while keeping them in mind as he raises a son who he surely would prefer to walk a straighter path.
I see Seth being a gentle and patient dad, but firm in his rules and strict in his guidance. I guess that's the kind of parent we would all like to be, and strive to be, but don't always succeed. As long as he works toward that goal, and can put the needs of this beautiful child before his own for the next few years, he'll do just fine. Seth has certainly had enough adventure of one kind in his life, now it's time to experience an adventure of quite another kind. And this is one that he can carry through the rest of his life, and know the feeling of proudly saying "that's MY son".
I'm also happy for the time it gave me with Seth and Christine and Lennon (although he's still hiding out, which is good). Watching them enjoy the games and their friends at the shower, watching them open the many gifts. The glow of pride and anticipation on their faces, the thankfulness toward the givers of gifts, and the love that was apparent in the room - between friends and between family. Even a mishap Saturday night couldn't dampen the joy of Sunday. The shower came off beautifully.
It's both odd and heart-warming to see my son - the one that you would never expect - so excited about the prospect of fatherhood. It's so apparent that he wants to be a good father, that he welcomes this opportunity, this requirement, to be an adult, to be responsible and do all the right things. It feels like he has a realistic handle on the brevity of parenthood, and of the changes to come, and more importantly, is prepared for it. Seth is a quietly strong, but very emotional, person. I think like me in that respect. Seth rarely shows emotion, but when he does it's huge. Like me, he can take a lot, but when he snaps, he SNAPS. And he is slow to allow feelings to show, but when he reaches the breaking point, good or bad, feelings ooze from every pore. I've seen him, and held him, while he bawled with hurt and sorrow, and I've seen him steel and hold both happiness and sadness inside, the frozen grin that's almost a grimace on his face that I know means it's just under the surface, and tears (whether of joy or pain) may be just behind his eyes.
Seth has always worried me in this regard, in this way that I know he inherited from me. It pains me to know that he feels the same emotions and confusion and misdirection that I've felt in my life at times. The regrets over not doing the right thing, or at least the better thing. The way we beat ourselves up more than anyone else beats us. It's because of this that know he'll be a good father. It's a chance at redemption. A chance to undo life until now. A way to put those experiences behind him while keeping them in mind as he raises a son who he surely would prefer to walk a straighter path.
I see Seth being a gentle and patient dad, but firm in his rules and strict in his guidance. I guess that's the kind of parent we would all like to be, and strive to be, but don't always succeed. As long as he works toward that goal, and can put the needs of this beautiful child before his own for the next few years, he'll do just fine. Seth has certainly had enough adventure of one kind in his life, now it's time to experience an adventure of quite another kind. And this is one that he can carry through the rest of his life, and know the feeling of proudly saying "that's MY son".
maybe i'm crazy....
Last weekend I was in Huntsville, where it was warm enough not to need a jacket most of the time - around 60-70 and mostly sunny. It was refreshing, and I enjoyed the warmer weather and the blooming buttercups and forsythia and seeing the buds on the trees. Then I came back to Chicago, where it's been a chilly week, but not downright cold. I've found that when the sun is out, 30 here feels quite nice as long as the wind isn't howling.
It makes sense that I would be yearning for the Spring-like weather I'm accustomed to this time of year in the South. It makes sense that I would have had my fill of gray skies and below-freezing temperatures. It doesn't make sense that, as I sit here on a Saturday morning watching snow flurries drift and blow and fly around as though they're having fun, I would think it's a beautiful day.
Maybe it's the novelty of snow; the years I've spent wishing it would snow, the miracle of teensy ice crystals falling from the sky and covering everything with a blanket of pure white, the beauty of big fluffy chunks drifting down silently, like cotton from the heavens. Maybe I'm crazy, but I don't mind that I'm seeing snow today instead of the 70-degree weather I would be enjoying if I were in Alabama. I'm almost sad that Spring is around the corner, and there will be no more snow until next winter. Maybe there's an Eskimo somewhere in my family tree, but as much as I love sun and blooms and birds singing and smelling that first cut of green grass, I love snow.
Yes, there's been plenty of the white stuff down home this year - the year that I'm not there to enjoy it. And yes, it will be 10 more years before it happens again, unless we have an anomaly like the early 90's when it snowed 8" and 2 years later snowed almost a foot. Or the other way around - at that depth, a bunch of snow is a bunch of snow. But as it hadn't snowed more than an inch or two in the past 10 years in Huntsville, I was looking forward to living in a place where snow is a certainty. And I've not been disappointed in the amount that Chicago-land has seen since November. I just think I could do with one more good one. I would go down to the park by the river and make a snow angel. And a snow man. And bring a bowl back home for snow cream. Because those are the things I've not done this winter, even with the 20" snow last month.
Of course, like Dustin said on Facebook, if I had made a snow angel then, they might not have found me until summer. :)
It makes sense that I would be yearning for the Spring-like weather I'm accustomed to this time of year in the South. It makes sense that I would have had my fill of gray skies and below-freezing temperatures. It doesn't make sense that, as I sit here on a Saturday morning watching snow flurries drift and blow and fly around as though they're having fun, I would think it's a beautiful day.
Maybe it's the novelty of snow; the years I've spent wishing it would snow, the miracle of teensy ice crystals falling from the sky and covering everything with a blanket of pure white, the beauty of big fluffy chunks drifting down silently, like cotton from the heavens. Maybe I'm crazy, but I don't mind that I'm seeing snow today instead of the 70-degree weather I would be enjoying if I were in Alabama. I'm almost sad that Spring is around the corner, and there will be no more snow until next winter. Maybe there's an Eskimo somewhere in my family tree, but as much as I love sun and blooms and birds singing and smelling that first cut of green grass, I love snow.
Yes, there's been plenty of the white stuff down home this year - the year that I'm not there to enjoy it. And yes, it will be 10 more years before it happens again, unless we have an anomaly like the early 90's when it snowed 8" and 2 years later snowed almost a foot. Or the other way around - at that depth, a bunch of snow is a bunch of snow. But as it hadn't snowed more than an inch or two in the past 10 years in Huntsville, I was looking forward to living in a place where snow is a certainty. And I've not been disappointed in the amount that Chicago-land has seen since November. I just think I could do with one more good one. I would go down to the park by the river and make a snow angel. And a snow man. And bring a bowl back home for snow cream. Because those are the things I've not done this winter, even with the 20" snow last month.
Of course, like Dustin said on Facebook, if I had made a snow angel then, they might not have found me until summer. :)
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