I don't know how many more of these blog entries I'll make - probably at least one final one documenting what I hope won't be a too adventurous trip for Lacy and myself with all my stuff in a huge truck. Worst case scenario, it will snow. A lot. I don't even want to think of that right now.
I do, however, want to mention the people I will miss, some a great deal. There aren't a lot - I'm not a hugely social person - but there are a few that have touched my life in some way and who I will not forget.
I'll miss my building people. Shelly and Terry, doormen extraordinaire, who have embraced me, my family and friends, and have made coming through the front door of the building a pleasure every time. There's also Carol and Lazinya, and I can't forget sweet, handsome Val who was only there a couple of months after I moved in. Also my neighbors, Norma across the hall, Gayle and her fiance' who's name I can never remember who lived next door to me. There's the couple with the 2 kids - one born shortly after I moved in, and one just last year - who were always nice even though they did let their oldest run back and forth through the hallway while waiting on the elevator.....
There's also the couple who were Alabama fans because they have a daughter in school there, although the wife leaned toward Auburn and had an Auburn shirt. There's the little girl on the 10th floor who I would see sometimes as I was going to work and she school - I watched her go from a chunky 6th grader who was afraid to ride the bus because the older kids picked on her, to an awkward 7th grader trying so hard to be cool, to the current 8th grader who has grown taller and slimmer and very pretty and definitely more confident.
There's the older woman who tries to know everyone in the building, but she asked my name about a hundred times in 2 and a half years. I can't say anything - I don't remember hers either. The lady with the beautiful golden lab that was so sweet. The big guy with the tiny yappy dog, the guy in the wheelchair, and the strange guy who lives on 18 - the penthouse - and his crazy "theme" parties. I won't miss the folks a floor down who were loud and obnoxious at times, or the ones a floor up who were loud and obnoxious at times. I hope I wasn't as loud or obnoxious at times.
I'll miss my city friends: Chris, Leo, Eddie, Lidya, and the others that I met at the Hop Haus and who became friends and who listened to me and my woes and joys almost as much as I listened to them and theirs. Of this bunch, Leo who thinks the world of Lacy and Jeff, decided he was a U of A fan, left his fiancee' 3 times in the past year only to return with renewed resolve (every time), and has been a really good friend at times. Chris who took a liking to us all the first day we met, and remained a friend after he had moved on to another job...crazy, funny, at times sad, I'll miss Chris. And his girlfriend Monie who is sweet and young and impressionable, and who wants to visit me in Alabama.
Eddie....what can I say about Eddie? Sweet, hot, a bit shy at times, and who I'll never forget for reasons I won't mention. But I will say that I'll miss how he always tried to not charge me and was always overly generous with the alcohol and thinks I'm really cool. And loved sharing buffalo chicken pizza with me.
Lidya and the other various servers and bartenders I knew over the time I was there; Hannah (crazy Hannah), Rachel, Ozzy, and the rest. Scattered like leaves in the wind to other careers or bars around town. Of course, I'll remember Tina, who always asked about my family, individually, even though she had never met them, and her partner of 7 years who made the Pride Parade a day to remember.
People that I met around town: Genesis (sweet, talkative), Chris "Aflac" (finally gave up asking me out), James (ditto), Alex and Croy (another story), and several others who came and went over time.
A special shout out to Jessie, manager at Caribou Cafe' at Union Station, who would give me a double shot if I looked tired, and is an absolute asset to that company, and they'd better recognize. The folks at Massage Envy who were so adept at working out knots in my shoulder and back, the guy at the 7-11 on the corner, and the great gals at Salon Excursion (Shellie, Yoon, Stella, Chloe, Manda, Su, and all the rest).
Another special mention - Erika, my darling, darling, Lancome rep who took such good care of me and who said I made her miss her mom back in California. I actually had a voicemail from her last week so I HAVE to make sure I see her when I go back to move.
Oh boy - many, many work friends, some of whom I'll still work with from afar, and many who have left the company in the past few weeks (or will soon). Cedric (a great boss), Roselette (congrats on your engagement and new job - and pooh on you for leaving - and thanks for being you), Mike, Kocur, Dave, Steve, Renelle, and many, many more - even Tiffany who is a pain in the rear, and Butzier who made my life hell for a few months.
My train friends - Megan, Grady, the Indian guy who I never got his name right, the lady from Australia who was so funny, and the rest.
And the people at Lou Malnati's for great pizza, Geno's for delivering great pizza, Al's Beef, Portillo's, Chipotle, Jake Melnick's, Yolk (crazy-hair guy....I was always afraid something would fall out of that hair into my plate), Eggsperience, Brunch, Green Door Tavern (Jessica, my first friend in Chicago), Club Lago (birthday kiss and fabulous food), Fado, RBG, "Eat and Drink Here" Bar on Clark, Steve's Deli, Bull and Bear (cut me off after 2 hours!!), Fat Cat's, Goose Island Grill, Cubby Bear, Lucky's, Messners/Wagon Wheel (Auburn games), Glenn's Diner, Red Ivy, Sports Corner, Leona's.....more and more. Okay, and the Houndstooth. Happy?
Thanks to everyone I've encountered, good and bad, homeless, helpless, happy, sad. The great majority have been friendly and accommodating and have made my experience even greater than it would have been otherwise.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
about face
So since my last entry, I did get an answer to my application for the VSP, and it was denied. Denied, meaning I was not approved to leave the company with a nice package, but with a contingency. I was asked "if we deny your application and agree to move you back to Alabama, will you stay with the company?". Of course my answer was yes. So in reality, I get the best deal I could hope for - I'm going home, not on my own dime, and keeping my job. Talk about burden lifted!
When this was presented to me, it was not entirely a done deal. So, I waited for 3 weeks to find out "for sure" what was going on, and when I would be expected to relocate should it come through. I was on the train to work on a Friday morning that was supposed to be "D-Day" for all who applied and others who didn't but would be laid off involuntarily. I got a call from a friend and co-worker in Huntsville who told me that the controller there had been laid off that morning. I was shocked and confused; he was not supposed to be one that would be cut - he was, to our knowledge, solid. Suddenly there was a fear of "who's next?".
When I got to work I sought out a former Huntsville manager who had taken on a new capacity which required him to be at the corporate office a few days per month. He confirmed the story and told me of another Huntsville co-worker being cut. He also explained that none of this had anything to do with me or the plans to move me back; the lay-off plans had been decided long before, and it was a benefit for the company that I was willing to help the staff by moving back.
So, it was with a heavy heart, but a glad one, that I accepted the offer to return, at company expense, in a slightly different capacity. Additionally, I would be working with a colleague I had known for several years who had recently moved to Alabama and would now be my boss. Oh, and by the way, could I be in Huntsville to start working in a week?
That was early September. Now is late October, and in the past few weeks I've arranged to terminate my condo lease, moved in temporarily with Lacy and Jeff, and found a house that I'm closing on in 2 weeks. I've scheduled movers to load a rental truck I've scheduled for the move, scheduled flights for myself and Lacy, scheduled to have the condo cleaned once I'm out, and Lacy and I will drive a 16' truck from Chicago to Huntsville a couple of days before Thanksgiving. Pray for us.
In between all of that, I've moved into my office at the Huntsville plant and am trying to get re-oriented to plant operations. All of the staff is the same with the exception of the 2 that were laid off and the 1 that is now covering both Huntsville-based locations along with one near Muscle Shoals. My former co-workers seem a bit unsure of me; they're not sure whether I'm one of them or one of "them" meaning those corporate people who are not to be trusted. Fact is, I have changed. In spite of feeling my goal in working "up north" was not completely fulfilled, I have gained a broader understanding of company operations, and of what is expected from the plants and why. I'm like a half-breed; partly plant, partly corporate, and I think that should be an advantage to everyone.
So my move is in the works and I'm excited to be planning various projects for my new home and how it will benefit my family and myself to be back in Alabama. I have a play-set in my new back yard for Lennon that the sellers have agreed to leave. I have plenty of space for all my junk, and enough ideas on what I want to do around the house to keep me occupied for the next year. There are downsides, things going on with my family that are unwelcome distractions, but at least I'll be around instead of 600 miles away. I'm glad for that.
Yep, it's hard to leave the city that has been home, and I will miss so very much about it all - my work friends, my city friends, the condo and all that goes with it. But I'm so very appreciative of the opportunities and experiences I've had. I know now that I can embrace change and challenge and survive. I took on the city with nothing but my own spirit of adventure to shore me up and proved to myself (and all who doubted I'd make it) that I'm strong and capable and secure enough in myself to make it work.
It's not a huge accomplishment - people do what I've done every day, and more. But it's my accomplishment and the next time some unexpected opportunity comes my way, I'll tackle it full force like a mad linebacker. I just have to wait for that next chance to come along; I might even go looking for it if I get bored in the quiet of Alabama.
When this was presented to me, it was not entirely a done deal. So, I waited for 3 weeks to find out "for sure" what was going on, and when I would be expected to relocate should it come through. I was on the train to work on a Friday morning that was supposed to be "D-Day" for all who applied and others who didn't but would be laid off involuntarily. I got a call from a friend and co-worker in Huntsville who told me that the controller there had been laid off that morning. I was shocked and confused; he was not supposed to be one that would be cut - he was, to our knowledge, solid. Suddenly there was a fear of "who's next?".
When I got to work I sought out a former Huntsville manager who had taken on a new capacity which required him to be at the corporate office a few days per month. He confirmed the story and told me of another Huntsville co-worker being cut. He also explained that none of this had anything to do with me or the plans to move me back; the lay-off plans had been decided long before, and it was a benefit for the company that I was willing to help the staff by moving back.
So, it was with a heavy heart, but a glad one, that I accepted the offer to return, at company expense, in a slightly different capacity. Additionally, I would be working with a colleague I had known for several years who had recently moved to Alabama and would now be my boss. Oh, and by the way, could I be in Huntsville to start working in a week?
That was early September. Now is late October, and in the past few weeks I've arranged to terminate my condo lease, moved in temporarily with Lacy and Jeff, and found a house that I'm closing on in 2 weeks. I've scheduled movers to load a rental truck I've scheduled for the move, scheduled flights for myself and Lacy, scheduled to have the condo cleaned once I'm out, and Lacy and I will drive a 16' truck from Chicago to Huntsville a couple of days before Thanksgiving. Pray for us.
In between all of that, I've moved into my office at the Huntsville plant and am trying to get re-oriented to plant operations. All of the staff is the same with the exception of the 2 that were laid off and the 1 that is now covering both Huntsville-based locations along with one near Muscle Shoals. My former co-workers seem a bit unsure of me; they're not sure whether I'm one of them or one of "them" meaning those corporate people who are not to be trusted. Fact is, I have changed. In spite of feeling my goal in working "up north" was not completely fulfilled, I have gained a broader understanding of company operations, and of what is expected from the plants and why. I'm like a half-breed; partly plant, partly corporate, and I think that should be an advantage to everyone.
So my move is in the works and I'm excited to be planning various projects for my new home and how it will benefit my family and myself to be back in Alabama. I have a play-set in my new back yard for Lennon that the sellers have agreed to leave. I have plenty of space for all my junk, and enough ideas on what I want to do around the house to keep me occupied for the next year. There are downsides, things going on with my family that are unwelcome distractions, but at least I'll be around instead of 600 miles away. I'm glad for that.
Yep, it's hard to leave the city that has been home, and I will miss so very much about it all - my work friends, my city friends, the condo and all that goes with it. But I'm so very appreciative of the opportunities and experiences I've had. I know now that I can embrace change and challenge and survive. I took on the city with nothing but my own spirit of adventure to shore me up and proved to myself (and all who doubted I'd make it) that I'm strong and capable and secure enough in myself to make it work.
It's not a huge accomplishment - people do what I've done every day, and more. But it's my accomplishment and the next time some unexpected opportunity comes my way, I'll tackle it full force like a mad linebacker. I just have to wait for that next chance to come along; I might even go looking for it if I get bored in the quiet of Alabama.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
letting go
I started this documenting of my time in the city 2 years and 3 months ago so that I would remember the adventure of being here, the things I encountered, and how I adjusted to life in a big city, in the northern-mid-west, away from my family, and alone among zillions of people. I was excited, and every day presented something new that was either unique to Chicago itself, or to life outside small-town Alabama. Over the time I've been here, I've updated my blog less and less, partly as I've discovered new interests that took up my time, and partly because those unique experiences became less unique and more commonplace.
It was inevitable that the day would come that I would say good-bye to Chicago and return to the hills of north Alabama and to my family. Knowing that, it has become harder to think of leaving here - this place that has become "home" to me - and the sights and sounds and people and events that have become part of my life. As thrilled as I may be about returning to my kids and my acquired-while-here grandson, and to mountains covered with trees instead of steel and glass, I become very sad when I think of not being here any longer.
That I'll be leaving in a way that was unexpected, and that makes my angry, doesn't help. My company, in it's panic over a downhill slide and loss of confidence (of stockholders, customers, employees...) offered a "voluntary separation package", increasing the term of full pay and benefits employees would receive over a company-driven RIF. There has also be a freeze on any hiring or "unnecessary expense", meaning Huntsville can't fill the position they had for me, and relocation is out of the question. The way I saw it, turning down the package meant staying here indefinitely, or possibly being cut anyway with less advantage. But I'd have a job. And I would somehow get back eventually.
I told myself, in the 10 days we had to make our decision (with very little information), that I'd rather be in Chicago employed than in Alabama looking for a job. I told myself that for a week. The kids told me they were fine with me being here a little longer if that was what was best for me. A friend told me to decide what was most important to me, and that would drive my decision. My gut, which I've relied on for years to guide me in the way that was really right for me, was silent.
With 2 days left to decide, I was at a breaking point, unable to sort out what was best. I crunched numbers and looked at job markets and even perused condos for sale in Chicago. I went to the bar for a bloody mary and a shoulder to cry on, and sent Lacy a text that read "I'm a wreck, I don't know what to do. Just beg me to come home". Immediately my phone rang and I heard "pleasepleasepleaseplease come home!". With tears threatening to seep over the spillway, I answered "okay...I'm coming home".
Burden lifted (almost), decision made (but I need to talk to a couple of people first), weekend saved (well, except for the 7-hour "brunch" with friends from work on Sunday). Monday morning I called the Controller in Huntsville just to verify whether he knew of any secret mission to ship me back, then I filled out the application for the "VSP". I sent it in, thinking that the roller-coaster emotions of the past week were behind me.
Since Monday, my emotions have been all over the place. Anger for having to make this decision. Shock at the number of colleagues that made the same decision. Excitement to be returning to my real home. Sadness to be leaving my current one. I've not yet been told whether my application is accepted, but I'm low enough on the totem pole that there's little doubt it would be. And I don't know if my end date will be a month, two months, 4 months from now so I can't really plan anything. I'm in limbo, as are all the other applicants, and all the people that chose to stay. They don't yet know what they will be left with or what pieces they'll have to pick up.
At any rate, the end is near. It will be roughly the same time as was previously planned, which was the November-December time frame. The difference is that I'll be unemployed and the move will be on my own dime. I'll have 6 months to find a job, hopefully close to comparable, and hopefully before the 6 months is up. My income will actually be higher during that time since I should be eligible for unemployment in addition to my "separation pay". And I'll be with my family.
I'll miss the Chicago winter which, to the amazement of most, I actually love. I'll miss Michigan Avenue at Christmas. I'll say good-bye to my condo and neighbors and door-people, good-bye to my friends at Hop Haus and other places around town. Good-bye to deep dish pizza, Italian beef, Wrigley Field, L trains and buses and Metra. Good-bye to Goose Island and Two Brothers beers, Portillo's chopped salad, Garrett's popcorn and my favorite mac-n-cheese.
I'll have to let go of my Chicago - yes I know I can visit but it won't be the same - and embrace my hills and rivers and backroads of North Alabama. I'll adjust to the quiet, and the slower pace. I'll have pets again, and a garden. I'll bake and quilt and wear baggy pants and a purple hat. I'll make new friends and old ones. Now and then I'll think of my life here and all that I was able to do and see, and I'll smile and be happy that I had this amazing opportunity and that I was brave enough to take it. And brave enough to let it go.
Oh yeah - I have to learn how to talk again...I got called out by my son last week for saying on (oin) instead of on (awn). Geez loueeeeze.
It was inevitable that the day would come that I would say good-bye to Chicago and return to the hills of north Alabama and to my family. Knowing that, it has become harder to think of leaving here - this place that has become "home" to me - and the sights and sounds and people and events that have become part of my life. As thrilled as I may be about returning to my kids and my acquired-while-here grandson, and to mountains covered with trees instead of steel and glass, I become very sad when I think of not being here any longer.
That I'll be leaving in a way that was unexpected, and that makes my angry, doesn't help. My company, in it's panic over a downhill slide and loss of confidence (of stockholders, customers, employees...) offered a "voluntary separation package", increasing the term of full pay and benefits employees would receive over a company-driven RIF. There has also be a freeze on any hiring or "unnecessary expense", meaning Huntsville can't fill the position they had for me, and relocation is out of the question. The way I saw it, turning down the package meant staying here indefinitely, or possibly being cut anyway with less advantage. But I'd have a job. And I would somehow get back eventually.
I told myself, in the 10 days we had to make our decision (with very little information), that I'd rather be in Chicago employed than in Alabama looking for a job. I told myself that for a week. The kids told me they were fine with me being here a little longer if that was what was best for me. A friend told me to decide what was most important to me, and that would drive my decision. My gut, which I've relied on for years to guide me in the way that was really right for me, was silent.
With 2 days left to decide, I was at a breaking point, unable to sort out what was best. I crunched numbers and looked at job markets and even perused condos for sale in Chicago. I went to the bar for a bloody mary and a shoulder to cry on, and sent Lacy a text that read "I'm a wreck, I don't know what to do. Just beg me to come home". Immediately my phone rang and I heard "pleasepleasepleaseplease come home!". With tears threatening to seep over the spillway, I answered "okay...I'm coming home".
Burden lifted (almost), decision made (but I need to talk to a couple of people first), weekend saved (well, except for the 7-hour "brunch" with friends from work on Sunday). Monday morning I called the Controller in Huntsville just to verify whether he knew of any secret mission to ship me back, then I filled out the application for the "VSP". I sent it in, thinking that the roller-coaster emotions of the past week were behind me.
Since Monday, my emotions have been all over the place. Anger for having to make this decision. Shock at the number of colleagues that made the same decision. Excitement to be returning to my real home. Sadness to be leaving my current one. I've not yet been told whether my application is accepted, but I'm low enough on the totem pole that there's little doubt it would be. And I don't know if my end date will be a month, two months, 4 months from now so I can't really plan anything. I'm in limbo, as are all the other applicants, and all the people that chose to stay. They don't yet know what they will be left with or what pieces they'll have to pick up.
At any rate, the end is near. It will be roughly the same time as was previously planned, which was the November-December time frame. The difference is that I'll be unemployed and the move will be on my own dime. I'll have 6 months to find a job, hopefully close to comparable, and hopefully before the 6 months is up. My income will actually be higher during that time since I should be eligible for unemployment in addition to my "separation pay". And I'll be with my family.
I'll miss the Chicago winter which, to the amazement of most, I actually love. I'll miss Michigan Avenue at Christmas. I'll say good-bye to my condo and neighbors and door-people, good-bye to my friends at Hop Haus and other places around town. Good-bye to deep dish pizza, Italian beef, Wrigley Field, L trains and buses and Metra. Good-bye to Goose Island and Two Brothers beers, Portillo's chopped salad, Garrett's popcorn and my favorite mac-n-cheese.
I'll have to let go of my Chicago - yes I know I can visit but it won't be the same - and embrace my hills and rivers and backroads of North Alabama. I'll adjust to the quiet, and the slower pace. I'll have pets again, and a garden. I'll bake and quilt and wear baggy pants and a purple hat. I'll make new friends and old ones. Now and then I'll think of my life here and all that I was able to do and see, and I'll smile and be happy that I had this amazing opportunity and that I was brave enough to take it. And brave enough to let it go.
Oh yeah - I have to learn how to talk again...I got called out by my son last week for saying on (oin) instead of on (awn). Geez loueeeeze.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Oddities and Observations
When my office moved another 15 or so miles out, and added at best another 40 minutes a day to my commute, I decided taking the train was a good option, at least 2-3 days each week. It doesn't cut the time down, but for an hour each day that I "train it", I can sit in a degree of comfort and quiet and read, or play games, or just gaze out the window as I pass a variety of neighborhoods and communities. It's a nice buffer between home and work that I used to enjoy while driving. In Chicago, however, driving is not ever a mindless, autopilot activity. That is, if you value your car and your life.
Riding the train has presented additional opportunity for observations of people and life around me. Some funny, some sad, but most just stuff that makes me wonder. At one point a couple of weeks ago, I realized I had quite a little list of things that I would not otherwise have been exposed to. So of course, me being me, decided to list them. I'll probably forget a few but here are some of the most prevalent.
A sudden phobia
This month I reached a milestone I had never before known; I paid off my car. I actually kept a new car for 5 years and now it's mine. This might not be a big deal for some, but to not have a car payment is an amazing feat for me. Two things I learned from this: I'll never finance a car for 60 months again, and I am suddenly terrified that something will happen to my car. I'm more nervous about people behind me not stopping in time, or people changing lanes on top of me, or any of the dozens of reasons to wreck I face every day that I drive around here. I feel like it would just be my luck that, now that I've finally reached ownership, it will be short-lived.
For someone who's never worried much about having a wreck - I feel like I'm a pretty cautious and aware driver - this is an uncomfortable state. More reason to take the train as much as I can. More reason to get back to the South and away from stop-and-roll daily traffic.
Dancing Dave
In Huntsville there is (or was?) a guy famous for being out in the bars every weekend in his mismatched shirt and shorts, and socks pulled almost to his knees. That's not why he was famous - his fame came from how he would ask every female in the place to dance. He was "Dancing Dave", a man to be avoided if at all possible. I don't think he was quite all-together, but he took rejection better than anyone I've known.
I thought of Dave when, while waiting for the inbound train, I noticed a guy dancing to some song in his own head. Stepping, turning, stopping and doing it again, like he's practicing something. Which he may be. It's just odd, this guy standing on the platform with other commuters and in his own world. While he's a bit dorky and garners his share of suspicious glances, I gotta give it to him.....I wouldn't have the nerve to practice dance moves on the train platform to music in my head. Then again, I do stand on the corner waiting on the light to change and bob or move my head to whatever song is in my head at the time. I have a problem standing still - maybe he does too.
The death of chivalry
Now that the weather is better and the days are longer, I walk to and from Union Station most days. But I have to take a Pace bus (Pace is the suburban transit service) between the train station and the office. We have a lot of commuters on our bus, and many times it's packed to the gills. In the good ol' days, a packed bus would mean at least one thing - if a woman didn't have a seat, a gentleman would get up and offer his. No more. No one has ever offered me their seat, nor any of the other women that may be standing perilously on 3 inch heels holding a purse and laptop bag or lunch bag or whatever other bag (women always have at least one large bag and usually 2). In fact I'm sure any of those guys would be annoyed if a woman lost her footing rounding a curve and toppled over in his lap.
This is not really surprising; women fought for equal treatment and by golly we get it in many ways. I never know if a door will be opened for me, or if I'll be expected to exit the elevator first. It's a generational thing. Most older men still have gentlemanly manners, most younger men do not. Not in the work world at least. Women are no longer the weaker sex; they are competition for jobs. And they just might bite your head off if you open a door for them. So offering up your seat on a bus could be viewed as condescension, and I for one would be embarrassed to take some poor kids seat. Unless I have heels on that day.
Push-me Pull-you
I've learned being pulled by the train engine is a much smoother ride than being pushed. In the morning I'm pulled and the ride is relatively jerk-free. In the afternoon we bounce and sway and jerk and sometimes feel like we're going to jump the track. In the afternoon, the engine is at the back of the train, pushing us home aggressively, almost angrily. In the afternoon, you don't try to write, or type. Or put on lipstick.
Us vs. Them
Suburbanites are more important than townies. I never read that rule anywhere, but it's very evident in the station. When they get off the train in the morning, those of us waiting to board better be out of the way. If we're on the platform already, we huddle up close to the train and wait for the mob to pass and the cars are cleared before trying to board. In the evening, they are impatiently gathered on the platform, bumping and shoving as you try to exit the train and get the hell out of their way. It makes me want to yell "I have someplace I have to be too, and why is your someplace more important than mine??????". Yeah, well, there's more of them than us, and they don't get to have a seat to themselves. If they don't hurry, they might even be standing for the trip of 30-40 minutes. Heaven help them if they're wearing heels. Oh, and this rule also applies entering and exiting the station. Like running the wrong way in a marathon.
Thanks where it's due
Aside from the shoving and lack of seat offerings, people are still generally nice. You might think that bus drivers have a thankless job. They deal with all manner of people, from thugs to prima donnas to free-ride seekers. They deal with traffic and pedestrians and try to stay on schedule. They manage to get you to where you're going, and amazingly you can count on them to be where they're supposed to be at about the time they're supposed to be there. Does anyone thank them for this? Yes. Almost everyone leaving a bus will tell the driver "thanks" or "have a good day". They don't get tipped like cab drivers. They are responsible for hundreds of lives every day, are patient and even when your fare card doesn't work, they'll let you on, although they may grumble a little. Most riders seem to acknowledge all of this, and express their appreciation. Saying "thanks" may not seem like much, but I'll bet it's nice to hear. At least it's good to know that we're not all so caught up in our busy lives that we fail to give a "thank you" where it's due.
So....More to add to my list of "things I'll miss" when I leave the city. Available transit is a wonderful thing. Seth came to visit last weekend and couldn't get a cab to the airport in Huntsville at 5 a.m. Well, he could get one but he would have to wait 40 minutes. Here you can't walk out the door without seeing a cab, several in fact. And there's the trains and buses. And you never have to wait more than a few minutes for any of them. While these luxuries are not really needed in a small city like Huntsville, going back to driving everywhere I go, whether to work or out to eat or shop, will make me a little sad. It's so much more fun to sit and let someone else do the driving for you.
Riding the train has presented additional opportunity for observations of people and life around me. Some funny, some sad, but most just stuff that makes me wonder. At one point a couple of weeks ago, I realized I had quite a little list of things that I would not otherwise have been exposed to. So of course, me being me, decided to list them. I'll probably forget a few but here are some of the most prevalent.
A sudden phobia
This month I reached a milestone I had never before known; I paid off my car. I actually kept a new car for 5 years and now it's mine. This might not be a big deal for some, but to not have a car payment is an amazing feat for me. Two things I learned from this: I'll never finance a car for 60 months again, and I am suddenly terrified that something will happen to my car. I'm more nervous about people behind me not stopping in time, or people changing lanes on top of me, or any of the dozens of reasons to wreck I face every day that I drive around here. I feel like it would just be my luck that, now that I've finally reached ownership, it will be short-lived.
For someone who's never worried much about having a wreck - I feel like I'm a pretty cautious and aware driver - this is an uncomfortable state. More reason to take the train as much as I can. More reason to get back to the South and away from stop-and-roll daily traffic.
Dancing Dave
In Huntsville there is (or was?) a guy famous for being out in the bars every weekend in his mismatched shirt and shorts, and socks pulled almost to his knees. That's not why he was famous - his fame came from how he would ask every female in the place to dance. He was "Dancing Dave", a man to be avoided if at all possible. I don't think he was quite all-together, but he took rejection better than anyone I've known.
I thought of Dave when, while waiting for the inbound train, I noticed a guy dancing to some song in his own head. Stepping, turning, stopping and doing it again, like he's practicing something. Which he may be. It's just odd, this guy standing on the platform with other commuters and in his own world. While he's a bit dorky and garners his share of suspicious glances, I gotta give it to him.....I wouldn't have the nerve to practice dance moves on the train platform to music in my head. Then again, I do stand on the corner waiting on the light to change and bob or move my head to whatever song is in my head at the time. I have a problem standing still - maybe he does too.
The death of chivalry
Now that the weather is better and the days are longer, I walk to and from Union Station most days. But I have to take a Pace bus (Pace is the suburban transit service) between the train station and the office. We have a lot of commuters on our bus, and many times it's packed to the gills. In the good ol' days, a packed bus would mean at least one thing - if a woman didn't have a seat, a gentleman would get up and offer his. No more. No one has ever offered me their seat, nor any of the other women that may be standing perilously on 3 inch heels holding a purse and laptop bag or lunch bag or whatever other bag (women always have at least one large bag and usually 2). In fact I'm sure any of those guys would be annoyed if a woman lost her footing rounding a curve and toppled over in his lap.
This is not really surprising; women fought for equal treatment and by golly we get it in many ways. I never know if a door will be opened for me, or if I'll be expected to exit the elevator first. It's a generational thing. Most older men still have gentlemanly manners, most younger men do not. Not in the work world at least. Women are no longer the weaker sex; they are competition for jobs. And they just might bite your head off if you open a door for them. So offering up your seat on a bus could be viewed as condescension, and I for one would be embarrassed to take some poor kids seat. Unless I have heels on that day.
Push-me Pull-you
I've learned being pulled by the train engine is a much smoother ride than being pushed. In the morning I'm pulled and the ride is relatively jerk-free. In the afternoon we bounce and sway and jerk and sometimes feel like we're going to jump the track. In the afternoon, the engine is at the back of the train, pushing us home aggressively, almost angrily. In the afternoon, you don't try to write, or type. Or put on lipstick.
Us vs. Them
Suburbanites are more important than townies. I never read that rule anywhere, but it's very evident in the station. When they get off the train in the morning, those of us waiting to board better be out of the way. If we're on the platform already, we huddle up close to the train and wait for the mob to pass and the cars are cleared before trying to board. In the evening, they are impatiently gathered on the platform, bumping and shoving as you try to exit the train and get the hell out of their way. It makes me want to yell "I have someplace I have to be too, and why is your someplace more important than mine??????". Yeah, well, there's more of them than us, and they don't get to have a seat to themselves. If they don't hurry, they might even be standing for the trip of 30-40 minutes. Heaven help them if they're wearing heels. Oh, and this rule also applies entering and exiting the station. Like running the wrong way in a marathon.
Thanks where it's due
Aside from the shoving and lack of seat offerings, people are still generally nice. You might think that bus drivers have a thankless job. They deal with all manner of people, from thugs to prima donnas to free-ride seekers. They deal with traffic and pedestrians and try to stay on schedule. They manage to get you to where you're going, and amazingly you can count on them to be where they're supposed to be at about the time they're supposed to be there. Does anyone thank them for this? Yes. Almost everyone leaving a bus will tell the driver "thanks" or "have a good day". They don't get tipped like cab drivers. They are responsible for hundreds of lives every day, are patient and even when your fare card doesn't work, they'll let you on, although they may grumble a little. Most riders seem to acknowledge all of this, and express their appreciation. Saying "thanks" may not seem like much, but I'll bet it's nice to hear. At least it's good to know that we're not all so caught up in our busy lives that we fail to give a "thank you" where it's due.
So....More to add to my list of "things I'll miss" when I leave the city. Available transit is a wonderful thing. Seth came to visit last weekend and couldn't get a cab to the airport in Huntsville at 5 a.m. Well, he could get one but he would have to wait 40 minutes. Here you can't walk out the door without seeing a cab, several in fact. And there's the trains and buses. And you never have to wait more than a few minutes for any of them. While these luxuries are not really needed in a small city like Huntsville, going back to driving everywhere I go, whether to work or out to eat or shop, will make me a little sad. It's so much more fun to sit and let someone else do the driving for you.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Of Green Rivers and Great Films (March, 2012)
Lacy and Jeff visited for St. Patrick’s Day. Since I’ve been here and first told Lacy about the dyeing of the Chicago River, she has talked about seeing it. It is something to see – the way they pour dye out of the boat and the river becomes a brilliant Kelly green. I had been so excited that they were coming up, not having seen any of my family since I was there at Christmas.
They arrived late Thursday, I picked them up at Midway, and after dropping the bags off we headed to the Hop Haus to see if anyone they had previously met was working and to get a bite to eat. Friday we were up early looking for new things to do. One thing I wanted to show them was Union Station, which is beautiful and amazing. We took the 11 bus, which is the same bus I take most mornings that I ride the train to work, jumped off at Adams, grabbed a Dunkin’ Donut, and walked across the river to the “new” side of the station.
The South entrance is right by the river, and leads to the food court and Amtrack station. An escalator or stairs takes you down to the bowels of the station where the trains arrive and leave. Continuing under Canal Street, you end up in the magnificence that is Union Station. Lacy and Jeff were duly impressed by the grandeur, and how the trains arrive and leave underneath the main floor of the station. The biggest thrill, however, was seeing the steps that were part of the movie “The Untouchables”. It’s one of my favorite movie scenes.
Lacy had not seen, or did not remember, the scene where Elliot Ness and his cohorts confront Al Capone’s gunmen on the marble stairs while a baby carriage slips down step by step to be saved by the cop played by a young Andy Garcia. Jeff pulled it up on his phone and we watched while at the foot of the staircase, amazed at the actual smallness of the site that looks so spacious on the big screen (or even little screen). We went up and stood at the same place Kevin Costner stood during the scene, pointing out where the other characters would have been. In the movie, the use of camera angles makes the staircase look more expansive than it is. In real life, it’s only maybe 12’-15’ wide.
This makes me wonder about scale in other movies. I’ve seen pictures of the house used as Tara in “Gone with the Wind”, and it’s a very small place compared to how magnificent it appears in the movie. The streets of Chicago look much wider in movies like “The Dark Knight”, especially under the El tracks. I think it would be interesting to be on a movie set while the filming is going on, and then see how the same set appears on film. Of course, movies make everything larger, more intense, more colorful or bleaker.
But back to the weekend….we next drove out to Oak Park and toured the Frank Lloyd Wright house and studio. Interesting, particularly if you’re a fan. I was intrigued by the various innovations developed by Mr. Wright that became more or less standard in future architecture, such as open floor plans and continuous views to the outside. He also designed much of the furniture in the house specifically for the space it occupies. The playroom upstairs had to be a fun place to have as a child – lots of nooks and crannies, built-in benches, and an upper level that could be used for performing plays or just reading privately.
On Saturday, again up and out early for breakfast and the river. Fortunately, or rather, unfortunately, the weather was amazing – warm, sunny, unusual for March. With such great weather came great crowds of people into downtown. People so thick we could hardly move around; there were lines to get up and down the steps to the river walk, lines to get across the bridges, lines at every restaurant and bar, Irish or not. We jumped on the El and headed to Wrigleyville, hoping to find less crowded crowds. We tried to visit every bar along Clark and did a pretty good job of it. Eventually, hunger, beer, and walking took their tolls and we headed back to town to rest up for the evening. Resting up turned into passing out, and we stayed in all evening. Probably a good choice considering the number of people still milling around the streets having had way too much fun all afternoon.
Sunday was a quiet day. It started with a grand surprise for me – breakfast at a restaurant Lacy had found online called “The Southern”. Grits, country ham, gravy and the like. Very good if not quite truly southern, and a bit pricey. Sitting on the patio enjoying the sun and good food was a great start to the day, and I really was tickled by the whole surprise of it. How “Lacy” it was to actually look for a place to take me serving southern food. She knows how I love my grits.
I always have so much fun when family or friends visit, and have so much sadness when they go. I love sharing this city with them but the heartstrings pull every time they leave. I want them here always, to share in the grand adventure, to discover with me the new things yet to see and do, and to just surround me with the love that is family and friends. Ah, well, we still have times to come, and then I’ll be back home, at times wishing I were here in Chicago. Maybe I should try another adventure sometime down the road. I mean, why limit myself (and my family) to one great city when there is so much of the world to see?
Adventures on the Rails (From February 2012)
I realize that there are still, after almost 2 years, so many new things to see and do here in Chicago, but sometimes I am just amazed when I stumble upon a new thing that I really like and will miss when I don’t have access to it any more. My latest is the commuter train.
The company I work for moved its corporate, and division, offices to a huge, shiny, new/old “campus” late last year. I say new/old because it was formerly the offices of another large company, abandoned during the recession, and purchased by Navistar for a sweet price. After months of renovations, people started moving in last November, and continued through January, until the place filled up almost to capacity. That might sound simple, but you have to understand – this place consists of 9 buildings, 5 which are older, 3-story (actually 4-story as there is a lower level underground) office spaces, each holding hundreds of workers, 3 that make up the newer “front” buildings, glass and steel modern constructions with a huge, ugly front feature that resembles an enormous satellite dish, and one “building” underground.
In the middle of all these buildings is a large pond – large enough that I could actually call it a lake. Glassed-in walkways that look like hamster tubes over the pond connect buildings 5 and 8 to 1, where the cafeteria and training rooms are. There are Starbucks and Red Mango “break” areas which threaten to break us all who have become addicted to the afternoon coffee or smoothie break. There are 2 fitness centers that offer classes throughout the day, open areas for informal exchanges of ideas (meetings), and the whole place is designed to encourage collaborative thinking among the various divisions and departments of the company.
The office is really nice, although many managers have had to adjust to cubicles or un-ceilinged offices, and for those of us that live in the actual Chicago area, our commute has doubled. To help alleviate the pain of commuting, the company arranged with the suburb bus service to provide a pick-up/drop-off service between local train stations and the office.
At first I thought taking the train to work would be too expensive and time-consuming, but once the first real snow was forecast on a Friday, threatening my ability to drive from work without extreme anxiety, I checked into what would be involved in becoming a Metra commuter. After some research, I found the nearest bus to my house that would deposit me at Union Station, where the train to Lisle would depart. A 3-block walk at 6:30 a.m. is doable, and in the evening, there’s a stop only a block away. Sweet.
Next was the train schedule and price. My bad luck is that the rates were increasing as of February 1, so I only had a couple of weeks to enjoy the lower price. Still, I could get a monthly, unlimited pass for about what it would cost in gas to drive back and forth 5 days a week. The cost of the bus on each end morning and evening was a small addition, not much more than the toll for the toll-road I had to take when driving.
So far, so good, but then I realized that taking the train limited me to a pretty strict time table. Getting to work in the morning was not the problem – I had the option of a 6:30 (if I really had insomnia), 7:01, or 7:20 train out, and they were all express, which meant I would have only a 30-minute ride. In the evening, not so great. The bus pick-up at the office was a choice of 4:40 or 5:15, to catch a 5:08 train to the city that was also express, or to catch a 5:40 train that stopped at every possible place between Lisle and Union Station, taking just over an hour. Should I have a need to stay at work past 5:15, someone would have to drive me to the station to catch a 6:40 train, and if I missed that, the next train was not until 8:40. Seems most people keep regular 9-5 work hours. At my office, a 5:30 meeting is not out of the question, and when you drive, is not a problem.
Okay, so I could manage the “early” day most of the time, but what about those long days during quarter-end close, or when there was a meeting, or training offsite, or whatever?? Well, I’d just have to drive some days, which makes the monthly pass not so desirable. My best option is a 10-ride pass which is slightly discounted from pay-as-you-go tickets. This would allow me to train it 2-3 days a week, and drive the rest, at a reasonable cost. Especially considering the near $5 price of gas in Chicago.
That’s a lot of explaining to say how I became a real city-fied commuter. And I have found a way to make my day a little less stressful by having an hour of quiet time, albeit bumpy and swaying at times because those express trains move pretty fast. I can read, play on my ipad, or just stare out the window. When it gets warmer and the days are longer, I can actually walk from home to Union Station, and back, and save the bus fare along with getting exercise and more relax time (I find walking very relaxing).
I’ve also had an excuse to explore Union Station and the surrounding area West of the river, which I had not yet done. Union Station is in itself a delight to see. Built in the early 1900’s, it’s grand hall is magnificent – open, grand, with a huge vaulted skylight atop the 100’ expanse to the ceiling. The marble staircases and carvings and statues surrounding the hall are beautiful, and the layout is a real architectural achievement. The station extends underneath the street and buildings to the actual train tracks, which enter both north and south of the station, but do not join. The clanging of the trains as they enter the station takes you back to a time when train travel was more commonplace. You can imagine the porters and the shouts of “all aboard”, and of course the black coal dust that probably covered everything.
Nowadays, there’s an annoying voice continually calling out the track numbers, which I guess is for the benefit of blind passengers. As you walk past each track entrance, you hear “track number 2, track number 2”, then “track number 4” and on and on. You also don’t want to be caught at an entrance when a train arrives as you’re likely to be mowed over by the crowds coming off the trains from the suburbs. But getting on the train car, flipping the seat to your desired direction, and settling in for a 30-minute read, or nap, or reverie, is a now welcome part of my day, 2 or 3 days each week. I’ve come to know some of my fellow commuters as we share the bus to the office, or wait outside the office in the afternoon.
Driving is generally close to an hour each way, sometimes more, rarely less. Taking the train usually is a about an hour twenty, but I can’t read while driving, or play euchre with an imaginary partner, or just close my eyes and relax. The cost is roughly the same either way, and the excuse of taking the train forces an early day which is very nice. Traffic may be laughably light in Huntsville compared to here, but if I could, I think I’d take the train at least occasionally should it be an option. Of course, it will never be an option in Huntsville, and it’s just another thing to add to the list of “what I will miss” when I leave here. That and having Starbucks right there in the office.
Bad Lynn
Yes, I've been badly behind in documenting my adventures in Chicagoland, but I do have a couple of entries that I wrote some time back and need to add. It's not that the adventure is less so, or that I've become bored with either Chicago or writing, but I've been bad. For a long time - at least a couple of years, I've not been able to read. I've pretty much always had a book going, usually switching from an "easy" read to something requiring more thought and concentration. For some time, however, I've not been able to get into a book, or to finish one, which is unlike me. Even if I didn't particularly enjoy a book, I would finish it because not doing so seemed disrespectful of the author's effort.
A couple of months ago, a co-worker told me she was reading a series that a friend had recommended, and she felt almost silly about doing it because the books were marketed as "young adult", meaning teenagers. But, she said, the books were so good she couldn't put them down, and was now on the third and last of the series. I ran across the first one in Target one day, and thought why not give it a try? I was immediately hooked, and continued to finish that one and buy the 2nd. By the time I was into the 2nd book, I heard about the movie. Hugely anticipated by the world of "hunger games" enthusiasts, a movie on the first book was imminent. Yep, I was reading the hunger games series, and deeply engrossed by the story and the writing.
I've never read a "young adult" series of books; never tried Harry Potter, though I've seen all the movies, or the vampire-werewolf series that also became movies, though I did see the first installment of that. There seems to be a huge market for books geared toward teen angst and adventure, which I think is great as it encourages reading, and forming the habit of reading. With the advent of video everything, I feared reading was going the way of big gas-guzzling, steel-bodied vehicles. But just like monster SUV's have maintained a fan base, reading is still alive and well among all age groups, even if it might be via a tablet, which is not a paper tablet but an electronic one.
I have an ipad, and I have books on it, mostly for convenience of transport (on the train, or plane), but there is still something satisfying about holding bound paper pages and flipping eagerly through them as you sink yourself into the fantasy world of whatever you happen to be reading. There's something about a library; a bookshelf filled with various sizes and titles and to say "I've read them all". I'm glad reading is still going strong, but something inside me dies a little each time I see a kindle, or nook, or even when I pick up my ipad and tap to turn the page. I truly hope that "real" books never become completely passe', and that the futuristic films showing people reminiscing about the time when books were on something called paper never really happens. But if it does, at least reading will not be something that goes the way of 8-track tapes.
I'm glad that I've been able to rediscover the joy of a good book, even if it does take time away from my little blog, or the quilt I started, or many other things I had been doing instead of reading. But without writing, there is no reading, and if I'm really going to someday produce an actual book, or at least, a story, to be published and read by others, I have to practice writing instead of just sinking into someone else's.
Bad Lynn is not really bad, it's just that there are so many fun things to do, and those things take up time that is short to begin with. Spending Sunday afternoon on the sofa engrossed in a good story is not really bad - it just takes away from things I feel I should be doing, or things I would do if I weren't so darned engrossed in what happens to Katniss and Peeta. If you don't know them, I highly endorse reading "The Hunger Games" to find out.
A couple of months ago, a co-worker told me she was reading a series that a friend had recommended, and she felt almost silly about doing it because the books were marketed as "young adult", meaning teenagers. But, she said, the books were so good she couldn't put them down, and was now on the third and last of the series. I ran across the first one in Target one day, and thought why not give it a try? I was immediately hooked, and continued to finish that one and buy the 2nd. By the time I was into the 2nd book, I heard about the movie. Hugely anticipated by the world of "hunger games" enthusiasts, a movie on the first book was imminent. Yep, I was reading the hunger games series, and deeply engrossed by the story and the writing.
I've never read a "young adult" series of books; never tried Harry Potter, though I've seen all the movies, or the vampire-werewolf series that also became movies, though I did see the first installment of that. There seems to be a huge market for books geared toward teen angst and adventure, which I think is great as it encourages reading, and forming the habit of reading. With the advent of video everything, I feared reading was going the way of big gas-guzzling, steel-bodied vehicles. But just like monster SUV's have maintained a fan base, reading is still alive and well among all age groups, even if it might be via a tablet, which is not a paper tablet but an electronic one.
I have an ipad, and I have books on it, mostly for convenience of transport (on the train, or plane), but there is still something satisfying about holding bound paper pages and flipping eagerly through them as you sink yourself into the fantasy world of whatever you happen to be reading. There's something about a library; a bookshelf filled with various sizes and titles and to say "I've read them all". I'm glad reading is still going strong, but something inside me dies a little each time I see a kindle, or nook, or even when I pick up my ipad and tap to turn the page. I truly hope that "real" books never become completely passe', and that the futuristic films showing people reminiscing about the time when books were on something called paper never really happens. But if it does, at least reading will not be something that goes the way of 8-track tapes.
I'm glad that I've been able to rediscover the joy of a good book, even if it does take time away from my little blog, or the quilt I started, or many other things I had been doing instead of reading. But without writing, there is no reading, and if I'm really going to someday produce an actual book, or at least, a story, to be published and read by others, I have to practice writing instead of just sinking into someone else's.
Bad Lynn is not really bad, it's just that there are so many fun things to do, and those things take up time that is short to begin with. Spending Sunday afternoon on the sofa engrossed in a good story is not really bad - it just takes away from things I feel I should be doing, or things I would do if I weren't so darned engrossed in what happens to Katniss and Peeta. If you don't know them, I highly endorse reading "The Hunger Games" to find out.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Decisions, decisions
I am not happy with my co-workers; those 2 that were out part of last week with colds. I don't get simple illnesses like colds very often - I get the weird, unheard of things, like an allergy to sesame seeds that suddenly has me worrying about the bun my hamburger comes on. Nevertheless, I woke up this morning with a pounding headache, stuffy nose, and chills. With my luck, I'll feel like crap all day today (Sunday), and wake up tomorrow just fine. I have things I want to do today, and I would be fine staying home in bed tomorrow. Hopefully the "cold & sinus" pills will allow me to feel well enough to at least finish cleaning house.
I have to clean house because I received an email last week from the owner of my lovely 12th story condominium, asking what day would be good for an appraiser to stop in. Two thoughts immediately entered my brain - the first being "oh shit I have to clean the house", and the second being "oh shit why are they getting the place appraised". Having an excuse to clean is not a bad thing - I need an excuse more often. But having an appraisal done when I'm 3 months from the end of my current lease is worrisome. Are they selling it? Are they raising my rent? Are they booting me to the street just months from my planned return to Alabama?
I wrote back as cooperatively joyful as I could muster, saying "sure no problem Monday would be great!". And oh by the way, I am really hoping to be able to stay on a bit longer....hint hint. Thankfully the response was that they love having me here and are sure we can work something out on the lease. Whew. I really would hate to be forced into a move only to have to move again in a few months. Besides, moving is expensive and finding a suitable place as wonderful as this one would be a pain.
It's really hard for me to believe I've been here in Chicago for almost 2 years. My original plan was a 2-3 year stint before moving back home, and I've talked with both my current and former bosses, and it seems that a return is in the plan for late this year, if not earlier. Great. Fantastic. Home. But....but......I love it here. So it seems my choice is to stay on another couple of years in a different role that would give me even broader experience before returning, or to stick with my conviction of moving back to the bosom of my family and friends in the South. It's a truly difficult decision.
When I embarked on this grand adventure of leaving all that I have known my entire life to experience life in a foreign land (well, foreign to me), I was certain that 2 years would be all I could handle. It wasn't so much the hills and rivers of North Alabama that would pull me back, it would be family. I've joked for years that my kids couldn't manage to be very far away from me as they seemed to follow me wherever I went. When I moved to Huntsville, here came each of them. And until they were both married, I threatened to put a revolving door on my house, because if one was moving out, the other was moving in.
Even though they were out and on their own (finally), we were all still within a few minutes of each other, and I really thought that being hours apart would quickly wear thin. The truth of it is the hours are not that many, and I still see them often, and they love coming to visit Chicago, if not me. And now the 2-3 year adventure is coming to a close and I'm uncertain. Can I go back to the country life where there are no skyscrapers and trains and food of every imaginable type and actual professional sporting events and concerts and shows and all of the things that are available whether I can afford them or not?
I dream of a house with a dog and a cat and a garden and flowers and trees and a porch with a swing and a view of the mountains. I dream of Saturday morning coffee with Lacy and Sunday evening dinner with Seth. I dream of having my grandson and future grandchildren running around me playing games and baking cookies and learning to quilt or knit or crochet just like I did with my grandmother. I dream of having a happy place and being the fun gramma that everyone loves to visit.
When I dream of my future life and my slow-down years, there's no Michigan Avenue or elevated trains or Willis Tower or Wrigley Field. There's no city outside my door, only grass and June bugs. There's no exploration of man-made architecture, only Mother Nature's. I love this city, and it has given me so much that I never would have had. In years to come, it will still be my city to share, if only on short trips. There are so many other places to visit and enjoy, but only a few that I know and love and that feel a part of me - Gulf Shores, Auburn, DeSoto State Park, and most of North Alabama. And, of course, Chicago, Illinois.
Will it be hard to go back? Of course. Will I miss this place? Definitely. Will I feel that pull in my heart every time I hear "Chicago" in the news or see a movie with a familiar backdrop? Absolutely. Will I remember my time here fondly as I mow my yard in 95-degree humid hell? You betcha. But I know where I really, really want to be, long-term, and it ain't here. I'll make the best of the time I have left here, and skip home with a smile on my face, and in my heart. :)
I have to clean house because I received an email last week from the owner of my lovely 12th story condominium, asking what day would be good for an appraiser to stop in. Two thoughts immediately entered my brain - the first being "oh shit I have to clean the house", and the second being "oh shit why are they getting the place appraised". Having an excuse to clean is not a bad thing - I need an excuse more often. But having an appraisal done when I'm 3 months from the end of my current lease is worrisome. Are they selling it? Are they raising my rent? Are they booting me to the street just months from my planned return to Alabama?
I wrote back as cooperatively joyful as I could muster, saying "sure no problem Monday would be great!". And oh by the way, I am really hoping to be able to stay on a bit longer....hint hint. Thankfully the response was that they love having me here and are sure we can work something out on the lease. Whew. I really would hate to be forced into a move only to have to move again in a few months. Besides, moving is expensive and finding a suitable place as wonderful as this one would be a pain.
It's really hard for me to believe I've been here in Chicago for almost 2 years. My original plan was a 2-3 year stint before moving back home, and I've talked with both my current and former bosses, and it seems that a return is in the plan for late this year, if not earlier. Great. Fantastic. Home. But....but......I love it here. So it seems my choice is to stay on another couple of years in a different role that would give me even broader experience before returning, or to stick with my conviction of moving back to the bosom of my family and friends in the South. It's a truly difficult decision.
When I embarked on this grand adventure of leaving all that I have known my entire life to experience life in a foreign land (well, foreign to me), I was certain that 2 years would be all I could handle. It wasn't so much the hills and rivers of North Alabama that would pull me back, it would be family. I've joked for years that my kids couldn't manage to be very far away from me as they seemed to follow me wherever I went. When I moved to Huntsville, here came each of them. And until they were both married, I threatened to put a revolving door on my house, because if one was moving out, the other was moving in.
Even though they were out and on their own (finally), we were all still within a few minutes of each other, and I really thought that being hours apart would quickly wear thin. The truth of it is the hours are not that many, and I still see them often, and they love coming to visit Chicago, if not me. And now the 2-3 year adventure is coming to a close and I'm uncertain. Can I go back to the country life where there are no skyscrapers and trains and food of every imaginable type and actual professional sporting events and concerts and shows and all of the things that are available whether I can afford them or not?
I dream of a house with a dog and a cat and a garden and flowers and trees and a porch with a swing and a view of the mountains. I dream of Saturday morning coffee with Lacy and Sunday evening dinner with Seth. I dream of having my grandson and future grandchildren running around me playing games and baking cookies and learning to quilt or knit or crochet just like I did with my grandmother. I dream of having a happy place and being the fun gramma that everyone loves to visit.
When I dream of my future life and my slow-down years, there's no Michigan Avenue or elevated trains or Willis Tower or Wrigley Field. There's no city outside my door, only grass and June bugs. There's no exploration of man-made architecture, only Mother Nature's. I love this city, and it has given me so much that I never would have had. In years to come, it will still be my city to share, if only on short trips. There are so many other places to visit and enjoy, but only a few that I know and love and that feel a part of me - Gulf Shores, Auburn, DeSoto State Park, and most of North Alabama. And, of course, Chicago, Illinois.
Will it be hard to go back? Of course. Will I miss this place? Definitely. Will I feel that pull in my heart every time I hear "Chicago" in the news or see a movie with a familiar backdrop? Absolutely. Will I remember my time here fondly as I mow my yard in 95-degree humid hell? You betcha. But I know where I really, really want to be, long-term, and it ain't here. I'll make the best of the time I have left here, and skip home with a smile on my face, and in my heart. :)
Saturday, January 14, 2012
"blow, blow thou winter wind.."
Snow. Magical, delicate, beautiful snow. It floats past my window this Saturday morning adding to the inches already pushed aside by plows and shovels down on the street and sidewalk. Winter has finally come to Chicago, making as delayed an entrance as summer did last year. Earlier this week the mercury was pushing 60 degrees, and this morning it was 14 when I awoke at my usual 5 a.m.
I've come to realize that I'm a winter person. Not the wet, messy, cold-but-not-cold-enough-to-snow winter of my native North Alabama, but the oh-so-cold and blustery winter of this mid-west mecca. Donning boots and scarves and down and hat and gloves to make a simple trek of 3 or 4 blocks can be exhilarating. The cold wind seems fresher, the icy particles in my face are invigorating, and the warmth of returning home for hot chocolate to ease the chill is a treat not so enjoyed otherwise.
Winter days also invite quiet, reflective time inside, whereas summer days make me feel I should be out, doing, going, "enjoying". I'm more an inside, quiet kind of person. Reading, knitting, stitching, painting are winter activities, and things I enjoy much. Not to mention that if I am out on a winter day such as this, there's a different beauty to the trees, the river, and even the buildings shrouded in white. There is as much laughter of children in the park as there is in summer, although muffled beneath the layers of wool.
Of course there are down sides just as in summer - the piles of snow on the streets turn ugly and gray with soot and slush in time, maneuvering is tricky on foot or on tires, frozen toes and fingers and nose are fun only so long. Nights are long, and sunlight rare, and eventually the cloudy skies become depressing. But there's always the promise that Spring is coming; it may come later here, but it does come.
I saw a quote, something like "walking on snow makes me feel like I'm walking on clouds", and thought how nice it is to see a positive remark about winter. Not the "now is the winter of our discontent", or the "winter of our life". But, then, the winter of discontent is turned to summer by the "son of York" (from Richard III), and the winter of our life is followed by the eternal light of heaven. It doesn't have to mean a dark end of days but instead can mean a time to enjoy.
Even "old age" should be as much a time to enjoy as the spring of youth, and for one watching the leaves of autumn begin to fall, I can't see that my life is any less remarkable. There is still much to experience and learn, and it is done with so much more understanding of what's important. Any obstacle is just something to get around or over, not a reason to stop. Winter is just a different season, with beauty of its own, if we stop looking at it as something to dread and rush by like a cemetery, reaching at us with bare-branch fingers to hold us in its cold grasp.
I would not relive my youth any more than I would relive last summer, knowing I couldn't change anything or do anything differently. And so I would not miss this winter any more than I would purposefully miss whatever is left of my life. I will not go into the winter of life fussing and moaning about the cold and snow and wishing for it to be over soon. Or that I could skip it altogether. All seasons are wonderful, joyous times with their own flavors and scents and lessons, whether we're talking weather or life.
And now I bundle to brave the winds and snow and cold - must get some milk so that I can make that hot chocolate to enjoy when I get back from getting the milk while braving the cold so that I need hot chocolate to warm me up.
I've come to realize that I'm a winter person. Not the wet, messy, cold-but-not-cold-enough-to-snow winter of my native North Alabama, but the oh-so-cold and blustery winter of this mid-west mecca. Donning boots and scarves and down and hat and gloves to make a simple trek of 3 or 4 blocks can be exhilarating. The cold wind seems fresher, the icy particles in my face are invigorating, and the warmth of returning home for hot chocolate to ease the chill is a treat not so enjoyed otherwise.
Winter days also invite quiet, reflective time inside, whereas summer days make me feel I should be out, doing, going, "enjoying". I'm more an inside, quiet kind of person. Reading, knitting, stitching, painting are winter activities, and things I enjoy much. Not to mention that if I am out on a winter day such as this, there's a different beauty to the trees, the river, and even the buildings shrouded in white. There is as much laughter of children in the park as there is in summer, although muffled beneath the layers of wool.
Of course there are down sides just as in summer - the piles of snow on the streets turn ugly and gray with soot and slush in time, maneuvering is tricky on foot or on tires, frozen toes and fingers and nose are fun only so long. Nights are long, and sunlight rare, and eventually the cloudy skies become depressing. But there's always the promise that Spring is coming; it may come later here, but it does come.
I saw a quote, something like "walking on snow makes me feel like I'm walking on clouds", and thought how nice it is to see a positive remark about winter. Not the "now is the winter of our discontent", or the "winter of our life". But, then, the winter of discontent is turned to summer by the "son of York" (from Richard III), and the winter of our life is followed by the eternal light of heaven. It doesn't have to mean a dark end of days but instead can mean a time to enjoy.
Even "old age" should be as much a time to enjoy as the spring of youth, and for one watching the leaves of autumn begin to fall, I can't see that my life is any less remarkable. There is still much to experience and learn, and it is done with so much more understanding of what's important. Any obstacle is just something to get around or over, not a reason to stop. Winter is just a different season, with beauty of its own, if we stop looking at it as something to dread and rush by like a cemetery, reaching at us with bare-branch fingers to hold us in its cold grasp.
I would not relive my youth any more than I would relive last summer, knowing I couldn't change anything or do anything differently. And so I would not miss this winter any more than I would purposefully miss whatever is left of my life. I will not go into the winter of life fussing and moaning about the cold and snow and wishing for it to be over soon. Or that I could skip it altogether. All seasons are wonderful, joyous times with their own flavors and scents and lessons, whether we're talking weather or life.
And now I bundle to brave the winds and snow and cold - must get some milk so that I can make that hot chocolate to enjoy when I get back from getting the milk while braving the cold so that I need hot chocolate to warm me up.
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