There's nothing more beautiful than a double dose of something beautiful. And there's nothing more frustrating or painful than a double dose of something frustrating or painful.
Sunsets in colors of deep orange and coral and rose can be breathtaking. You want to breathe it in and hold onto before it fades into night. When that sunset is reflected so that you get a double dose, it can sometimes be so overwhelming that it's more than you can absorb. I have seen sunsets reflected on water - lake, pond, river, ocean (actually, gulf) many times in my life. A new experience for me is a sunset reflected in the glass and steel of multiple buildings, which can also be a magnificent site. In the city, I see that sometimes from my balcony - when I can't actually view the sunset on the western horizon, but know its beauty from the reflections in buildings near me. Last Friday, driving home from work, I headed east on the Ike (I290) and saw such a sunset in my rear view. As I approached downtown, the tall buildings along the Chicago skyline were afire, reflecting the colors of the sunset. The Willis tower, Trump, and others shown gold and red just for a moment and were more beautiful than I'd ever seen. One of those moments when I wished I could pull over and capture the sight - but traffic was heavy, and my camera was sitting at home. I took a snapshot in my head of both views, the rear and forward so I keep it even though I can't share.
For the past few weeks, I've struggled with allergies. My sinuses drain down my throat and nose, causing constant sniffing and ahem-ing. It's aggrevating, but Allegra keeps things pretty much under control. Something new, however, is I seem to be afflicted with an allergic reaction in my eyes. Not so much in as around, with itching and swelling of the skin above and below my eyes - redness, bagginess, scaliness, and all-around ugliness. It comes and goes at odd times, and I'm starting to think I've developed an allergy to either a food or environmental irritant. Two weeks ago, I was on a cruise ship, doing fine (after my luggage finally arrived, but that's another story) until the final evening. After dinner, the skin around my eyes started burning and itching, and swelling - one little welt was particularly visible. Thinking back over what I had eaten, the shrimp seemed a likely culprit. My dad developed a sudden seafood allergy when he was around my age, so it makes sense. I dosed up with Benedryl and Allegra over the weekend, and by Monday was all better.
Yesterday, I walked the several blocks to my massage place, enjoyed my monthly kneading of knots, and walked back, stopping off for some breakfast. When I got home, the itching, burning, and swelling started up again. There was no seafood in the skillet concoction I had eaten, so whether it was food or something in the air, or the oil the massage therapist uses, I can't say. The skillet contained eggs, potatoes, cheese, peppers and onions. Nothing that I can really relate to the dinner on the ship. Dairy? Olive oil? Peppers??
My double dose of allergy symptoms is driving me a bit looney, but more importantly, is painful and mysterious. Seems I'm always coming up with something oddball that warrants a visit to the doctor. Maybe it's time to see an allergist and find out what it is that I can't eat or do without consequences. Having enjoyed a fairly allergy-free life so far, other than the usual spring and fall pollens, I consider myself lucky in comparison to those that suffer from birth with dairy, nuts, and other such allergies that will affect them for all of their life.
There are worse double doses - losing loved ones in multiples, being out of work and out of a home, crashing your car and being injured, or causing pain for someone else, which causes pain for yourself. But there are good double doses too - having your cake and eating it too, reading a good book that has a sequel, enjoying a movie along with someone's company, chocolate-filled chocolate. Loving and being loved back. Life regularly hits us with multiple doses of both positive and negative, and our hope is that the positive comes out on top in the end.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
a farewell to arms
While the 90's still prevail in Alabama, the past several days (save one) have only seen 80's and 70's here. The coolness of the evenings and early mornings serve as reminders that Fall is on its way. The Summer has been short; it didn't really start until June, and here at the end of August, it's almost gone. It's been eventful nonetheless.
In spite of all the visitors and experiences over the past couple of months, it still seems I've not had a vacation this year. And when I check the calendar at work I find that, well, I actually haven't. I had a week "off" when Lennon was born, but worked off and on that week while fighting a virus in between. Since then I've had a day or two, I think. Doesn't feel like it and I couldn't tell you when; most of the days I was supposed to be off I've ended up working. I need a break.
In 3 weeks I'm going to go on my first cruise. I'm both excited and not. Excited to be getting out of Chicago without going to Alabama, although I badly miss my family and mainly my adorable precious cute-as-a-bug grandson. Not excited because I don't know what I'm going to do with 4 days on a boat alone with a bunch of other people who will mostly be not alone I'm sure. Maybe I'll actually read a book which is something I haven't been able to do in a while. Maybe I'll forget about work and the job I'm not in love with. Maybe I won't stress too badly about not talking to or hearing from the family. Maybe I'll actually relax and refresh and come back happy and serene.
Maybe I won't fall overboard and be eaten by sharks. Maybe I won't be over-bored. But really, how long can you sit by a pool or on the beach before you get antsy? And antsy is what I need to not be. Antsyless, anti-antsy, antsy free, unantsy. Maybe I won't come back as keyed up and antsy as I go. Maybe it will be good. Of course it will be good.
So, anyway, Summer is leaving and sweater-weather is coming. Won't be long til that first cold night and that first snow and that first BIG snow and then the holidays and another year. Soon we'll say a farewell to arms and toes and hello to long sleeves and shoes. Life keeps rolling along like the waves. We just ride along with it. Helps to have a big boat to keep us from getting eaten by sharks.
In spite of all the visitors and experiences over the past couple of months, it still seems I've not had a vacation this year. And when I check the calendar at work I find that, well, I actually haven't. I had a week "off" when Lennon was born, but worked off and on that week while fighting a virus in between. Since then I've had a day or two, I think. Doesn't feel like it and I couldn't tell you when; most of the days I was supposed to be off I've ended up working. I need a break.
In 3 weeks I'm going to go on my first cruise. I'm both excited and not. Excited to be getting out of Chicago without going to Alabama, although I badly miss my family and mainly my adorable precious cute-as-a-bug grandson. Not excited because I don't know what I'm going to do with 4 days on a boat alone with a bunch of other people who will mostly be not alone I'm sure. Maybe I'll actually read a book which is something I haven't been able to do in a while. Maybe I'll forget about work and the job I'm not in love with. Maybe I won't stress too badly about not talking to or hearing from the family. Maybe I'll actually relax and refresh and come back happy and serene.
Maybe I won't fall overboard and be eaten by sharks. Maybe I won't be over-bored. But really, how long can you sit by a pool or on the beach before you get antsy? And antsy is what I need to not be. Antsyless, anti-antsy, antsy free, unantsy. Maybe I won't come back as keyed up and antsy as I go. Maybe it will be good. Of course it will be good.
So, anyway, Summer is leaving and sweater-weather is coming. Won't be long til that first cold night and that first snow and that first BIG snow and then the holidays and another year. Soon we'll say a farewell to arms and toes and hello to long sleeves and shoes. Life keeps rolling along like the waves. We just ride along with it. Helps to have a big boat to keep us from getting eaten by sharks.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
southsick
Been feeling a bit sick lately. Not physically ill, but something like homesick. More like Southsick, or countrysick. I guess it's not homesick because my home is here, in Chicago, where my stuff is. I no longer have a home in Alabama except that my family is there, and that's "home" as in where the heart is.
I still love living here, but things have been getting to me in a way they haven't since moving here. I passed a display of "sweet corn" in the grocery store last week, and almost cried. I thought of farmers selling Silver Queen from the back of a truck on the side of the highway. I thought of my dad's garden and biting into a fresh ear of corn grown and picked by him. Or the rattlesnake green beans, or purple hull peas, or him out there in long sleeves and a hat in mid-July, complaining that somebody better take some of these vegetables or he was going to quit putting in such a big garden (which he never would).
The corn in the store was somehow a representation of what it means to be southern. It brought up all the things that are easy to miss when you're not there. I don't miss the humidity, and chuckle when folks here complain that it's sooo hot and humid outside. I don't miss the mosquitos, or the houseflies, but the lack of those here may have something to do with being in the city and not in the 'burbs. I do miss junebugs, and grits any time I want them, and real cornbread (although if I try I can find the makings here). I miss the slowness of things, the quiet evenings when the tree frogs start up. I miss digging in the dirt and mowing the yard.
I miss being aware of sirens out on the highway rather than being so used to them I don't even hear them anymore. I miss waking up in the middle of the night to dead silence and dark. I miss the snowcone truck that played the same slightly out-of-tune melody every evening. I miss train whistles and the way they bend as they pass. I miss not hearing every day that someone local was killed by gunshot. I miss seeing my family whenever I want.
But....then on days like today, I remember why I love being here. Why I love being in a city where happy surprises occur regularly and I can see and do things that I can't in small-city Alabama. I can go to a festival or "taste of.." or street market any time if I so choose. I can walk to the river and watch tourists and kayaks and water taxis cruise up and down. I can stand on a corner on Michigan Avenue and hear 5 different languages at once. At least I think they're all different.
I can see a 27-foot statue depicting the famous scene from "The Seven-Year Itch" with Marilyn holding her dress down while standing on a subway grate. I can find quiet little gardens and fountains tucked away from the hordes of people, or be in the middle of the hordes enjoying a ballgame or concert or just walking the mag mile. And I can even sit in my house and see amazing examples of architectural genius that date back over a century.
Yes, I'm a little sick for the pleasures of life that I knew for most of my years. Sometimes I feel a little like the man in The Seven Year Itch - having an affair with the exciting, beautiful neighbor because the well-known was getting a little boring. And like him, I'll go back, even if I have to ask forgiveness for my waywardness, my infidelity. I'm not really leaving the South for good, I'm just having a little fling. The South will be there when I'm ready to return, unchanged and familiar; I just hope it lets me back in.
I still love living here, but things have been getting to me in a way they haven't since moving here. I passed a display of "sweet corn" in the grocery store last week, and almost cried. I thought of farmers selling Silver Queen from the back of a truck on the side of the highway. I thought of my dad's garden and biting into a fresh ear of corn grown and picked by him. Or the rattlesnake green beans, or purple hull peas, or him out there in long sleeves and a hat in mid-July, complaining that somebody better take some of these vegetables or he was going to quit putting in such a big garden (which he never would).
The corn in the store was somehow a representation of what it means to be southern. It brought up all the things that are easy to miss when you're not there. I don't miss the humidity, and chuckle when folks here complain that it's sooo hot and humid outside. I don't miss the mosquitos, or the houseflies, but the lack of those here may have something to do with being in the city and not in the 'burbs. I do miss junebugs, and grits any time I want them, and real cornbread (although if I try I can find the makings here). I miss the slowness of things, the quiet evenings when the tree frogs start up. I miss digging in the dirt and mowing the yard.
I miss being aware of sirens out on the highway rather than being so used to them I don't even hear them anymore. I miss waking up in the middle of the night to dead silence and dark. I miss the snowcone truck that played the same slightly out-of-tune melody every evening. I miss train whistles and the way they bend as they pass. I miss not hearing every day that someone local was killed by gunshot. I miss seeing my family whenever I want.
But....then on days like today, I remember why I love being here. Why I love being in a city where happy surprises occur regularly and I can see and do things that I can't in small-city Alabama. I can go to a festival or "taste of.." or street market any time if I so choose. I can walk to the river and watch tourists and kayaks and water taxis cruise up and down. I can stand on a corner on Michigan Avenue and hear 5 different languages at once. At least I think they're all different.
I can see a 27-foot statue depicting the famous scene from "The Seven-Year Itch" with Marilyn holding her dress down while standing on a subway grate. I can find quiet little gardens and fountains tucked away from the hordes of people, or be in the middle of the hordes enjoying a ballgame or concert or just walking the mag mile. And I can even sit in my house and see amazing examples of architectural genius that date back over a century.
Yes, I'm a little sick for the pleasures of life that I knew for most of my years. Sometimes I feel a little like the man in The Seven Year Itch - having an affair with the exciting, beautiful neighbor because the well-known was getting a little boring. And like him, I'll go back, even if I have to ask forgiveness for my waywardness, my infidelity. I'm not really leaving the South for good, I'm just having a little fling. The South will be there when I'm ready to return, unchanged and familiar; I just hope it lets me back in.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
musings on a saturday night
Been kinda quiet of late. Mainly working a lot, fretting a lot, and waiting on there to be a Spring here. It's been an unusually cold and gloomy "spring" which is not a spring at all. But, last weekend as I wandered a bit, tulips and trees were blooming, birds were singing, and there was a hint of sun peeking through. It feels as though we may get a break from the gloom, which will lift spirits and smiles and hearts within this wonderful city.
Another place with spirit and heart is the state I call home. In the year I've been here, I've seen my state in national media more than I think my entire life. It started with the gulf oil spill, with tar balls and oil-soaked marine life washing up on my beloved white beaches. There followed stories of scandals and championship, then poisoned trees. The terror of April 27th eclipsed all else. The toll of lives and destruction continues to rise more than a week later. People at work and in town ask if my family is okay, which warms my heart. And it's good that I can answer yes, they are all good. But my extended family, those others who call Alabama home, are not all good. It's tragic beyond words.
For me, it started as I was leaving work on that Wednesday. I had heard of storms that morning, and the chance of stronger storms late in the day. Nothing unusual for Spring in Alabama, so I didn't give it a lot of thought as I immersed myself in work. It was not until I was driving home that I heard about the tornadoes. I started trying to call people, not getting through to anyone, beginning to worry and wonder. Finally heard from Lacy who told me power was out, then a brief message from Tine that they had been without power for several hours, but they were okay. I was able to pick up bits and pieces from what spotty Facebook feeds people were still able to post from their phones, but even those started to wane as power still did not return and phones obviously starting dying.
Late that night a text from Jeff saying he had good info that power would be out for several days - 5 or more. I thought it was an exaggeration, or that the utility was being overly cautious, but no, it was true. My planned trip home for the weekend was suddenly in jeopardy - with no power, no gas, no food, would it be feasible for me to still go? Would the airline even be going into an area with mass power outages? Would I be more of a burden than a help, being another mouth to feed, needing transport, sitting in the dark with everyone else? Adding to my despair was the lack of communication with Seth and Tine, who I would be staying with if I went. I wanted so badly to go, to make sure they were okay, to see my 2-week old grandson. Finally, I decided to cancel the trip - with a very heavy heart.
Sometime over the weekend, phone service was available long enough for Tine to send a picture of Seth and Lennon sleeping together on the sofa, both peaceful and poignant. I stared at the picture for a long time, taking it in and imagining that I was there seeing it in person. It was not until Sunday that I talked to Seth - they still had no power, but were getting along with their gas stove and lots of ice. Lacy and Jeff had left town, opting for a weekend in Chattanooga rather than peer at each other through fading candlelight when they could no longer see to read, so I had been in touch with them. It helped to talk to Seth and to know that they were holding up, albeit without hot showers or phones or computers or TV or artificial light. I knew that those days of primitive skills involvement when the kids were younger would help them now. Finally.
Well, slowly, things started to get back to as normal as they could. Lacy and Jeff returned to town with coolers full of food and water and ice, and were lucky to have power return Sunday night. They were then able to help those in need by cooking and distributing food in the hard hit area north of town, which happened to be about a mile from Seth and Tine's house. The area of Anderson Hills was decimated, and it was way too close to my son and his family for anything near comfort. They finally saw lights again on Tuesday, almost a week from when things went dark.
One of the first communications that I received from Tine was a picture of Lennon that I can't look at without crying. It's the most pitiful sad face, with just a hint of tear in his eyes, a look of desperate want, peering at her camera. The caption read "sad because you're not here". Oh, break my poor heart!!!! But I knew they were safe, and knowing that, I could take the heartbreak. That and knowing that in three weeks I'll have another chance to get there and hold him and delight in his babyness and his daily discoveries of the world around him.
With power to post and text pictures, I'm glad for Tine's daily documentation of Lennon's growth, moods, accomplishments - laughing, raising his head, eyes wider and more attentive. It's as close as I can be to actually being there. I know that I will soon be there for real, and in the not too distant future, there for good. I'll be part of his life and theirs, and Lacy's and Jeff's and the rest of my family once again, not from afar, but from aclose. I'm happy that I have a wonderful connection with them all, which is so much more than some. I'm thankful that none of us are mourning the loss of loved ones as so many are. I'm at ease knowing they have homes and beds and food and necessities and each other. I'm at peace in knowing that they know how much they are loved. And I take such comfort in knowing that they love me, appreciate me, and want me in their lives.
That's the best Mother's Day gift of all - family that is truly family. They are so much a part of me that they are nearly all of me. But they do give me a little room for me to have a part for myself.
Another place with spirit and heart is the state I call home. In the year I've been here, I've seen my state in national media more than I think my entire life. It started with the gulf oil spill, with tar balls and oil-soaked marine life washing up on my beloved white beaches. There followed stories of scandals and championship, then poisoned trees. The terror of April 27th eclipsed all else. The toll of lives and destruction continues to rise more than a week later. People at work and in town ask if my family is okay, which warms my heart. And it's good that I can answer yes, they are all good. But my extended family, those others who call Alabama home, are not all good. It's tragic beyond words.
For me, it started as I was leaving work on that Wednesday. I had heard of storms that morning, and the chance of stronger storms late in the day. Nothing unusual for Spring in Alabama, so I didn't give it a lot of thought as I immersed myself in work. It was not until I was driving home that I heard about the tornadoes. I started trying to call people, not getting through to anyone, beginning to worry and wonder. Finally heard from Lacy who told me power was out, then a brief message from Tine that they had been without power for several hours, but they were okay. I was able to pick up bits and pieces from what spotty Facebook feeds people were still able to post from their phones, but even those started to wane as power still did not return and phones obviously starting dying.
Late that night a text from Jeff saying he had good info that power would be out for several days - 5 or more. I thought it was an exaggeration, or that the utility was being overly cautious, but no, it was true. My planned trip home for the weekend was suddenly in jeopardy - with no power, no gas, no food, would it be feasible for me to still go? Would the airline even be going into an area with mass power outages? Would I be more of a burden than a help, being another mouth to feed, needing transport, sitting in the dark with everyone else? Adding to my despair was the lack of communication with Seth and Tine, who I would be staying with if I went. I wanted so badly to go, to make sure they were okay, to see my 2-week old grandson. Finally, I decided to cancel the trip - with a very heavy heart.
Sometime over the weekend, phone service was available long enough for Tine to send a picture of Seth and Lennon sleeping together on the sofa, both peaceful and poignant. I stared at the picture for a long time, taking it in and imagining that I was there seeing it in person. It was not until Sunday that I talked to Seth - they still had no power, but were getting along with their gas stove and lots of ice. Lacy and Jeff had left town, opting for a weekend in Chattanooga rather than peer at each other through fading candlelight when they could no longer see to read, so I had been in touch with them. It helped to talk to Seth and to know that they were holding up, albeit without hot showers or phones or computers or TV or artificial light. I knew that those days of primitive skills involvement when the kids were younger would help them now. Finally.
Well, slowly, things started to get back to as normal as they could. Lacy and Jeff returned to town with coolers full of food and water and ice, and were lucky to have power return Sunday night. They were then able to help those in need by cooking and distributing food in the hard hit area north of town, which happened to be about a mile from Seth and Tine's house. The area of Anderson Hills was decimated, and it was way too close to my son and his family for anything near comfort. They finally saw lights again on Tuesday, almost a week from when things went dark.
One of the first communications that I received from Tine was a picture of Lennon that I can't look at without crying. It's the most pitiful sad face, with just a hint of tear in his eyes, a look of desperate want, peering at her camera. The caption read "sad because you're not here". Oh, break my poor heart!!!! But I knew they were safe, and knowing that, I could take the heartbreak. That and knowing that in three weeks I'll have another chance to get there and hold him and delight in his babyness and his daily discoveries of the world around him.
With power to post and text pictures, I'm glad for Tine's daily documentation of Lennon's growth, moods, accomplishments - laughing, raising his head, eyes wider and more attentive. It's as close as I can be to actually being there. I know that I will soon be there for real, and in the not too distant future, there for good. I'll be part of his life and theirs, and Lacy's and Jeff's and the rest of my family once again, not from afar, but from aclose. I'm happy that I have a wonderful connection with them all, which is so much more than some. I'm thankful that none of us are mourning the loss of loved ones as so many are. I'm at ease knowing they have homes and beds and food and necessities and each other. I'm at peace in knowing that they know how much they are loved. And I take such comfort in knowing that they love me, appreciate me, and want me in their lives.
That's the best Mother's Day gift of all - family that is truly family. They are so much a part of me that they are nearly all of me. But they do give me a little room for me to have a part for myself.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
home and home
Being in Alabama for almost 2 weeks, with the warm Spring weather, the blossoms and birds, the mountains and blue skies, was spoiling. I suddenly wanted to live there again. Not only because of Lennon, but because it so feels like home to me. Spring is a wonderful time in the South, despite the pine pollen. I guess Spring is wonderful anywhere as it is such a renewal and revival of life in every form.
I was so sad to leave, and the sadness followed me all the way back to Chicago. Reaching that point on I94 where the skyline was visible did something to me though. And walking into my place and seeing the city lights outside, hearing the city noises, being surrounded by my familiar life and things, I felt I was home.
How can both places feel like home? How can I "belong" in both small-city Alabama and big-city Illinois? How can I enjoy both the 90-degree humid oven-like heat and the single-digit snowy cold? What is it about living that makes it possible to love such extremes? And feel safe familiarity with both?
I think the question is the same as "is it possible to be in love with two people at the same time?". And I think the answer to both questions is "yes". I've always felt it's possible to love more than one person - not family or friends, but to love two men equally, or two women. Many people would argue that it's not right - you must love one more than the other. I disagree, though. There are so many elements to each of us, and people can bring out the best of various elements in us all. Finding someone who satisfies us in every way is the ultimate hope, but if we're honest, we know that is unlikely. We give something up in order to have the closest to perfect we can and to be happy with it. Those that do find perfect perfect are very, very lucky.
I can't say that I love North Alabama and Chicago equally, but I think I could be equally happy living either place. They each fulfill different elements in me, and in different ways. Alabama satisfies my need for serenity and natural beauty and familiarity. Chicago satisfies my need for adventure and discovery and change. I don't know that there is a place that would do both, but I know I can work to find both anywhere I am. That's the key to being truly happy wherever we are - finding a way to fulfill ourselves and use the elements at hand to do so. Not a difficult thing to do if you're willing to put forth a little effort. And if you're not dependent on someone else to fulfill you. Still, where my family is will always win out in the competition for "home".
I was so sad to leave, and the sadness followed me all the way back to Chicago. Reaching that point on I94 where the skyline was visible did something to me though. And walking into my place and seeing the city lights outside, hearing the city noises, being surrounded by my familiar life and things, I felt I was home.
How can both places feel like home? How can I "belong" in both small-city Alabama and big-city Illinois? How can I enjoy both the 90-degree humid oven-like heat and the single-digit snowy cold? What is it about living that makes it possible to love such extremes? And feel safe familiarity with both?
I think the question is the same as "is it possible to be in love with two people at the same time?". And I think the answer to both questions is "yes". I've always felt it's possible to love more than one person - not family or friends, but to love two men equally, or two women. Many people would argue that it's not right - you must love one more than the other. I disagree, though. There are so many elements to each of us, and people can bring out the best of various elements in us all. Finding someone who satisfies us in every way is the ultimate hope, but if we're honest, we know that is unlikely. We give something up in order to have the closest to perfect we can and to be happy with it. Those that do find perfect perfect are very, very lucky.
I can't say that I love North Alabama and Chicago equally, but I think I could be equally happy living either place. They each fulfill different elements in me, and in different ways. Alabama satisfies my need for serenity and natural beauty and familiarity. Chicago satisfies my need for adventure and discovery and change. I don't know that there is a place that would do both, but I know I can work to find both anywhere I am. That's the key to being truly happy wherever we are - finding a way to fulfill ourselves and use the elements at hand to do so. Not a difficult thing to do if you're willing to put forth a little effort. And if you're not dependent on someone else to fulfill you. Still, where my family is will always win out in the competition for "home".
life anew
I'm a gramma! For real! Lennon Christian-William Berry made his entrance into the world Thursday, April 7 at 11:16 p.m., after 2 very long and trying days for the mom and dad. They checked into the hospital Tuesday evening to prep for induced labor, started the process Wednesday morning to no avail, took a break Wednesday night, then started again on Thursday morning. After a long day of labor, morphine, an epidural and a lot of "push, Christine!!!!", we got to meet Lennon for the first time live and in color.
The good thing was that Tine's mom got there from Germany late Wednesday, so she didn't miss the birth. The bad thing was that all of us did a lot of waiting, waiting, waiting for two days. The end result was certainly worth it. Lennon is beautiful in every way. Of course, he's my grandson so he can't help it. :)
Being part of the whole experience was amazing. I was allowed to remain in the birthing room through it all. I've been part of 2 births myself, but never a spectator, and it was such an experience. The nurses worked their butts off to get him into place, and Tine was super - pushing with all her might and hanging in through the whole thing. Seth was both supportive and in awe; obviously anxious, concerned, and ready to meet his son. The doctor was there for about 10 minutes just to bring Lennon out and check him over - they have the easy job. Lennon appeared all pale and slimy, but took those first few breaths and turned pink and perfect. Hearing those first few squeaks of new life in oxygen were wonderful, and made me realize what a miracle it all is. He went from the warm, floaty, confined space he knew for 9 months into the bright, harsh, but loving environment we all know. He didn't seem to be very happy about the light and passing-around he met as he left his comfort zone, but now he has taken to it well.
I'm so proud of and for Seth and Tine and how hard they worked and how much they obviously love this little life that is a mix of them both. I didn't realize how much Lennon looks like Seth until I found pictures in my storage unit of Seth as a newborn. They're identical. I'm sure Lennon will develop into a perfect mixture of his parents, but there is no doubt that he's Seth's right now. :)
I miss being there with them, but I'll return in 2 weeks for a couple of days. He will have changed so much by then, and over the coming months when I will only see him a few times. It is plain, however, that I want to be there and experience everything he goes through and see first-hand his growth and new abilities as he strengthens. It was hard leaving, but it is what it is. I know I'll be back by the time he is able to call me gramma. Or Mama-Lynn, or whatever we decide I will be.
Until then, I'll see him whenever possible, and we will Skype often, and I'll certainly be a part of his life even from afar. Sweet, precious baby boy - can't wait for a cousin to be in the works. :)
The good thing was that Tine's mom got there from Germany late Wednesday, so she didn't miss the birth. The bad thing was that all of us did a lot of waiting, waiting, waiting for two days. The end result was certainly worth it. Lennon is beautiful in every way. Of course, he's my grandson so he can't help it. :)
Being part of the whole experience was amazing. I was allowed to remain in the birthing room through it all. I've been part of 2 births myself, but never a spectator, and it was such an experience. The nurses worked their butts off to get him into place, and Tine was super - pushing with all her might and hanging in through the whole thing. Seth was both supportive and in awe; obviously anxious, concerned, and ready to meet his son. The doctor was there for about 10 minutes just to bring Lennon out and check him over - they have the easy job. Lennon appeared all pale and slimy, but took those first few breaths and turned pink and perfect. Hearing those first few squeaks of new life in oxygen were wonderful, and made me realize what a miracle it all is. He went from the warm, floaty, confined space he knew for 9 months into the bright, harsh, but loving environment we all know. He didn't seem to be very happy about the light and passing-around he met as he left his comfort zone, but now he has taken to it well.
I'm so proud of and for Seth and Tine and how hard they worked and how much they obviously love this little life that is a mix of them both. I didn't realize how much Lennon looks like Seth until I found pictures in my storage unit of Seth as a newborn. They're identical. I'm sure Lennon will develop into a perfect mixture of his parents, but there is no doubt that he's Seth's right now. :)
I miss being there with them, but I'll return in 2 weeks for a couple of days. He will have changed so much by then, and over the coming months when I will only see him a few times. It is plain, however, that I want to be there and experience everything he goes through and see first-hand his growth and new abilities as he strengthens. It was hard leaving, but it is what it is. I know I'll be back by the time he is able to call me gramma. Or Mama-Lynn, or whatever we decide I will be.
Until then, I'll see him whenever possible, and we will Skype often, and I'll certainly be a part of his life even from afar. Sweet, precious baby boy - can't wait for a cousin to be in the works. :)
Saturday, March 19, 2011
a year later
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.
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.
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