I am sick.
I hate being sick. It feels like my body is rebelling against itself. I feel like I’m regressing to a younger age; back to a time when I was winy and helpless. I am usually very healthy. Not that I take good care of myself, but I very rarely get sick. So when it does happen, I’m reduced to a quivering mass of phlegm and other unmentionables.
The other night, I wavered between a death-like sleep and a fitful weakness brought on by fever. I swung back and forth between chilly and sweaty; conscious and unconscious; stiff and numb. The next morning, with most of the illness baked out of me, I regained some of my composure. But I still wasn’t well enough to make another trip to Chicago. I had an assignment up there. Well not really an assignment, but a possibility of one. If the photography gods were smiling on me, and the municipal workers were fast enough, I could take pictures of the holiday decorations. But instead I spent part of the weekend in a semi-coherent state.
Sure, I was disappointed, but I suppose I can take one weekend off from thinking about work. I wouldn’t do very well if I wasn’t healthy. And I need to take care of myself by sleeping and what-not. But I sure would have liked to see Chicago in the winter time again. The lights are beautiful against the gray sky and the snow. Although there’s probably no snow yet.
As of now, I am through the haze of fever. But my nose is still leaking and my head is still pounding and my cough is still rasping. Perhaps this just means I’ll be able to make the trip in a few weeks. Maybe by then my pictures will be full of lights glistening off of freshly fallen snow.
Showing posts with label Sense of the City. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sense of the City. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Upturn [SotCISoaJ]
Working at the front lines of a cafe, you really get a good understanding of the financial times. I sling coffee, a luxury people think of as a necessity. And it's an expensive one at that. A $2 coffee every day before work can add up real quick.
From my vantage point behind the counter, I get to watch who's spending too much money and who has too much money to spend. The strugglers bring in their own cup or buy refill after refill to save. While the ones who can afford it, will buy the thousand calorie sugar bombs.
What I've been able to watch over the last few months is the slow growth of a struggling economy. When I started, the cafe had been quite slow. Morning was quite, lunchtime was empty, closing was deserted. The store was not struggling, but it wasn't doing as good as it should.
Then over the last few weeks, more people were coming in and ordering coffee. More coffee beans have been ordered and more pastures were made in order to fill the customers' needs.
Don't get me wrong; people are still suffering from job loss and poverty. This is just an anecdote for an area that is fairly separated from the problems of the rest of the world. And too often we forget the difference between an anecdote and the real world. But this shows me that something good is coming. Soon we all will be able to feel better and breathe a sigh of relief.
From my vantage point behind the counter, I get to watch who's spending too much money and who has too much money to spend. The strugglers bring in their own cup or buy refill after refill to save. While the ones who can afford it, will buy the thousand calorie sugar bombs.
What I've been able to watch over the last few months is the slow growth of a struggling economy. When I started, the cafe had been quite slow. Morning was quite, lunchtime was empty, closing was deserted. The store was not struggling, but it wasn't doing as good as it should.
Then over the last few weeks, more people were coming in and ordering coffee. More coffee beans have been ordered and more pastures were made in order to fill the customers' needs.
Don't get me wrong; people are still suffering from job loss and poverty. This is just an anecdote for an area that is fairly separated from the problems of the rest of the world. And too often we forget the difference between an anecdote and the real world. But this shows me that something good is coming. Soon we all will be able to feel better and breathe a sigh of relief.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Break (SotCISoaJ)
Looking for work is exhausting and the job, after you find it, is the same. One of the bits of brilliant sayings that runs through my family is that looking for a job is a full-time job. With all that work looking for work, you need a break to relax, calm down and think of something else.
For some reason relaxing for me usually involves food. At least that’s why I found myself walking into Urbana’s Courier Cafe for lunch. To me, a meal is not just what I’m eating. It’s the environment I find myself in, the person who cooked the food. It’s the whole experience of eating that I enjoy; the taste, the smell, the look.
This is what I was hoping I would enjoy when I walked into the restaurant and picked up the paper. I ordered a coffee and an chocolate egg cream. Luxury, to me, is having multiple drinks with my meal. I enjoyed reading through my paper and eating my burger.
Honestly, the burger was good, but not the greatest I’ve ever had and the egg cream embarrassed me with its extravagances, but break made me very happy. There is an old time feeling to the place that slows time. The wallpaper, the wooden tables, the menus, all feel like they exist outside of time.
After lunch, I sipped my coffee and finished reading an article about a candidate running for the Mayor of Chicago. I sat quietly enjoying being in the present for a moment. When I left, I would be back in the real world of worry, but for a moment I could be content with calm.
For some reason relaxing for me usually involves food. At least that’s why I found myself walking into Urbana’s Courier Cafe for lunch. To me, a meal is not just what I’m eating. It’s the environment I find myself in, the person who cooked the food. It’s the whole experience of eating that I enjoy; the taste, the smell, the look.
This is what I was hoping I would enjoy when I walked into the restaurant and picked up the paper. I ordered a coffee and an chocolate egg cream. Luxury, to me, is having multiple drinks with my meal. I enjoyed reading through my paper and eating my burger.
Honestly, the burger was good, but not the greatest I’ve ever had and the egg cream embarrassed me with its extravagances, but break made me very happy. There is an old time feeling to the place that slows time. The wallpaper, the wooden tables, the menus, all feel like they exist outside of time.
After lunch, I sipped my coffee and finished reading an article about a candidate running for the Mayor of Chicago. I sat quietly enjoying being in the present for a moment. When I left, I would be back in the real world of worry, but for a moment I could be content with calm.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Drilling Threw (SotCISoaJ)
Perhaps I have lofty goals, I usually do. I am not content with being passable with any project I take up. Instead I need to be the best I can, in the best places. Sometimes this leads to lack of sleep, my eyes blurry and my head foggy with exhaustion. And sometimes it leads to a lost project or two. I figure if I don’t want to throw my whole self into a project, it might not be worth doing. This is how I see my job search. I have a goal in mind, a specific place to end up, but I have no plan on how to get there. I run head first into the world and whenever I hit something too hard, I rout around.
I feel like I’m drilling through the earth. Sometimes it’s easy going, I hit a pocket of sand or an aquifer. But sometimes it’s impossible, the rock is impassable, and I have to regroup and move around. It’s hard work, but I don’t know any other way to get through life.
That being said, this is my bullheaded way to live. Everyone is different and everyone works through things differently. Some need more planning, some need less. It is important to review yourself and learn how you work, especially when looking for a job.
My ultimate job goal is still not fully realized, but it is on a break. I ran into a wall of rock called having no money. To rout around, I picked up a job at a cafe. It gives me money and time to write other projects. I also enjoy the people I work with. But, it is at the same place I worked before I moved to Chicago for school. It feels a bit like I’m regressing back to my younger self. This is another rock to hard for my drill bit. When I get through it, I’ll let you know.
I feel like I’m drilling through the earth. Sometimes it’s easy going, I hit a pocket of sand or an aquifer. But sometimes it’s impossible, the rock is impassable, and I have to regroup and move around. It’s hard work, but I don’t know any other way to get through life.
That being said, this is my bullheaded way to live. Everyone is different and everyone works through things differently. Some need more planning, some need less. It is important to review yourself and learn how you work, especially when looking for a job.
My ultimate job goal is still not fully realized, but it is on a break. I ran into a wall of rock called having no money. To rout around, I picked up a job at a cafe. It gives me money and time to write other projects. I also enjoy the people I work with. But, it is at the same place I worked before I moved to Chicago for school. It feels a bit like I’m regressing back to my younger self. This is another rock to hard for my drill bit. When I get through it, I’ll let you know.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Faith (Sense of the City: In Search of a Job)
I'll admit it, my column has become a bit self-referential and depressing at times. I've been so wrapped up in my own troubles that I stopped observing the community around me. I started focusing on my own problems and eventually became blinded to anything else. It happens to everyone, the only cure--a little perspective.
My perspective came in the form of a long email a woman sent to me after a particularly selfish column. She asked me not to share her name because she is a privet person. So I will call her Elaine.
"It is Sunday morning and I just read your article and my heart goes out to you, for it is hard times for a lot of people," Elaine said in her email.
She went on to tell me to stay positive and that I will get through these difficulties in life. Her concern touched me, especially when I read on.
"I wish I could work. I am in a fight . . . I battle cancer," she said.
In early 2009 Elaine had knee surgery. Afterward she felt sick. Nothing came up on any tests, so doctors misdiagnosed her illness. It wasn't until November doctors found the Melanoma. She had part of her leg removed and is now fighting the after effects. Elaine is 45.
Her physical energy is low. Sometimes she can't even get out of her chair.
"My good days, I can get up for 15-20 mints and clean the house," Elaine said.
At the time of her knee surgery, Elaine worked as a administrative assistant with a nursing background. She loved her job and worked through the pain and the sickness.
"I went to work throwing up. If I threw up--I threw up," she said.
Eventually her job let her go. Elaine was out an income provided by her job. But most impertinently she was out of what she loved to do.
Before leaving, she set up programs to help her co-workers.
"When I left I was like: 'Man, I hope those programs still go through'," Elaine said.
Her lack on income is affecting her life as well. Elaine was on unemployment, but that has run out. She is now fighting through the paperwork for long-term disability to help pay for her mounting doctor bills.
The other day, I called Elaine to see how she was doing. She was laughing and up-beat. I asked her how she could stay so happy.
"Faith, that's the only thing that's pulling me through . . . with out it I'd have been dead already," she answered.
She went on to say: "My mom--she's my pillar of strength."
My perspective came in the form of a long email a woman sent to me after a particularly selfish column. She asked me not to share her name because she is a privet person. So I will call her Elaine.
"It is Sunday morning and I just read your article and my heart goes out to you, for it is hard times for a lot of people," Elaine said in her email.
She went on to tell me to stay positive and that I will get through these difficulties in life. Her concern touched me, especially when I read on.
"I wish I could work. I am in a fight . . . I battle cancer," she said.
In early 2009 Elaine had knee surgery. Afterward she felt sick. Nothing came up on any tests, so doctors misdiagnosed her illness. It wasn't until November doctors found the Melanoma. She had part of her leg removed and is now fighting the after effects. Elaine is 45.
Her physical energy is low. Sometimes she can't even get out of her chair.
"My good days, I can get up for 15-20 mints and clean the house," Elaine said.
At the time of her knee surgery, Elaine worked as a administrative assistant with a nursing background. She loved her job and worked through the pain and the sickness.
"I went to work throwing up. If I threw up--I threw up," she said.
Eventually her job let her go. Elaine was out an income provided by her job. But most impertinently she was out of what she loved to do.
Before leaving, she set up programs to help her co-workers.
"When I left I was like: 'Man, I hope those programs still go through'," Elaine said.
Her lack on income is affecting her life as well. Elaine was on unemployment, but that has run out. She is now fighting through the paperwork for long-term disability to help pay for her mounting doctor bills.
The other day, I called Elaine to see how she was doing. She was laughing and up-beat. I asked her how she could stay so happy.
"Faith, that's the only thing that's pulling me through . . . with out it I'd have been dead already," she answered.
She went on to say: "My mom--she's my pillar of strength."
Wednesday, September 01, 2010
Success Story (Sense of the City: In Search of a Job)
We, as people, tend to get stuck in our ways. We think of ideas and eventually start to believe that's all there is. At least this happens to me. Sometimes people find their way out of the tunnel and see the other avenues available.
After I posted my column online, which I do at dillheady.blogspot.com/, a friend posted her story, which I am ashamed to say I didn't know. She spent two years looking for a full time job.
"I thought that's what I was supposed to do in order to become an 'adult'," she wrote in her comment.
She realized she was starting to make money doing several different things she loves, including singing. And perhaps she didn't need a full-time job to support herself. She started looking for a part time job and found one amazingly quick.
"I've been here almost a month at a place that I love, that is exactly where I'm supposed to be . . . It's the most amazing experience I've ever had working," she said.
She took something that we all take for granted as wholly true and did the opposite and found something that worked. It's a scary thought, to go against the grain in such a way, but it worked for her.
My friend found her own path to support herself. Her way may not be able to work for everyone, and probably wont, but it worked for her. Perhaps we don't need to have the traditionally sought after jobs. Perhaps our jobs could be more like our clothes, tailored to our lives.
"Open your mind to other possibilities that might not have occurred to you," she said.
After I posted my column online, which I do at dillheady.blogspot.com/, a friend posted her story, which I am ashamed to say I didn't know. She spent two years looking for a full time job.
"I thought that's what I was supposed to do in order to become an 'adult'," she wrote in her comment.
She realized she was starting to make money doing several different things she loves, including singing. And perhaps she didn't need a full-time job to support herself. She started looking for a part time job and found one amazingly quick.
"I've been here almost a month at a place that I love, that is exactly where I'm supposed to be . . . It's the most amazing experience I've ever had working," she said.
She took something that we all take for granted as wholly true and did the opposite and found something that worked. It's a scary thought, to go against the grain in such a way, but it worked for her.
My friend found her own path to support herself. Her way may not be able to work for everyone, and probably wont, but it worked for her. Perhaps we don't need to have the traditionally sought after jobs. Perhaps our jobs could be more like our clothes, tailored to our lives.
"Open your mind to other possibilities that might not have occurred to you," she said.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Sense of the City: In Search of a Job
[I'm changing up my column a bit. No longer being in the city I can no longer write about city life. So I'll try to write about my job hunt, including tips from professionals who found their dream job and career counselors who help others find theirs.]
This oppressive heat is beating me down. It's getting to be that I can't leave the house. Even the cool respite brought on by the storm does nothing. But the heat is not the only thing that feels like it is breaking me. A job search is full of rejection and living at home can feel like failing.
I've been looking for a reporter position at a small town newspaper, anywhere in the world, for a few months now. Eventually I keep telling myself, I'll make my way back to the big city. But first I need to get to that starting position. One small paper in New York told me they received over 400 resumes.
Many people are going through this same problem in every job market. More people with better experience are fighting for fewer jobs. And the grind of sending resumes, fielding phone calls, going to interviews can be a bit much.
I was supposed to be the one who got the job quickly. I have the right work ethic and some skill in reporting. All my teachers told me I would go far, and I feel like I've failed them. But I guess everyone else is going through the same thing, I know at least 400 of them are.
I suppose this is not the right time to focus on negativity. Negativity breads more negativity, and soon you're swirling through a void of depression and self-doubt. Then, not only are you full of these bad feelings, but you're not getting any work done.
It's easy to fall prey to these feelings in this heat, sweat pours down your back and the sun bakes your brain inside your head. But we can't let it win. What's the point in sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves. Instead we can strive for something better, whether in the community or in ourselves.
I know there are people reading this who are going through similar situations. I would like to hear from you. Tell me your story and your techniques, and maybe I can pass it along and help other people, too.
Dylan Heath grew up in White Heath. He just graduated and is searching for a job in Journalism. He can be reached at Dylan.Heath@gmail.com
This oppressive heat is beating me down. It's getting to be that I can't leave the house. Even the cool respite brought on by the storm does nothing. But the heat is not the only thing that feels like it is breaking me. A job search is full of rejection and living at home can feel like failing.
I've been looking for a reporter position at a small town newspaper, anywhere in the world, for a few months now. Eventually I keep telling myself, I'll make my way back to the big city. But first I need to get to that starting position. One small paper in New York told me they received over 400 resumes.
Many people are going through this same problem in every job market. More people with better experience are fighting for fewer jobs. And the grind of sending resumes, fielding phone calls, going to interviews can be a bit much.
I was supposed to be the one who got the job quickly. I have the right work ethic and some skill in reporting. All my teachers told me I would go far, and I feel like I've failed them. But I guess everyone else is going through the same thing, I know at least 400 of them are.
I suppose this is not the right time to focus on negativity. Negativity breads more negativity, and soon you're swirling through a void of depression and self-doubt. Then, not only are you full of these bad feelings, but you're not getting any work done.
It's easy to fall prey to these feelings in this heat, sweat pours down your back and the sun bakes your brain inside your head. But we can't let it win. What's the point in sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves. Instead we can strive for something better, whether in the community or in ourselves.
I know there are people reading this who are going through similar situations. I would like to hear from you. Tell me your story and your techniques, and maybe I can pass it along and help other people, too.
Dylan Heath grew up in White Heath. He just graduated and is searching for a job in Journalism. He can be reached at Dylan.Heath@gmail.com
Wednesday, August 04, 2010
A New Sense of Home (Sense of the City)
Perhaps the best part of taking a long trip is finally returning home. After seeing amazing sights, tasting amazing food, meeting amazing people; you start to see home with new eyes. Everything is as new and delightful as what you've seen on your journey, only colored with a sense of familiarity.
On the drive to Chicago, the skyline pops-up out of the tangle of on-ramps and freeways, and the first red line stop appears long before any well known landmark. If this sounds familiar to you, it's because I've already written about this scene in one of my first columns. Coming from the south is still one of my favorite ways to see the city skyline.
When I first wrote about it, it was filled from a sense of coming home. Now, I feel a bit of happiness from returning, but mostly I feel sad that I will soon have to leave my adopted city. When I pass the red line, I get goosebumps. When I see the skyline, I am flooded with happy memories. When I get on Lake Shore, I roll the window down and turn up the radio and smile at all the different faces that I see.
My sailing trip was meant as one last hurrah before I have to start my new life, whatever that will be. The only thing clear is that I can't afford to live in Chicago anymore. And besides, if I want to eventually live there and work as a reporter, I have to move away to work my way up through the ranks and back to the city. At least that is what I keep telling myself.
Though out this year and a half or so, I tried to bring a little bit of the greatness I see in Chicago to the area. I tried to show that there really isn't much different between the two places. I don't know if I succeeded. Perhaps with a little more time, I could have. But I can no longer write what I see or feel or smell or taste or hear in the city if I am no longer there. This is not my columns distraction, more of an evolution. I hope you will see my byline in this paper again.
My life is changing drastically, one way or another. My writing will have to change along with it. It might take me some time to find my footing, to get used to my new world. But I will, and I'll find my new voice along the way. After all life goes on. And I've got new eyes, and a new sense of home.
On the drive to Chicago, the skyline pops-up out of the tangle of on-ramps and freeways, and the first red line stop appears long before any well known landmark. If this sounds familiar to you, it's because I've already written about this scene in one of my first columns. Coming from the south is still one of my favorite ways to see the city skyline.
When I first wrote about it, it was filled from a sense of coming home. Now, I feel a bit of happiness from returning, but mostly I feel sad that I will soon have to leave my adopted city. When I pass the red line, I get goosebumps. When I see the skyline, I am flooded with happy memories. When I get on Lake Shore, I roll the window down and turn up the radio and smile at all the different faces that I see.
My sailing trip was meant as one last hurrah before I have to start my new life, whatever that will be. The only thing clear is that I can't afford to live in Chicago anymore. And besides, if I want to eventually live there and work as a reporter, I have to move away to work my way up through the ranks and back to the city. At least that is what I keep telling myself.
Though out this year and a half or so, I tried to bring a little bit of the greatness I see in Chicago to the area. I tried to show that there really isn't much different between the two places. I don't know if I succeeded. Perhaps with a little more time, I could have. But I can no longer write what I see or feel or smell or taste or hear in the city if I am no longer there. This is not my columns distraction, more of an evolution. I hope you will see my byline in this paper again.
My life is changing drastically, one way or another. My writing will have to change along with it. It might take me some time to find my footing, to get used to my new world. But I will, and I'll find my new voice along the way. After all life goes on. And I've got new eyes, and a new sense of home.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Across (Sence of the City)
My father told me on the phone before I left; "You're a different person when you're on the Atlantic on a boat." It's true, and I knew it would be. But I didn't know how true it really was until after we crossed.
My world broadened. My life strengthened. I have gone through something not many people do. I have learned more in the last month then I have in any class.
I made it across. The trip was an experience but the sailing was not so good. There was no wind and we motored through a lot of it. But the simple fact that I saw more of the world made it worthwhile. Spending all your time on land you start to think that's all there is. But the ocean is so much larger, and in it you become smaller. Out there, the closest land is five miles directly down. It's a humbling and frightening experience at first. After a while it become normal, but that idea always sits in the back of your mind.
My watch, from midnight to three, was lonely and dark. I stood solemnly and stoically waiting for something to come on the horizon. Every so often, a container ship would cross our bow. Their green or red running light shining like Christmas, told me which direction they were moving. It was my job to watch them, notice how fast and in what direction they were moving and to move out of any danger.
But now, that is done. We made it across and we met our family and the solitary lifestyle has been replaced with excitement. Out on the ocean, words are expensive and five or ten words are all that is necessary. After such a long it's always nice to have a change.
My world broadened. My life strengthened. I have gone through something not many people do. I have learned more in the last month then I have in any class.
I made it across. The trip was an experience but the sailing was not so good. There was no wind and we motored through a lot of it. But the simple fact that I saw more of the world made it worthwhile. Spending all your time on land you start to think that's all there is. But the ocean is so much larger, and in it you become smaller. Out there, the closest land is five miles directly down. It's a humbling and frightening experience at first. After a while it become normal, but that idea always sits in the back of your mind.
My watch, from midnight to three, was lonely and dark. I stood solemnly and stoically waiting for something to come on the horizon. Every so often, a container ship would cross our bow. Their green or red running light shining like Christmas, told me which direction they were moving. It was my job to watch them, notice how fast and in what direction they were moving and to move out of any danger.
But now, that is done. We made it across and we met our family and the solitary lifestyle has been replaced with excitement. Out on the ocean, words are expensive and five or ten words are all that is necessary. After such a long it's always nice to have a change.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Sailing #2 (Sense of the City)
As you are reading this I should still be at sea, however I am still writing from the past. Outside the window is cold and rainy and overcast. The weather is dreary and drab and damp. I don't sleep quite so well as I do when I'm visiting the farm. It's so quite and dark. I love living in Chicago. The hustle and bustle of the city leads to new experiences and an exciting life, but I can't relax like I can on the farm.
It's so important to have new experiences, to see what it's like in different lives. This is what I hope my trip will be all about. I hope to step outside my comfort zone, try new foods, meet new people. I've lived a relatively regulated lifestyle over the last few years: same school, same apartment, same food, same bars. Repeated over and over on different days at different times. It's fun, but perhaps I need something else.
A break from the monotony will help me transition from one point in life to another. It will create a boundary that says, "No more homework past this point." I get a break from everything I have done so much of lately.
I don't work well with change most of the time, but it is important to get out of my comfort level every now and then. I am excited. I'm happy to be able to do something new, even though I don't yet know what that will be.
The calm at the farm washes over me as I sit outside in the long grass as it sets to seed. The wet weather left in the night, now the sky is clear and the sun beats down. Other than the occasional bounding dog, the only movement is the slight wind working through the blades.
It's so important to have new experiences, to see what it's like in different lives. This is what I hope my trip will be all about. I hope to step outside my comfort zone, try new foods, meet new people. I've lived a relatively regulated lifestyle over the last few years: same school, same apartment, same food, same bars. Repeated over and over on different days at different times. It's fun, but perhaps I need something else.
A break from the monotony will help me transition from one point in life to another. It will create a boundary that says, "No more homework past this point." I get a break from everything I have done so much of lately.
I don't work well with change most of the time, but it is important to get out of my comfort level every now and then. I am excited. I'm happy to be able to do something new, even though I don't yet know what that will be.
The calm at the farm washes over me as I sit outside in the long grass as it sets to seed. The wet weather left in the night, now the sky is clear and the sun beats down. Other than the occasional bounding dog, the only movement is the slight wind working through the blades.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Sailing (Sence of the City)
I am not writing this on the boat. I am not turning with the wind and the waves of the sea. I am sitting at the farm with the ocean of green grass and songs of the birds. It's a farewell visit, before my long trip.
As you are reading this, I am fighting the big waves, or I'm tying up a loose sail, or I'm wrestling a big fish on board, or I'm not doing much of anything. I don't know what I'll be doing. This is all new to me. I don't know what to expect or what to prepare for. All I know for sure is that it will exceed my own thoughts.
I have been reluctant to talk about the trip. I've been worried about what people will say. There is a type of person who can sail, rich. And I'm not used to associating myself with the upper class. Rich people don't eat Ramen Noodles for dinner, but the poor rarely get to learn which is the port side.
I'm uncomfortable in this position. I stutter when people ask me what I'm doing for the summer. I look away, turn a bit red and smile; and then I say "Well . . . " After I tell them, they say, "That's amazing." But, in their head, I know they are saying, "Must be nice." Maybe not, maybe it's all in my own head. But I'll still think it and still get embarrassed.
I'm sure, once I get there--on the boat and out in the water--I'll forget all about my discomfort. I'll get engrossed in the weather--the sun or the wind or something. I don't know. Snow maybe?
As you are reading this, I am fighting the big waves, or I'm tying up a loose sail, or I'm wrestling a big fish on board, or I'm not doing much of anything. I don't know what I'll be doing. This is all new to me. I don't know what to expect or what to prepare for. All I know for sure is that it will exceed my own thoughts.
I have been reluctant to talk about the trip. I've been worried about what people will say. There is a type of person who can sail, rich. And I'm not used to associating myself with the upper class. Rich people don't eat Ramen Noodles for dinner, but the poor rarely get to learn which is the port side.
I'm uncomfortable in this position. I stutter when people ask me what I'm doing for the summer. I look away, turn a bit red and smile; and then I say "Well . . . " After I tell them, they say, "That's amazing." But, in their head, I know they are saying, "Must be nice." Maybe not, maybe it's all in my own head. But I'll still think it and still get embarrassed.
I'm sure, once I get there--on the boat and out in the water--I'll forget all about my discomfort. I'll get engrossed in the weather--the sun or the wind or something. I don't know. Snow maybe?
Friday, May 28, 2010
Cut Grass (Sense of the City)
The smell of cut grass hung in the air as I walked down the street the other day. That smell means summer to me. All through winter the grass lays dying in the snow only to sprout up in the spring. The snow melts and bright green sprouts poke out of the whiteness. Grass grows through the spring, but I still associate that fresh smell with summer, which is coming--quick.
Chicago lawns are a lot different from what I remember back home. The lawns surrounding the farm are vast fields of manicured grass, kept at such lengths by tractor-size lawnmowers. The size and quality of the lawns can only be rivaled by Wriggly Field. But in Chicago, we do not have such riches in space, but lawn owners still keep up the quality. Tiny two by ten foot squares in front of each house are decorated with flowers and statues. The grass is lovingly shaped with an exactness that can only be achieved with a level and scissors.
I guess summer can no longer mean a break for me. No longer will I have several months to rest from the riggers of class and papers. After this summer I will have to join the real world, but I have another summer to recklessly travel. Graduation is over. All my papers are turned in; all my classes are over. My school career ended with a fizzle, not a bang. Graduation was not the end; I still had a paper due. But all that is finished now. Now all I have to worry about it sailing across the ocean. I'll be first matting a boat to Spain for the next month or how ever long it takes.
As far as we have come technologically we still don't have Internet everywhere. My only connection to the outside world will be an expensive satellite phone that needs to be used sparingly. I guess no Facebook or Twitter for me.
I'm not used to this. Big trips are new to me. I feel like I'm betraying my class a bit. But the world is out there to be explored and new experiences wait. For now I'll have to enjoy the smell of cut grass, because I doubt I'll run into any out there.
Chicago lawns are a lot different from what I remember back home. The lawns surrounding the farm are vast fields of manicured grass, kept at such lengths by tractor-size lawnmowers. The size and quality of the lawns can only be rivaled by Wriggly Field. But in Chicago, we do not have such riches in space, but lawn owners still keep up the quality. Tiny two by ten foot squares in front of each house are decorated with flowers and statues. The grass is lovingly shaped with an exactness that can only be achieved with a level and scissors.
I guess summer can no longer mean a break for me. No longer will I have several months to rest from the riggers of class and papers. After this summer I will have to join the real world, but I have another summer to recklessly travel. Graduation is over. All my papers are turned in; all my classes are over. My school career ended with a fizzle, not a bang. Graduation was not the end; I still had a paper due. But all that is finished now. Now all I have to worry about it sailing across the ocean. I'll be first matting a boat to Spain for the next month or how ever long it takes.
As far as we have come technologically we still don't have Internet everywhere. My only connection to the outside world will be an expensive satellite phone that needs to be used sparingly. I guess no Facebook or Twitter for me.
I'm not used to this. Big trips are new to me. I feel like I'm betraying my class a bit. But the world is out there to be explored and new experiences wait. For now I'll have to enjoy the smell of cut grass, because I doubt I'll run into any out there.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Graduation (Sense of the City)
The sun rises and spills through my window earlier than months before. The light wakes me up slowly in the morning and I watch it go down at night. The sky has been so blue lately. It's getting to the point where temperature in the 50's is considered too cold.
It's a beautiful day out today, but I'm stuck inside. I have to finish my final papers and projects before I'm completely done with school. I have only a week left. That's not much time, and I'm a little bit worried. Not so much about getting my homework done, because I usually can jam something out right before deadline.
I'm worried about what comes next. Graduation is closing in on me. It's the end of how my life was up until now and I don't know what will come next. I could tell you what I'll be doing this summer, but that's another column. It's my life after summer that I'm worried about. I've always been the type of person who needs to know what comes next.
I'm worried. I've been worried for a while, ever since I realized my life is about to change. But it's exciting. In a few months I could literally be anywhere I want to be.
As I write this, I look outside my window and gray clouds are rolling in and covering the bright, blue sky. The last few days have been a bit stormy. The other night I was woken up by the first lightning storm I heard in a long time. I kept the windows open and decided to fall asleep to the beautiful rain sound. It looks like today might be a similar type of weather, which would keep me inside. Perhaps I wont be too distracted to finish my homework. Perhaps I will be able to finish and move on from this part of my life to the next.
It's a beautiful day out today, but I'm stuck inside. I have to finish my final papers and projects before I'm completely done with school. I have only a week left. That's not much time, and I'm a little bit worried. Not so much about getting my homework done, because I usually can jam something out right before deadline.
I'm worried about what comes next. Graduation is closing in on me. It's the end of how my life was up until now and I don't know what will come next. I could tell you what I'll be doing this summer, but that's another column. It's my life after summer that I'm worried about. I've always been the type of person who needs to know what comes next.
I'm worried. I've been worried for a while, ever since I realized my life is about to change. But it's exciting. In a few months I could literally be anywhere I want to be.
As I write this, I look outside my window and gray clouds are rolling in and covering the bright, blue sky. The last few days have been a bit stormy. The other night I was woken up by the first lightning storm I heard in a long time. I kept the windows open and decided to fall asleep to the beautiful rain sound. It looks like today might be a similar type of weather, which would keep me inside. Perhaps I wont be too distracted to finish my homework. Perhaps I will be able to finish and move on from this part of my life to the next.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
The Fear (Sense of the City column)
I picked up my graduation cap and gown last week. I guess soon it will be official, that is if I can get through this last month. I have trouble finishing things up. Obviously, or it wouldn't have taken six years for me to finish college.
What is it about the end that's so worrisome? It's a deep and abiding fear, an uncontrollable nervousness. Am I afraid that I'm not good enough to finish or am I scared of what's next? Either way it's an irrational fear that I just need to get over.
I think most people suffer from the fear. It's what keeps us still in life. It makes our movements through the world a little more conservative and thought out. The fear can be a good thing. It keeps us from loosing everything in a doomed attempt to remake ourselves. But, like any fear, too much can become crippling. I've had that feeling too. It's a huge sensation of pressure on your chest and all you want to do is crawl inside yourself. It's a deep, dark pit that you can't crawl out of, but you do and you're better for it. And that's the difficulty, coming out the other side blinking in the bright sun.
Sometimes the fear is your friend, it can keep you from pushing beyond your means. But most of the time the fear keeps you from pushing yourself farther. That's when you need to ignore it. I need to gather the courage to beat back that pressure and push to the end of my last month in school and into my next stage of life.
What is it about the end that's so worrisome? It's a deep and abiding fear, an uncontrollable nervousness. Am I afraid that I'm not good enough to finish or am I scared of what's next? Either way it's an irrational fear that I just need to get over.
I think most people suffer from the fear. It's what keeps us still in life. It makes our movements through the world a little more conservative and thought out. The fear can be a good thing. It keeps us from loosing everything in a doomed attempt to remake ourselves. But, like any fear, too much can become crippling. I've had that feeling too. It's a huge sensation of pressure on your chest and all you want to do is crawl inside yourself. It's a deep, dark pit that you can't crawl out of, but you do and you're better for it. And that's the difficulty, coming out the other side blinking in the bright sun.
Sometimes the fear is your friend, it can keep you from pushing beyond your means. But most of the time the fear keeps you from pushing yourself farther. That's when you need to ignore it. I need to gather the courage to beat back that pressure and push to the end of my last month in school and into my next stage of life.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Safety in the City (Sense of the City column)
The snow melted overnight. One day the temperature was just above freezing, the next it was warm enough to not wear my coat anymore. The humidity hovers somewhere around 100%. The sky is hazy with a mixture of pollution and fog which switches to rain in a second. I have never been a fan of wetness, but it is nice to walk around in a comfortable temperature.
I should be writing this at home. I started my spring break last night and was on my way to White Heath. But through a series of unfortunate events I missed the bus. At the time I was angry, but thinking back on it the story is actually pretty good. (It involves late night road construction and a midnight run through Union Station where I lost my sandwich.) I probably would have written this column on it if a much more interesting story didn't happen to me on the way home.
Needles to say, I am not the only one out enjoying the warmer weather. Crime goes up in the spring and summer months. It's just a fact of life, more people means more potential to steal. And no one, not even criminals, wants to be out in sub-zero temperatures.
I got on the train to go home. I sat down next to a well dressed man. He wore a button down shirt and black leather shoes with gold buckles. I didn't notice at the time, but something was wrong. Some chemical in his brain was off, whether through drugs or insanity I'm not sure. But he ranted at the top of his lungs. His unidentifiable grumbling boomed through the train car. Every once in a while this primitive language was peppered with the most foul and X-rated bits of clarity. I was almost home so I tried to ignore it. I stared down at the floor.
This is where I wanted to leave this story, but some 20-something fohawk didn't. He tried to engage the man as some stupid joke, some story he could tell his buddies back at the bar. Soon the conversation devolved into threats on the young guy's life, but he didn't understand what was going on and still tried to push through.
Some how the ranting man thought the other guy said he was part of the Black P Stone gang, which is a smallish multiracial gang in Chicago. They actually control a pretty large chunk near my apartment. It took me a second to realize what the man was saying. But when I did, I turned to the younger guy and told him to shut up. "You don't know what you just did," I said.
Nothing happened, but I had never been so afraid in the city. Clearly the man was dangerous and on top of that he was not in his right mind. There is no way to know what he could have done. But luckily nothing happened. He left the train.
What this says about the safety of the city is interesting. I've been here almost four years. I've seen some crazy things on the train and on the street. I've had some crazy things happen to me. I could tell some stories. But this is the first time I've felt so uncomfortable. Most of the time, the city runs just fine. The population goes on with their day without thinking of safety. No one should take this story to mean that the city is so intensely dangerous that they don't visit. It is just a warning to watch out. Be careful of your surroundings. Basically . . . be safe.
I should be writing this at home. I started my spring break last night and was on my way to White Heath. But through a series of unfortunate events I missed the bus. At the time I was angry, but thinking back on it the story is actually pretty good. (It involves late night road construction and a midnight run through Union Station where I lost my sandwich.) I probably would have written this column on it if a much more interesting story didn't happen to me on the way home.
Needles to say, I am not the only one out enjoying the warmer weather. Crime goes up in the spring and summer months. It's just a fact of life, more people means more potential to steal. And no one, not even criminals, wants to be out in sub-zero temperatures.
I got on the train to go home. I sat down next to a well dressed man. He wore a button down shirt and black leather shoes with gold buckles. I didn't notice at the time, but something was wrong. Some chemical in his brain was off, whether through drugs or insanity I'm not sure. But he ranted at the top of his lungs. His unidentifiable grumbling boomed through the train car. Every once in a while this primitive language was peppered with the most foul and X-rated bits of clarity. I was almost home so I tried to ignore it. I stared down at the floor.
This is where I wanted to leave this story, but some 20-something fohawk didn't. He tried to engage the man as some stupid joke, some story he could tell his buddies back at the bar. Soon the conversation devolved into threats on the young guy's life, but he didn't understand what was going on and still tried to push through.
Some how the ranting man thought the other guy said he was part of the Black P Stone gang, which is a smallish multiracial gang in Chicago. They actually control a pretty large chunk near my apartment. It took me a second to realize what the man was saying. But when I did, I turned to the younger guy and told him to shut up. "You don't know what you just did," I said.
Nothing happened, but I had never been so afraid in the city. Clearly the man was dangerous and on top of that he was not in his right mind. There is no way to know what he could have done. But luckily nothing happened. He left the train.
What this says about the safety of the city is interesting. I've been here almost four years. I've seen some crazy things on the train and on the street. I've had some crazy things happen to me. I could tell some stories. But this is the first time I've felt so uncomfortable. Most of the time, the city runs just fine. The population goes on with their day without thinking of safety. No one should take this story to mean that the city is so intensely dangerous that they don't visit. It is just a warning to watch out. Be careful of your surroundings. Basically . . . be safe.
Saturday, August 08, 2009
Sense of the City--Pitchfork
Coffee Cake, 13, died by euthanasia Friday July 17th at 11:56 a.m.
The first thing my journalism classes taught me was to write an obituary, so when I watched my cat get put down that was my first thought. This is my coping method, to see everything through the long lens of "The Story." Indeed it was a very sad to watch. She had been my cat for the last 6 months and the first thing I have taken care of which I watched die. But she lived a long life, one that I hope was comfortable, and she died peacefully.
Anyway, we must not dwell on sadness. It's summer. It's the season for festivals.
The Taste of Chicago was a month ago. It was quite successfully in the commercial sense. It brought a lot of people to the Loop. Unfortunately, if the tourists took the Taste at its word they left with the idea that Chicago is hot and crowded, with little else to offer.
But every weekend throughout the rest of the summer months, people will gather to celebrate the warmer weather and longer days. Every corner of the city has its own neighborhood festivals with local food and music which mirrors the culture of its people. The Uptown Unity Summer Fest was on August 1st with free immunizations, fun for all the kids.
It's the same as in Monticello. Festivals and farmers markets are times for neighbors to enjoy each others company. People forget any bad blood and laugh with each other. Plus it's just fun to walk down the middle of the street without fear of getting hit by a car.
I went to Pitchfork Festival on the 17th, 18th and 19th at Union Park. Pitchfork is a collection of the coolest bands no one has ever heard of. I only knew of one or two people playing, and really only wanted to see the masked rapper, Doom. I could go because I got in for free by volunteering with CHIRP. Otherwise I wouldn't have been able to afford it.
Pitchfork is the yearly meeting of Midwest hipsters. There were a lot of tattoos, fake 80's clothing and ironic mustaches. I make fun only because I enjoyed myself so much. Music filled out the park. It was loud and melodic with all different types playing everywhere. The food looked good, and the beer was local.
Probably the most memorable thing was the group dancing with hula-hoops. It's hard to describe what they were doing, because it was like nothing I had ever seen before. They were very practiced and it was hypnotizing to watch. They took a children's toy very seriously and made an art form out of it. An art form I had never thought of before. I was fascinated and watched them for a while in between good bands.
Inside Union park was fun. The sense of community was enough to take my mind off the bit of sadness in my life. Being around people, like-minded or not, is just a good time. But when the weekend was over I was left tired and in a lot of pain. It's amazing how much it can hurt to just stand all day.
The first thing my journalism classes taught me was to write an obituary, so when I watched my cat get put down that was my first thought. This is my coping method, to see everything through the long lens of "The Story." Indeed it was a very sad to watch. She had been my cat for the last 6 months and the first thing I have taken care of which I watched die. But she lived a long life, one that I hope was comfortable, and she died peacefully.
Anyway, we must not dwell on sadness. It's summer. It's the season for festivals.
The Taste of Chicago was a month ago. It was quite successfully in the commercial sense. It brought a lot of people to the Loop. Unfortunately, if the tourists took the Taste at its word they left with the idea that Chicago is hot and crowded, with little else to offer.
But every weekend throughout the rest of the summer months, people will gather to celebrate the warmer weather and longer days. Every corner of the city has its own neighborhood festivals with local food and music which mirrors the culture of its people. The Uptown Unity Summer Fest was on August 1st with free immunizations, fun for all the kids.
It's the same as in Monticello. Festivals and farmers markets are times for neighbors to enjoy each others company. People forget any bad blood and laugh with each other. Plus it's just fun to walk down the middle of the street without fear of getting hit by a car.
I went to Pitchfork Festival on the 17th, 18th and 19th at Union Park. Pitchfork is a collection of the coolest bands no one has ever heard of. I only knew of one or two people playing, and really only wanted to see the masked rapper, Doom. I could go because I got in for free by volunteering with CHIRP. Otherwise I wouldn't have been able to afford it.
Pitchfork is the yearly meeting of Midwest hipsters. There were a lot of tattoos, fake 80's clothing and ironic mustaches. I make fun only because I enjoyed myself so much. Music filled out the park. It was loud and melodic with all different types playing everywhere. The food looked good, and the beer was local.
Probably the most memorable thing was the group dancing with hula-hoops. It's hard to describe what they were doing, because it was like nothing I had ever seen before. They were very practiced and it was hypnotizing to watch. They took a children's toy very seriously and made an art form out of it. An art form I had never thought of before. I was fascinated and watched them for a while in between good bands.
Inside Union park was fun. The sense of community was enough to take my mind off the bit of sadness in my life. Being around people, like-minded or not, is just a good time. But when the weekend was over I was left tired and in a lot of pain. It's amazing how much it can hurt to just stand all day.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Sense of the City: History
(My bu-weekly column and Urban Coaster Article. Enjoy.)
History is liquid. It's always changing and, like air, tires to fill up the space surrounding it. On July 4th, I went to the Edgewater Historical society. Edgewater is the neighborhood north of Uptown, where I live. I love history. It's my minor in school. I think it's that adaptability that draws me in. You can look at the change over time, sure, but History itself also changes. I was taught in grade school that Christopher Columbus discovered America only to find out later that's not entirely true. He might have found it for Spain, but many other cultures knew about it long before, including the people who have been calling it home for thousands of years.
When it comes down to it everything is liquid. Given enough time, everything ebbs and flows like the lunar tide. Solid things we normally think of as unmovable change too. The earth moves. Land evolves, sometimes slowly sometimes very quick and violently. Erosion made the Grand Canyon, Volcanoes made the Hawaiian islands and If I stood outside my apartment before the 60's Lake Michigan would be about waist high.
That last example was man made. The north end of Lake Shore Drive was built up out of the Lake. Lake fill made the beaches and the foundations for the Sheridan Ave. condos. Before that houses were built right up on the beach. The beach made their backyard.
That all changed because the city wanted to continue the ideas started by the famous urban planer, Daniel Burnham. He is a bit of a hero in Chicago and we celebrated the 100th anniversary of the publication of his Plan of Chicago on July 4th. (A lot of history on that day.) He wanted the entire lake front to be free and open to the public. Burnham has been named in many a debate over the years and his goal is still not fully realized. There are about 4 miles of lake front that still is not public land and a group of people are trying to change that. A noble plan but probably not the best economically sound idea right now. (But that's just my middle of the road opinion.)
I recently went home to the farm to visit family. Things are changing there, too. Family came in from out of town and I showed them around Monticello. I was surprised to see so many different stores around the square. Even in small towns, which always feel slower, change. The slight changes aren't obvious until you are absent for a while.
People have always been afraid of change. It's something that has been passed down through the generations from our prehistoric mothers and fathers. Anything new for them was a gamble. A new fruit could be delicious or it could be poison, so it's best not to mess with it. Now it's much less dangerous and going against chance has brought us so many good things. It's time we brushed off the fear and nostalgia that is at the heart of our inability to change.
History is liquid. It's always changing and, like air, tires to fill up the space surrounding it. On July 4th, I went to the Edgewater Historical society. Edgewater is the neighborhood north of Uptown, where I live. I love history. It's my minor in school. I think it's that adaptability that draws me in. You can look at the change over time, sure, but History itself also changes. I was taught in grade school that Christopher Columbus discovered America only to find out later that's not entirely true. He might have found it for Spain, but many other cultures knew about it long before, including the people who have been calling it home for thousands of years.
When it comes down to it everything is liquid. Given enough time, everything ebbs and flows like the lunar tide. Solid things we normally think of as unmovable change too. The earth moves. Land evolves, sometimes slowly sometimes very quick and violently. Erosion made the Grand Canyon, Volcanoes made the Hawaiian islands and If I stood outside my apartment before the 60's Lake Michigan would be about waist high.
That last example was man made. The north end of Lake Shore Drive was built up out of the Lake. Lake fill made the beaches and the foundations for the Sheridan Ave. condos. Before that houses were built right up on the beach. The beach made their backyard.
That all changed because the city wanted to continue the ideas started by the famous urban planer, Daniel Burnham. He is a bit of a hero in Chicago and we celebrated the 100th anniversary of the publication of his Plan of Chicago on July 4th. (A lot of history on that day.) He wanted the entire lake front to be free and open to the public. Burnham has been named in many a debate over the years and his goal is still not fully realized. There are about 4 miles of lake front that still is not public land and a group of people are trying to change that. A noble plan but probably not the best economically sound idea right now. (But that's just my middle of the road opinion.)
I recently went home to the farm to visit family. Things are changing there, too. Family came in from out of town and I showed them around Monticello. I was surprised to see so many different stores around the square. Even in small towns, which always feel slower, change. The slight changes aren't obvious until you are absent for a while.
People have always been afraid of change. It's something that has been passed down through the generations from our prehistoric mothers and fathers. Anything new for them was a gamble. A new fruit could be delicious or it could be poison, so it's best not to mess with it. Now it's much less dangerous and going against chance has brought us so many good things. It's time we brushed off the fear and nostalgia that is at the heart of our inability to change.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Sense of the City
(This is a little late. I have been home with my family. It was a lot of fun. I took a lot of pictures, you will probably be able to see them on my Picasa page. Also here is my latest article in The Urban Coaster.)
There is an unspoken rule with the Chicago Transit Authority (CTA) that most everyone follows. With few exceptions, everyone is deadly quite. No one talks to each other and everyone finds something to keep themselves busy. Some read. Some listen to music. Some stare out the window.
I usually go the rout of looking out the window, unless I have class and need to read a long assignment. You see a lot of the city from the CTA. The bus runs down on the streets in the muck of the dirt and depravity. And the train runs high up in a pulled out view that shows a whole new set of problems.
The el train runs pretty high up. It’s high enough to look down on top of the smaller buildings. Two and three flat apartments that look beautiful from street level look a little silly from above. Their plain tar roofs are in stark contrast to the decorative walls and windows. That tar contributes to the heat of the summer. Asphalt and concrete surfaces absorb the suns energy and releases it as heat, as opposed to the grass and trees of the country that use the energy to grow. The farm of my childhood was cooler than the city I currently call home.
Even if everyone turned their tar roofs silver to reflect the sun, which some already have, I still don't think I would feel comfortable. It's still a lot of wasted space. On the farm we never really left an area with no purpose. Every place we wouldn't normally walk turned into a garden, or a flower circle, or left to it's own devices to grow wild plants and trees. These roofs are flat usable surfaces that are going to waste.
I'm not pretending that a few roof top gardens are going to save the world or even cool down the city, but it would sure be pretty to look at. I wish I had my own roof to plant fruits and vegetables on. It seems like it would be fun, and it would bring a bit of my old home to my new one.
These are just a few ideas that run through my head on the el. The train is the opposite of a sensory deprivation chamber, so much information comes at me that my brain turns in on itself and I get lost in my own thoughts. It gets even more true when the Red Line goes underground. The Click-Clack of the wheels echo off the tunnel walls and turn into a roar loud enough to drown out the children yelling behind me. The outside is so dark the windows turn into an almost perfect mirror, reflecting the reflections from the other side of the train.
I don't ride the train much any more. The bus has been able to take me where I want to go. But if absence makes the heart grow fonder, it also makes curiosity grow stronger. Little things I take for granted become much more interesting when I don't see them for a while.
There is an unspoken rule with the Chicago Transit Authority (CTA) that most everyone follows. With few exceptions, everyone is deadly quite. No one talks to each other and everyone finds something to keep themselves busy. Some read. Some listen to music. Some stare out the window.
I usually go the rout of looking out the window, unless I have class and need to read a long assignment. You see a lot of the city from the CTA. The bus runs down on the streets in the muck of the dirt and depravity. And the train runs high up in a pulled out view that shows a whole new set of problems.
The el train runs pretty high up. It’s high enough to look down on top of the smaller buildings. Two and three flat apartments that look beautiful from street level look a little silly from above. Their plain tar roofs are in stark contrast to the decorative walls and windows. That tar contributes to the heat of the summer. Asphalt and concrete surfaces absorb the suns energy and releases it as heat, as opposed to the grass and trees of the country that use the energy to grow. The farm of my childhood was cooler than the city I currently call home.
Even if everyone turned their tar roofs silver to reflect the sun, which some already have, I still don't think I would feel comfortable. It's still a lot of wasted space. On the farm we never really left an area with no purpose. Every place we wouldn't normally walk turned into a garden, or a flower circle, or left to it's own devices to grow wild plants and trees. These roofs are flat usable surfaces that are going to waste.
I'm not pretending that a few roof top gardens are going to save the world or even cool down the city, but it would sure be pretty to look at. I wish I had my own roof to plant fruits and vegetables on. It seems like it would be fun, and it would bring a bit of my old home to my new one.
These are just a few ideas that run through my head on the el. The train is the opposite of a sensory deprivation chamber, so much information comes at me that my brain turns in on itself and I get lost in my own thoughts. It gets even more true when the Red Line goes underground. The Click-Clack of the wheels echo off the tunnel walls and turn into a roar loud enough to drown out the children yelling behind me. The outside is so dark the windows turn into an almost perfect mirror, reflecting the reflections from the other side of the train.
I don't ride the train much any more. The bus has been able to take me where I want to go. But if absence makes the heart grow fonder, it also makes curiosity grow stronger. Little things I take for granted become much more interesting when I don't see them for a while.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Sense of the City
(I guess I've been getting around with newspapers as of late. Here is my latest Sense of the City. And I've also got a new article in the Urban Coaster.)
Spring seems to have come a little late this year, meaning Summer will be late as well. The last few weeks have been pretty cold. Not cold in the sense of freezing weather, but cold for May and June. Spring has announced itself with bits of white snowing down on us. Not normal snow, flakes of frozen water, but white fluff from some tree. Cottonwood maybe, I don't know I'm no Arborist.
The tree fluff floats around my neighborhood. It sticks in the air, flying in the currents purposeless. They will find a place to land in soft soil and grow into another tree to release its own fluff. Or not, such is life. I'm sure people with allergies must hate the fluff, but I think it looks pretty floating in the air.
Spring attacks all the senses. People break out of their normal routine and spend time outside. The beaches are full of dog walkers and barbecuers and sunbathers. Even people being passive feel a little more active. I usually will sit and watch people go by.
The smell of the food and the feeling of the sun and wind make me walk a little more aimlessly. I don't have much of a normal routine, school has been out for a few weeks and my day-to-day tasks have become limited. I have been walking about my neighborhood a little more, to see what I can see.
Uptown, my neighborhood is fast becoming my favorite area in the city. It is full of diverse people in varying stages of life. It has some very beautiful houses with big back yards full of plants and life, but also a lot of closed down storefronts. A lot of people have been hurt by life, their faces are warn and sunken by stress, but a lot of organizations have formed to help them. There are streets I walk down and don't even feel like I'm in the same city. I try to turn corners I have never seen before to find something new.
Perhaps if I spent as much time exploring Uptown as I did the farm as a child I wouldn't be able to find anything new here either. But, and maybe I'm wrong about this, I feel like I could navigate the farm from memory. I have gone over every bit of the land over the 18 years I have lived there and the last few years in visits. It's a different feeling; the excitement of finding something new verses the comfort of the familiar. I think it's a good mix.
The irony is, I am writing this all from memory. The day I decided to sit down and write about the beautiful Spring day, is cloudy and rainy. The wind is blowing hard and the air is chilly. The spring day I am writing about is a blend of the last week. Today is more like a Fall day than Spring time. It seems like it should be a little more disappointing, but without the rain the tree fluff, that brings me joy, can't grow.
Spring seems to have come a little late this year, meaning Summer will be late as well. The last few weeks have been pretty cold. Not cold in the sense of freezing weather, but cold for May and June. Spring has announced itself with bits of white snowing down on us. Not normal snow, flakes of frozen water, but white fluff from some tree. Cottonwood maybe, I don't know I'm no Arborist.
The tree fluff floats around my neighborhood. It sticks in the air, flying in the currents purposeless. They will find a place to land in soft soil and grow into another tree to release its own fluff. Or not, such is life. I'm sure people with allergies must hate the fluff, but I think it looks pretty floating in the air.
Spring attacks all the senses. People break out of their normal routine and spend time outside. The beaches are full of dog walkers and barbecuers and sunbathers. Even people being passive feel a little more active. I usually will sit and watch people go by.
The smell of the food and the feeling of the sun and wind make me walk a little more aimlessly. I don't have much of a normal routine, school has been out for a few weeks and my day-to-day tasks have become limited. I have been walking about my neighborhood a little more, to see what I can see.
Uptown, my neighborhood is fast becoming my favorite area in the city. It is full of diverse people in varying stages of life. It has some very beautiful houses with big back yards full of plants and life, but also a lot of closed down storefronts. A lot of people have been hurt by life, their faces are warn and sunken by stress, but a lot of organizations have formed to help them. There are streets I walk down and don't even feel like I'm in the same city. I try to turn corners I have never seen before to find something new.
Perhaps if I spent as much time exploring Uptown as I did the farm as a child I wouldn't be able to find anything new here either. But, and maybe I'm wrong about this, I feel like I could navigate the farm from memory. I have gone over every bit of the land over the 18 years I have lived there and the last few years in visits. It's a different feeling; the excitement of finding something new verses the comfort of the familiar. I think it's a good mix.
The irony is, I am writing this all from memory. The day I decided to sit down and write about the beautiful Spring day, is cloudy and rainy. The wind is blowing hard and the air is chilly. The spring day I am writing about is a blend of the last week. Today is more like a Fall day than Spring time. It seems like it should be a little more disappointing, but without the rain the tree fluff, that brings me joy, can't grow.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Sense of the City (View from the Second City: renamed)
I renamed my column for the Journal Republican to open it up to more story ideas. Also, it will be on a regular schedule, due every other Friday. Pretty excited about that.
I changed the name of this column, from View from the Second City to Sense of the City, specifically for this article. Vision isn't the only way to navigate a city. Chicago can be mapped using all of the conventional senses.
Most think of maps as the visual likeness of a specific area. They are folded up pieces of paper with colored lines and symbols representing roads, parks, "areas of interest." But the map in my head uses more than visual cues. My instinctual understanding of the area around me relies on my other senses, including smell.
I love using my sense of taste and smell. I am a foodie at heart and I am happy with the smell of a great cup of coffee or grilled hamburger or locally brewed craft beer.
Chicago is a wonderful city to navigate by the nose. What a great variety. Chicago is not really known for its chocolate factory, but there is one. Sometimes the smell of cocoa wafts downtown and catches your nose for a second.
The brownie smell is quickly replaced by something else. Sometimes it's a food smell that changes depending on the neighborhood. Sometimes it's the sickly sweet smell of a sewer drain telling us something bad is in the area. We use are noses as a physical test of an area. We are attracted to the cocoa smell and repulsed by the sewer. Some ancient piece of our brain tells us were to go based on a mostly ignored sense.
The farm smells of my childhood behave differently. The city smells seem very binary. They are either there or not. One second you smell something and the next second it is replaced with something completely different.
My White Heath farm has an amalgamation of smells. There is an ever-present smell of flowers or trees with a hint of dirt. Perhaps there is a bit of mold or rust mixed in there. Sometimes manure or diesel or exhaust. They combine to make the unforgettable smell of my childhood.
They say smell is the sense most linked with memory. For me, the smell of freshly baked bread sends me back to my childhood when there would always be fresh bread.
Sometimes my nose plays tricks on me. I often walk by Lake Michigan. Something about the water in the air or the sight of the waves makes me think I smell something that can't be there. Even though I know the lake is freshwater, I still smell almost a hint of salt in the air.
I changed the name of this column, from View from the Second City to Sense of the City, specifically for this article. Vision isn't the only way to navigate a city. Chicago can be mapped using all of the conventional senses.
Most think of maps as the visual likeness of a specific area. They are folded up pieces of paper with colored lines and symbols representing roads, parks, "areas of interest." But the map in my head uses more than visual cues. My instinctual understanding of the area around me relies on my other senses, including smell.
I love using my sense of taste and smell. I am a foodie at heart and I am happy with the smell of a great cup of coffee or grilled hamburger or locally brewed craft beer.
Chicago is a wonderful city to navigate by the nose. What a great variety. Chicago is not really known for its chocolate factory, but there is one. Sometimes the smell of cocoa wafts downtown and catches your nose for a second.
The brownie smell is quickly replaced by something else. Sometimes it's a food smell that changes depending on the neighborhood. Sometimes it's the sickly sweet smell of a sewer drain telling us something bad is in the area. We use are noses as a physical test of an area. We are attracted to the cocoa smell and repulsed by the sewer. Some ancient piece of our brain tells us were to go based on a mostly ignored sense.
The farm smells of my childhood behave differently. The city smells seem very binary. They are either there or not. One second you smell something and the next second it is replaced with something completely different.
My White Heath farm has an amalgamation of smells. There is an ever-present smell of flowers or trees with a hint of dirt. Perhaps there is a bit of mold or rust mixed in there. Sometimes manure or diesel or exhaust. They combine to make the unforgettable smell of my childhood.
They say smell is the sense most linked with memory. For me, the smell of freshly baked bread sends me back to my childhood when there would always be fresh bread.
Sometimes my nose plays tricks on me. I often walk by Lake Michigan. Something about the water in the air or the sight of the waves makes me think I smell something that can't be there. Even though I know the lake is freshwater, I still smell almost a hint of salt in the air.
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