Call and Response: Viewpoints in 100 Words (#4)

It started when I realized that I'm old. Once while watching TV, I glanced across the room to the framed photographs of our grown children. The more the show went on, the more I looked at those photographs. Finally I started crying. Not loud, just some tears that started somewhere deep. One day I walked through the park and saw mothers and kids. The kids were laughing. I should've been happy, but instead I had to sit down and cry. I wish this would stop. I've always been the strong one in the family, so this can't go on.

----

We've been through a lot in our marriage. Not once, though, did she complain. She said she knew that she could always rely on me to be strong. Even when Toby, our son, said he'd had enough of us both, she didn't complain. I told her he would be okay and would come back some day, and he'd realize that we'd all changed for the better.  We even separated for a time, but she called me and said she couldn't stay away. That was after Toby left. Through everything, I've been as strong as anyone could be. She seems happy.

Call and Response: Viewpoints in 100 Words (#14)

His skin was thin, translucent, like ancient parchment under which blue ink was imprinted. When he sat next to me; sunlight through the window made the blue ink beneath his cheek even brighter. As two large women forced their heavy bags into the overhead bins, he seemed amused. Nobody was between us. Later, he declined snacks and beverages, but when the flight attendant brought my ginger ale, he smiled and passed the cup to me, and I felt how cold his hands were. He never spoke. When he slept, his eyebrows lifted slightly, as if he was savoring each breath.

_____

I was used to people staring. I know how I look--fragile, as though something isn't quite right. And things aren't quite right: that nagging pain in my side had quickly turned bad. I knew that the woman sitting in the window seat sensed something. I'd seen her in the airport, how her toenails were painted so beautifully. I'd come to notice such things more over the last ten months of the approximate year they'd given me. I wanted to tell her how wonderful they looked, and to thank her for not pulling away when she felt my cold hands.

Chicago: An Epilogue

After a short train ride, too much time in airports, and a couple of plane rides, I return from Chicago. On the final flight, I find myself seated to a woman who is from Ohio, and we spend a few minutes discussing the previous day's presidential election. She says that Mitt Romney seemed absolutely stunned that he'd lost, but that since she had been in charge of "counting the votes" for years ago, she could have told Romney that he'd lose Ohio. We talk a bit more, and I stop her because I have to clear something up: "So," I say, "does that mean you were Ohio's secretary of state?" We talk about politics a bit more, and then we discuss our children and jobs. She says her oldest daughter attended the Berklee College of Music and, having "the soul of an artist," supports herself as a jazz singer. It's a nice thing, the woman and I agree, to make a living doing what you love to do. And after we land, I show her where to pick up her luggage and where to find a taxi, and I apologize for making her talk shop on the airplane. "It was fun," she says, and I tell her I agree. Then she is off to the Best Western, and I am on my way home.

The day before, election day, started out cool but sunny in Chicago. After breakfast, I walked the city for a few hours, then boarded boat for an architectural tour on the Chicago River. The cool morning had lingered, but the sun had not. Not long after the boat pulled away from the dock, those of us who were seated on the open, top deck were treated to a chilly breeze. I pulled my coat from out of my backpack and put it over my other coat--now fully dressed in pretty much all the warm clothing I'd packed. The tour itself was enjoyable, and the tour guide seemed to know what she was talking about. The longer we cruised, the fewer people remained on the deck--the others had descended to the warm, wind-free interior and were probably drinking hot chocolate purchased from the onboard bar. A light rain--more of a mist--began to fall. "It's only you and me now," the tour guide said, and when I looked around and saw that she was right. My exposed hands and face were cold, but soon enough we were again moored.

After a pizza-and-beer lunch at Pizzeria Due, I stopped in a nearby movie theater to stay warm and dry and to watch the movie Flight, which was enjoyable but also as predictable as the next day's election results. Thematically the script was a bit heavy handed, as well, but I am here to neither praise nor bury a movie.... Outside again, the sun was gone but the drizzle of rain was not. I continued walking, the my water-repellent jacket just repellent enough to keep me dry. Finally, on the gray cusp between melancholy and low blood sugar, I picked up a sandwich in a small grocery store and headed back to my hotel room. Along the way, strolling through Millennium Park, I stopped and used my phone to take this photo:

Later, while watching the election results on TV and eating my sandwich, I thought about the young woman who, the day before, sat down at a table beside me as I ate breakfast. "Anyone sitting here?" she asked. The table she had chosen was large, and I assured her it was empty. She asked if I was from Chicago. She told me about the boat tours on the Chicago River (I didn't tell her I planned to ride such a boat the next day). "You look tired," she said. "I do?" I said. "Yeah, you look tired." I told that I was not, that I was simply old. She then asked if I knew where a certain intersection was, and I said I did not. Next, she asked if I knew where South Bend is. "Indiana," I said. She said she needed eight dollars to get there, that she was leaving an abusive relationship and was kicking a drug habit, so she needed to get to a half-way house in South Bend. "That's where I'll stay until I have the baby," she said, and I was amazed that she'd hit the trifecta. I actually did not have that much money on me, and I told her so. Moments later she was gone, and I kept eating.

I would meet another young woman later that day, someone involved with poetry. Several times since I'd begun walking Chicago, I came across signs and placards announcing the 100th anniversary of the Poetry Foundation, which publishes Poetry. On this day I happened upon the Foundation's offices, where I examined the stacks and stacks of books--all poetry. I photographed some of the stacks and sent the photo to one of my writer-friends, and we both had the same reaction: the place reminded us of the poetry library we had, at different times, discovered in Edinburgh, Scotland.. The woman I ended up speaking to gave me a bit of history about the Foundation (much of which I knew). When I asked how she'd come to work there, she said that a year or so earlier she had finished her MFA at Chicago's Columbia College, and the Foundation needed someone, and....well, that's the story. I would think of her again when the woman on the plane told me about her jazz-singing daughter.

All in all, I suppose the trip was uneventful, though being somewhere other than a cubicle is always good. There were other people I encountered but did not meet: the two men talking advertising strategy in a coffee shop; the three men talking about education and world travel at a cafe; the group of workers (whom I imagined to be doing something creative) seated around a large table, talking and reviewing something displayed on a large screen.

It is good to get out, to see and hear things, to challenge myopia and provincialism. Then again, it can be quite dangerous.

Chicago

Yesterday involved 2 airplanes, one train, and a many blocks of city hiking before I checked into my Chicago hotel room, a good stone's throw from the Chicago River, a short walk to the site of where Fort Dearborn once stood. I am, I believe, approximately 60 miles from what I call my hometown, though I am a couple thousand miles from my home.

It is good to be traveling again, to be someplace where the voices and the horizon and the energy are all different from the everyday.

After checking into the hotel, I rested for half an hour before north up Michigan Avenue, then west and north and south and east on streets I do not remember right now. I found a Trader Joe's and bought a bottle of wine, though I would not find a corkscrew until late this afternoon, and then had dinner at the Billy Goat Tavern, a place you don't write home about unless you know the history of the place. I walked until my legs ached, and then I walked some more to get back to the hotel, where I watched the local news and and then slept poorly until this morning.

What I thought was early this morning I climbed out of bed, laced my running shoes to my feet, and ran south on Michigan Avenue until I had to stop at barricades set up for the Hot Chocolate run. I thought about joining the runners, but had visions of Rosie Ruiz so I instead turned west then north and I think south again before turning east to get back to the hotel. After showering and resting, I headed eagerly for the nearby Corner Bakery Cafe, one of my traditional breakfast spots. Inside, though, were dozens of parents and kids apparently hoping for a healthy breakfast, so I walked some more and settled on an Einstein Brothers Bagels.

After breakfast, it was time to walk some more, and I found the finish line for the Hot Chocolate run, where I took this interesting photo of what the runners left behind:

I then made my way to a CVS pharmacy where I bought bandages for a bothersome blister that has formed on the third toe of my right foot. Funny: nearly a week of backpacking not long ago and my feet came away unscathed. Now, not even 2 days of walking in Chicago and I wince with every other step.

I took a photo of berries on a bare tree...

I took some photos of moving objects...

 ...and photographed different shapes and textures.

After several hours of wandering, I made my way to the Rock Bottom Brewery, which I believe also has an establishment in Portland, Oregon, and where I think I've been. When I got back to my room, I removed my shoe and sock toAfter returning to my hotel room and spending a couple hours there, I set out again after dark just to stretch my legs.

Now, I'm doing this and reviewing what truly was a fairly mundane, uneventful day. But, I am here, and in some places the mundane and the uneventful go a long way.