I wasn't in the Christmas mood this year. Sure, I am always annoyed by the money I am expected to spend, the knowledge that I don't need anything yet have to come up with something to tell people to buy me... but this year it didn't feel like the holidays at all. I don't know if that means anything about growing up or moving on or changing. But I just didn't get it this year.
So Christmas night I got into a fight with my mother about some stupid stuff that I don't have time for. It's not a secret that I think her husband is an ignorant, pompous ass (and that is edited for your reading pleasure) but somehow they both assumed they would invite HIS family to MY wedding.
Yep.
Tell me if I'm nuts. But I didn't grow up with him or his family. By the time my mom remarried, I had been on my own for at least 6 months. I have met his kids once or twice each. We don't know one another. We aren't "family." My mom knows we are planning a small wedding. David and I are paying for it. I am not paying for the children of a man I don't like to eat. If I passed any of them on the street I wouldn't know them. If I have to meet people at my wedding, they probably shouldn't be there. We are inviting 100, expecting about 75. They don't make the cut.
Do you understand that? Or are David and I hateful and crazy?
So somehow, instead of just deferring to the people who are hosting the wedding, who are paying the wedding, who are planning the wedding, who are GETTING MARRIED, a confrontation had to result. Long story short, I am tired of dealing with the drama. So I left town with David that night and went home. He had to go home that night anyway because of his work schedule, and I decided to go along. Most of my friends I planned to see understood. When I'm upset I want to be with David and I want to be home. That's where I went.
And today my friend that I moved up here with moved back to Indy. I am so excited for her. She is starting her career, buying a home... but I can't help but feel that a chapter is gone, an era has ended. She started this adventure with me. Today she came by my place to drop off some stuff I had left at our old apartment. One of these things was our grocery cart. I remembered the first time we went grocery shopping together... we were so used to shopping in Indy where you buy everything and load up for trunk and back seats. Well, we forgot that we had no car and had to carry all of our stuff about ten blocks home. So we bought this old lady push cart that a lot of people use up here to haul stuff around. It was red and we named it Ruby. I have so many memories of us dragging that thing down State Street and then down Cullom Ave. In our busy lives sometimes the only times we had good conversation was while pushing that cart around. We struggled to lift up the steps of our first apartment building, struggled to keep the cat inside as we rolled into our second apartment, and today, it is sitting in my storage unit in the basement.
I know it's silly. But today the cart, and the fact that she didn't need it anymore, was sad. A definite shift has occurred, life has changed, and now Ruby is but shoved into our hall closet or teetering down Chicago streets, us laughing or discussing or complaining or comforting around it. And I guess I just realize that life is changing. I am here with David in our very own home and she is moving with her love to Indy to their very own home. My other friends are growing up too. And it's eery.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Pigeon Man
There are eccentric characters in every neighborhood of Chicago. Lincoln Square, the neighborhood I called home for over a year, had Joe, the Pigeon Man. He sat on the fire hydrant at the corner of Lawrence and Western and pigeons would flock to him. They sat on him, he fed them, he talked to them. There is a burned-out abandoned building there, next to the Walgreens, and when he wasn't around, the pigeons would line up in the windows and on the roof. When he came, they would swoop down to him.
I never saw him sitting there; maybe I'm always in too much of a hurry. I didn't use that intersection a whole lot, as I work south of the Square and he would sit on the north end. I have seen him the past two weekends though, waiting with me for the #49 Western bus. I have noticed him at the bus stop in the past; I noticed him because he was bent forward, had a walking stick, and wore all blue, like a janitor. He wore his watch stretched over his shirt sleeve.
Last Sunday, I was waiting for the bus after work. He was waiting there with me. Another man came up, and started talking to Joe. He seemed distant, like he didn't want to talk. But the man was asking him if he'd read the paper, and what he was going to do about the article. I was intrigued, but got no more information, even during the bus ride. Joe got off at Lawrence and Western, where I assume now he went to sit on that hydrant, as usual, and feed the pigeons. On the bus though, the man who had asked Joe about the article chastised him for not wearing a coat or hat. He said, "Joe's a wonderful person and I don't want him to get pneumonia or somethin'." I'm a whore for people watching, and the whole exchange was very interesting to watch.
So today, I do my usual read of the Chicago Tribune online and as I'm scanning the local headlines, I see "Lincoln Square Pigeon Man Hit by Van." I began reading it, because I lived in Lincoln Square for a while, still work there, and had no idea we had a Pigeon Man. When I saw the man's photo and read about him, I realized the man I had seen on the bus was this Pigeon Man and that he had been killed Tuesday when he was struck by a van.
I just remembered the other man on the bus worrying about Joe not having a hat or coat. Two days later, he gets hit by a van. It was just..strange. It reminded me that you never know, do you? I see this man on Sunday... I don't know anything about him. Then I read today that he is dead, and that he was this local legend. The article the other man was informing him about was discussing some local politicians trying to pass an ordinance that would fine people $1,000 for feeding pigeons. This mysterious bus ride I had Sunday...article, what are you going to do about, man dressed in blue janitor garb, the other man called him Joe, he had a bag of bread with him... it all comes together in this article about his death.
It makes me sad, I guess, because this man had this love for these creatures that the city is trying so hard to exterminate. It makes me sad that he died. It makes me sad that I just saw him, two days before his death, and I didn't know, he didn't know, none of us knew he was going to get hit by a van 48 hours later and die. That's the mystery, the eeriness, the unsettling thing about life. We don't know.
Tonight, there are candles at this fire hydrant. There are lonely birds on the Square. There is a girl at home, up too late, wondering about life and death and, to quote on of her favorite monologues, "...how amazing it all is." The characters of this city, like the Rastafarian who sits under the Berwyn red line station and sells incense. Like the Finger Lady on the Blue Line. Every neighborhood has one. I wonder who will take the place in Lincoln Square.
I never saw him sitting there; maybe I'm always in too much of a hurry. I didn't use that intersection a whole lot, as I work south of the Square and he would sit on the north end. I have seen him the past two weekends though, waiting with me for the #49 Western bus. I have noticed him at the bus stop in the past; I noticed him because he was bent forward, had a walking stick, and wore all blue, like a janitor. He wore his watch stretched over his shirt sleeve.
Last Sunday, I was waiting for the bus after work. He was waiting there with me. Another man came up, and started talking to Joe. He seemed distant, like he didn't want to talk. But the man was asking him if he'd read the paper, and what he was going to do about the article. I was intrigued, but got no more information, even during the bus ride. Joe got off at Lawrence and Western, where I assume now he went to sit on that hydrant, as usual, and feed the pigeons. On the bus though, the man who had asked Joe about the article chastised him for not wearing a coat or hat. He said, "Joe's a wonderful person and I don't want him to get pneumonia or somethin'." I'm a whore for people watching, and the whole exchange was very interesting to watch.
So today, I do my usual read of the Chicago Tribune online and as I'm scanning the local headlines, I see "Lincoln Square Pigeon Man Hit by Van." I began reading it, because I lived in Lincoln Square for a while, still work there, and had no idea we had a Pigeon Man. When I saw the man's photo and read about him, I realized the man I had seen on the bus was this Pigeon Man and that he had been killed Tuesday when he was struck by a van.
I just remembered the other man on the bus worrying about Joe not having a hat or coat. Two days later, he gets hit by a van. It was just..strange. It reminded me that you never know, do you? I see this man on Sunday... I don't know anything about him. Then I read today that he is dead, and that he was this local legend. The article the other man was informing him about was discussing some local politicians trying to pass an ordinance that would fine people $1,000 for feeding pigeons. This mysterious bus ride I had Sunday...article, what are you going to do about, man dressed in blue janitor garb, the other man called him Joe, he had a bag of bread with him... it all comes together in this article about his death.
It makes me sad, I guess, because this man had this love for these creatures that the city is trying so hard to exterminate. It makes me sad that he died. It makes me sad that I just saw him, two days before his death, and I didn't know, he didn't know, none of us knew he was going to get hit by a van 48 hours later and die. That's the mystery, the eeriness, the unsettling thing about life. We don't know.
Tonight, there are candles at this fire hydrant. There are lonely birds on the Square. There is a girl at home, up too late, wondering about life and death and, to quote on of her favorite monologues, "...how amazing it all is." The characters of this city, like the Rastafarian who sits under the Berwyn red line station and sells incense. Like the Finger Lady on the Blue Line. Every neighborhood has one. I wonder who will take the place in Lincoln Square.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
"I don't want a facebook wedding!"
When David and I decided to get married next summer, which I guess means that we are now engaged, David said, "I don't want a facebook wedding." He is hilarious and wise at the same time, which is one of many reasons I am marrying him.
He went on to say that it doesn't really matter to anyone else when and where we are getting married...if it does matter to anyone else, they will get an invitation in the mail with all the information they need. He told me how it annoyed him, the posting of pictures of the ring, as if that's what getting married is all about.
That's true. It's so true. This is why I love him.
He went on to say that it doesn't really matter to anyone else when and where we are getting married...if it does matter to anyone else, they will get an invitation in the mail with all the information they need. He told me how it annoyed him, the posting of pictures of the ring, as if that's what getting married is all about.
That's true. It's so true. This is why I love him.
Friday, December 7, 2007
With so much going on in the world, so many causes that need passionate people...
Last night I saw Nightline, and there is a group of Evangelicals that go to a Mormon convention every year to try and convert the Mormons to "true" Christianity. There was a man yelling at a teenage kid, "Your Jesus is not the real Jesus. He is the brother of the Devil!"
...?
Another woman said she felt sorry for the Mormons because they had been deceived.
I wonder if these evangelicals know that people think THEY have been deceived. Just a thought.
There are so many problems... problems people are dealing with here and now. People are hurting right now. I guess I don't understand putting all of our efforts toward people who aren't sick, poor, or enslaved just because you don't agree with their religious views. Are you kidding?
I suppose they are trying to save these people from some sort of awful afterlife... there are people, though, suffering a horrible LIFE, current life, and I think our efforts would be best used in that direction. We know this life exists... we are here, now, living it. Some people are not living it well. Let's help them before we worry about a supernatural life a good part of the population doesn't even believe exists, while everyone else is stil debating what it looks like or how you get there. There is no debate that people are suffering right now. Let's start here, shall we?
Last night I saw Nightline, and there is a group of Evangelicals that go to a Mormon convention every year to try and convert the Mormons to "true" Christianity. There was a man yelling at a teenage kid, "Your Jesus is not the real Jesus. He is the brother of the Devil!"
...?
Another woman said she felt sorry for the Mormons because they had been deceived.
I wonder if these evangelicals know that people think THEY have been deceived. Just a thought.
There are so many problems... problems people are dealing with here and now. People are hurting right now. I guess I don't understand putting all of our efforts toward people who aren't sick, poor, or enslaved just because you don't agree with their religious views. Are you kidding?
I suppose they are trying to save these people from some sort of awful afterlife... there are people, though, suffering a horrible LIFE, current life, and I think our efforts would be best used in that direction. We know this life exists... we are here, now, living it. Some people are not living it well. Let's help them before we worry about a supernatural life a good part of the population doesn't even believe exists, while everyone else is stil debating what it looks like or how you get there. There is no debate that people are suffering right now. Let's start here, shall we?
Monday, December 3, 2007
I have to say that this post is inspired by two other bloggers: Dana for the subject and by her poetic telling of it, and Mindy for her honesty.
I don't know how often in my life I've been truly honest. I mean truly honest...with my myself and others. It seems as if I was always getting myself into situations that I had to hide from, or felt I had to, or situations that I assumed other people in my life wouldn't approve of. As I ran around in early high school not caring what people thought of purple fishnets, I guess, looking back, I cared deeply what they thought about ME. I had all of these ideas... I had these dreams. Some of them ended up materializing in the future and some did not. For example, I knew for so many years that my best friend Martin and I were going to move to New York and he was going to dance and I was goin to act. Or stage manage. Or write. Or everything. Life is wide, wide open when you are young. I miss that. I miss the possibility of the impossible. I was going to leave Indiana, and never ever look back. I didn't need anyone there and they didn't need me. Maybe this seems sad. But in a way it was refreshing. I could go anywhere. What did happen was that I did move to a big city, although it wasn't New York. I moved with another good friend who I knew through theatre, but neither of us aspired to be actors or dancers or anything theatrical up here. In fact, I didn't really know what I aspired to be. And while I did leave Indiana and at this point don't know that I'll live there again, I still have ties there. They are stronger, even, then when I lived there. David's family keeps a part of me there. I love them. I, as Hallmark-y as this sounds, have his two sisters who are now my sisters, my two brother-in-laws, and his parents. They are a reason to be there. I didn't know that was going to happen. I didn't know that I would have a life partner and that we would share a mortgage. I didn't know. I wasn't expecting to have such a strained relationship with my mother, or with Martin. I guess I was disappointed by them. I didn't expect to be giving my life over to the career and field I am going into. When I peered into my future in middle and high scool, I didn't see myself weeping alone in my office after giving my first positive result as an HIV test counselor. I didn't see myself staying in Chicago for my family here, Jay and Dwayne. I didn't think I'd be pursuing such an archaic major, Social Justice, for Christ's sake, and I surely never thought I'd do something as normal as living with a man and having a mortgage and entertaining the idea of getting married.
When I told an ex-boyfriend that I wasn't going to major in theatre, he said I was "selling out." As if everyone who does not have a creative career is somehow a part of the system, The Man, and therefore not valid. Tell me how I can sell out by entering a career where I will work for the rights of others and make hardly any money. I knew that when he said it years ago... but at that point in my life, I let him say it. I let males tell me a lot of things then. I let men do a lot of things then. I went along, an unwilling but non-protesting victim. Some of you know about this awful time in my life, and some of you only knew the happy, passionate facade I used, as I hid by keeping myself busy doing theatre. I hid in my characteer's lives, painstakingly creating their lives so I did not have to face my own. I just wonder what if I had been consious all those years, what choices I would have made.
And here I am, now, a self-proclaimed feminist, I've worked with rape victims being tested for HIV, and there is a part of me that wants to cry with them, maybe harder than them, because unlike them, I am not still in shock. I want to tell them that it's alright and one day they may eve see it as an asset. Hell, I want to shout to them, it may make you change the world. But I don't. Because I know I wouldn't have understood it then and my last thoughts were about my future, because I didn't see my future. I was too busy hiding from the present.
What is the point of this post? I don't know. I've just been thinking about my life a lot lately, and how so many people don't really know me. Even those who think they do, who I consider my very best friends. And it gets heavy, this knowledge, this past, and I thought I'd let some of it, this fraction of it, go. Even if no one reads it, it is here and not here, with me. That was the point, I suppose.
I don't know how often in my life I've been truly honest. I mean truly honest...with my myself and others. It seems as if I was always getting myself into situations that I had to hide from, or felt I had to, or situations that I assumed other people in my life wouldn't approve of. As I ran around in early high school not caring what people thought of purple fishnets, I guess, looking back, I cared deeply what they thought about ME. I had all of these ideas... I had these dreams. Some of them ended up materializing in the future and some did not. For example, I knew for so many years that my best friend Martin and I were going to move to New York and he was going to dance and I was goin to act. Or stage manage. Or write. Or everything. Life is wide, wide open when you are young. I miss that. I miss the possibility of the impossible. I was going to leave Indiana, and never ever look back. I didn't need anyone there and they didn't need me. Maybe this seems sad. But in a way it was refreshing. I could go anywhere. What did happen was that I did move to a big city, although it wasn't New York. I moved with another good friend who I knew through theatre, but neither of us aspired to be actors or dancers or anything theatrical up here. In fact, I didn't really know what I aspired to be. And while I did leave Indiana and at this point don't know that I'll live there again, I still have ties there. They are stronger, even, then when I lived there. David's family keeps a part of me there. I love them. I, as Hallmark-y as this sounds, have his two sisters who are now my sisters, my two brother-in-laws, and his parents. They are a reason to be there. I didn't know that was going to happen. I didn't know that I would have a life partner and that we would share a mortgage. I didn't know. I wasn't expecting to have such a strained relationship with my mother, or with Martin. I guess I was disappointed by them. I didn't expect to be giving my life over to the career and field I am going into. When I peered into my future in middle and high scool, I didn't see myself weeping alone in my office after giving my first positive result as an HIV test counselor. I didn't see myself staying in Chicago for my family here, Jay and Dwayne. I didn't think I'd be pursuing such an archaic major, Social Justice, for Christ's sake, and I surely never thought I'd do something as normal as living with a man and having a mortgage and entertaining the idea of getting married.
When I told an ex-boyfriend that I wasn't going to major in theatre, he said I was "selling out." As if everyone who does not have a creative career is somehow a part of the system, The Man, and therefore not valid. Tell me how I can sell out by entering a career where I will work for the rights of others and make hardly any money. I knew that when he said it years ago... but at that point in my life, I let him say it. I let males tell me a lot of things then. I let men do a lot of things then. I went along, an unwilling but non-protesting victim. Some of you know about this awful time in my life, and some of you only knew the happy, passionate facade I used, as I hid by keeping myself busy doing theatre. I hid in my characteer's lives, painstakingly creating their lives so I did not have to face my own. I just wonder what if I had been consious all those years, what choices I would have made.
And here I am, now, a self-proclaimed feminist, I've worked with rape victims being tested for HIV, and there is a part of me that wants to cry with them, maybe harder than them, because unlike them, I am not still in shock. I want to tell them that it's alright and one day they may eve see it as an asset. Hell, I want to shout to them, it may make you change the world. But I don't. Because I know I wouldn't have understood it then and my last thoughts were about my future, because I didn't see my future. I was too busy hiding from the present.
What is the point of this post? I don't know. I've just been thinking about my life a lot lately, and how so many people don't really know me. Even those who think they do, who I consider my very best friends. And it gets heavy, this knowledge, this past, and I thought I'd let some of it, this fraction of it, go. Even if no one reads it, it is here and not here, with me. That was the point, I suppose.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
I am wearing a tshirt from high school. I didn't do a whole lot of activities in high school that came with a tshirt, but I have a couple. I'm wearing it and realizing that, really, it wasn't that long ago since I was in high school. But so much has happened and I am so changed that I can't imagine still being in that place in life. It was so great and awful, wasn't it? Both, together, back and forth, or at the exact same moment.
Sometimes I'd look back on "the good old days" and miss it. But increasingly I love my current place in life more and more. Look who I am, look what I've done! I want to say to the people in my life who I thought mattered and really didn't.
I want to go back to some moments though, most of them completely divorced from high school, but the occurred in that age range. Theatre, mostly. Now it's been... four years since I've performed and three since I did work on a show at all. In February I will be in the Vagina Monologues. I can't wait to be onstage again.
There is a part of me I left there, in those dark backstage areas that smelled of lumber, under the spotlights and the gobos... and it will always be there for me when I need to remember who I am, if I forget just a little bit. I smell fresh lumber and I remember.
Sometimes I'd look back on "the good old days" and miss it. But increasingly I love my current place in life more and more. Look who I am, look what I've done! I want to say to the people in my life who I thought mattered and really didn't.
I want to go back to some moments though, most of them completely divorced from high school, but the occurred in that age range. Theatre, mostly. Now it's been... four years since I've performed and three since I did work on a show at all. In February I will be in the Vagina Monologues. I can't wait to be onstage again.
There is a part of me I left there, in those dark backstage areas that smelled of lumber, under the spotlights and the gobos... and it will always be there for me when I need to remember who I am, if I forget just a little bit. I smell fresh lumber and I remember.
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