Do you think Frost will mind? And is mimicry truly the sincerest flattery? (probably)
Perhaps it is that my body is comprised of organic material. Something deep inside of me craves the flutter of wind-tickled leaves and the luminescent golden hue cast upon faded brick in the last 5 minutes of sunset. I need to bury my hands in powdery humus and to squish my toes in wet earth. And sometimes I need to immerse my entire being in the dark, mossy, decaying and vaguely menacing faerie world into which a steady drizzle has transformed my cheerful woods.
I set out clad in a red sports tank, my black yoga pants-leg affixed by an old hair scrunchy as protection against the tire chain that longs for a taste. Why didn't I get a chain guard? Or a kickstand for that matter? Oh, that's right, because it wasn't cool 10 years ago when I bought my Trek.
I pedal through middle class neighborhoods with those distinctive brick bungalows which looked frighteningly urban to me when I first moved here from Idaho. I cross heavy traffic and am deposited by a meandering street into an upper class neighborhood of 19th century Victorians and Frank Lloyd Wrights. Usually this drive is beautiful and soothing to me but today it is too staid; too safe. It is wildness I seek. Some do not seem to need such things - perhaps it was bred in me in childhood - in the mountains.
Only a few drops are falling so I press on, but it does not really matter - only the materialization of the threatened thunderstorm will send me back. The path suddenly appears on the right and I swerve, disappearing instantaneously from prying eyes. They are safe and warm in their little cars; I pity them. But they are already gone from existence. Here lay miles of forest preserves richly inhabited by robins and fauns and beavers. I am no longer in Chicago at all, cannot hear the hum of traffic.
The river to the left is engorged from this summer's heavy rains. Perhaps it will overflow again. The rain increases alongside the steady pumps of my legs; my clothing draws it in, becoming heavy and sodden as the waterproof sunscreen on my skin begins to intermingle with the rain in chalky rivulets down my arms. Why does it do that?
I lose myself to Tolkien's Mirkwood or perhaps the Direwood - inhaling the rich scent of decomposition. The wood is vast and impenetrable. I am aware of ancient moody stares which follow along the trail. The rain's transformation is complete. Mud splatters up my back and hair; I embrace it, knowing that I am being transformed as well. The woods will accept me in this guise. A coiffured and pampered being has no business here - not in a Rainy Wood.
Two speckled fauns gaze at me in surprise, flagging their little white tails which brings their mother to investigate. But I am already gone, whizzing down the path in a drenching downpour. I am a fool. I have put on mascara; it is melting down my face in two black pools. I smile. I am a ghoul.
And then there is a peal of thunder. Surely lightning must follow. I recall my close shave with that fierce lightning storm in that one lake that one summer. I shudder and turn my bike. It is glorious to feel otherworldly and omnipotent; it is terrifying to understand one's mortality. The thunder recalls me to earth and I am just a wet, filthy, crazy, vain woman with aching, burning 34-year old lungs. I increase my speed further, now racing against time.
I burst from the forest preserve onto a major road. Silver Hondas and gleaming red Pontiacs gaze at me in dismay. I do not belong here in the living world. I careen through a muddy puddle, spraying muck in a wide arch. I glance at myself. I am a mess. I wonder what these by-passers see? I raise my face to the rain so that it can penetrate my being even deeper. I barrel through the traffic light, ignoring the red - a whizzing, splattered, sodden creature with raccoon-eyes and crazily-spiked hair. I make contact with pitying eyes and grin broadly. They do not know what it is to be wild.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Why I Took a Blogging Hiatus
I went blog-free almost exactly 6 months ago. It's really not a good idea to go missing when you are just starting out on a new venture. I took off for several reasons:
One) I have a fundamental mistrust of the internet. I have thoughts and I like to share them but do I really want them out there - in net-space - forever? I have a tendency to express myself impetuously and much more strongly than I may intend. Upon further reflection, I will generally balance myself. But I can't "balance" posts that are just.....there.....forever.....for anyone to read. (Okay, I have no following anyway and I can limit access to my blog but you get my point).
Two) Isn't blogging just so self-centered? Isn't it a little narcissistic? Does anyone really want to hear me blathering on about daisies and possums and Al Capone? Do I really have anything of value to say that hasn't already been said by someone else? And even if I do, is it self-serving to always have to put it out there? Why not just keep a journal?
Three) Is anonymity important to me? All two of you know who I am. Maybe if I were utterly anonymous I wouldn't have to worry about being impetuous or narcissistic. But then, I would not be known - and it is my opinion that most human beings want to be known - by at least someone.
Four) The title. What the heck am I going to do if I move to Forest Park? Or West Town? Can you change the title of your blog? Or is it irrevocable, once you've started a blog? Do you have to start a new blog to get a new title?
Five) Purpose. I don't know what I want this blog to be. Right now, it's about local living. In Berwyn. What if I want to write about other stuff? Maybe I should start a blog called, "Crap - From Me to You".
And yet, despite these reservations, here I am, blogging again. My desire to communicate must have overcome my reservations.
Now that you've made it this far through the post I might as well go into the most compelling reason for my hiatus. It has to do with that lady in the antique store on the south side of the Oak Park Metra stop in Berwyn. The truth is, I mostly quit blogging because going over the minutiae of my "discoveries" just seemed so empty in comparison with the magnitude of the pain that I saw in people's lives this year. Maybe that's all the more reason to keep on living the simple life and making joyful discoveries; no, it is DEFINITELY all the more reason to do so and it's the main reason that I'm back. But for awhile, about six months, life just seemed too complicated for blissful blogging.
In March I went for a history tour of southwest Berwyn. It was a self-operated tour (meaning: a book on Berwyn and my reluctant husband). It was a gorgeous day with plenty of sunshine; I was looking for the original homes of the founders of Berwyn (I found them, by the way; you can too if you want to). Just at the tail end of my tour, I spotted a charming little antique store that I'd somehow overlooked in my months of "Berwyn discoveries." I sent the husband down the street to look at books and stepped in.
I found myself in the awkward situation of interrupting a tete-a-tete between a 40ish weeping woman (clearly the owner) and a 50ish man, who appeared to be offering solace through food. They stopped to stare at me, she with the weeping eyes and he with the styrofoam carryout food container. I cleared my throat and tried to turn-about but she waved me in. I was trapped. I began listlessly circling the store as weeper and comforter continued their discussion. The reason for her tears became evident (and you've already guessed it anyway): she was losing her store. No, wait, she was losing everything - the whole caboodle - store, livelihood, savings and home - all in one fell swoop. Reasons for tooth-gnashing indeed.
Mr. Muncher gave a final squeeze and shuffled out the door, leaving me to face her grief and vulnerability - alone. I did the best I could, trying for gentle, compassionate honesty. Quietly, "Is the bank taking it?" "Yes," she replied. "Do you know what you're going to do?" "No," she answered. "It's just me and my kid. I don't know where we're going to go. Oh, I can let you have those books for forty bucks." I gazed down at the rare Mark Twain hardback I happened to be holding. "This one or the whole set?", I said uncertainly. "The whole set - all 23." I stared at the beautiful books trying to think of something else to say. Could I bear to buy the set from her for $40? I should have. I really should have. They had to go and they might as well go to someone who would love them. But at the time, we weren't experiencing an abundance of funds and $40 was a lot.
I set the book down and tried to think of anything that could give her comfort. I had no words. Only commiseration and gentleness. "We've been looking for full-time work for almost a year," I said. "Nothing yet." Her eyes lit up at the thought of helping someone else. "Oh, I know someone at the high school. Let me give you his number. Maybe it will help." I took the proffered card from her and reflected on the fact that a person losing everything could take comfort in perhaps helping someone else. I guess having to live as a recipient of sympathy and charity can become exhausting. Maybe people just want to feel the relative power and joy of being able to help others for a change. At any rate I pocketed the card and thanked her.
I headed for the door, pausing on the threshold. "Well, good luck to you." "Thanks," she said.
I know we're all tired of hearing about the economy, but its force is evident here in Berwyn. I see it in the for sale signs (at least 3 per block) and the boarded up windows still tressed in dangling Christmas lights. I see it in the hundred year old bungalow I looked at last year for $300,000 (lovingly restored by a sweet middle-aged hispanic couple) now in foreclosure at the bargain rate of $189,000. I wonder where they went? I see it in the kid who couldn't afford the buck for the pool party (which I provided) and the elderly Guatemalan mechanical engineer who is currently washing dishes after being laid off.
So that's why I quit blogging. I had nothing to say that I felt could transcend the reality of a single mom losing her life and dreams.
But here's the deal: life has a say of turning out okay. Most thing turn out okay eventually. Really. It may not seem like it, but it's true. It always gets worse before the upturn. True, you may lose stuff irrevocably and, true, things may be altered in the process, but there's always an upturn or at least a new-turn. And that's where I am. America may be forever poorer and people may never be able to climb back into who they were and what they had, but they will be someone else with other possessions and new priorities. You just have to make it through the steep plummet. And then you'll see what is on the other side. Joy and pain is always there.
One) I have a fundamental mistrust of the internet. I have thoughts and I like to share them but do I really want them out there - in net-space - forever? I have a tendency to express myself impetuously and much more strongly than I may intend. Upon further reflection, I will generally balance myself. But I can't "balance" posts that are just.....there.....forever.....for anyone to read. (Okay, I have no following anyway and I can limit access to my blog but you get my point).
Two) Isn't blogging just so self-centered? Isn't it a little narcissistic? Does anyone really want to hear me blathering on about daisies and possums and Al Capone? Do I really have anything of value to say that hasn't already been said by someone else? And even if I do, is it self-serving to always have to put it out there? Why not just keep a journal?
Three) Is anonymity important to me? All two of you know who I am. Maybe if I were utterly anonymous I wouldn't have to worry about being impetuous or narcissistic. But then, I would not be known - and it is my opinion that most human beings want to be known - by at least someone.
Four) The title. What the heck am I going to do if I move to Forest Park? Or West Town? Can you change the title of your blog? Or is it irrevocable, once you've started a blog? Do you have to start a new blog to get a new title?
Five) Purpose. I don't know what I want this blog to be. Right now, it's about local living. In Berwyn. What if I want to write about other stuff? Maybe I should start a blog called, "Crap - From Me to You".
And yet, despite these reservations, here I am, blogging again. My desire to communicate must have overcome my reservations.
Now that you've made it this far through the post I might as well go into the most compelling reason for my hiatus. It has to do with that lady in the antique store on the south side of the Oak Park Metra stop in Berwyn. The truth is, I mostly quit blogging because going over the minutiae of my "discoveries" just seemed so empty in comparison with the magnitude of the pain that I saw in people's lives this year. Maybe that's all the more reason to keep on living the simple life and making joyful discoveries; no, it is DEFINITELY all the more reason to do so and it's the main reason that I'm back. But for awhile, about six months, life just seemed too complicated for blissful blogging.
In March I went for a history tour of southwest Berwyn. It was a self-operated tour (meaning: a book on Berwyn and my reluctant husband). It was a gorgeous day with plenty of sunshine; I was looking for the original homes of the founders of Berwyn (I found them, by the way; you can too if you want to). Just at the tail end of my tour, I spotted a charming little antique store that I'd somehow overlooked in my months of "Berwyn discoveries." I sent the husband down the street to look at books and stepped in.
I found myself in the awkward situation of interrupting a tete-a-tete between a 40ish weeping woman (clearly the owner) and a 50ish man, who appeared to be offering solace through food. They stopped to stare at me, she with the weeping eyes and he with the styrofoam carryout food container. I cleared my throat and tried to turn-about but she waved me in. I was trapped. I began listlessly circling the store as weeper and comforter continued their discussion. The reason for her tears became evident (and you've already guessed it anyway): she was losing her store. No, wait, she was losing everything - the whole caboodle - store, livelihood, savings and home - all in one fell swoop. Reasons for tooth-gnashing indeed.
Mr. Muncher gave a final squeeze and shuffled out the door, leaving me to face her grief and vulnerability - alone. I did the best I could, trying for gentle, compassionate honesty. Quietly, "Is the bank taking it?" "Yes," she replied. "Do you know what you're going to do?" "No," she answered. "It's just me and my kid. I don't know where we're going to go. Oh, I can let you have those books for forty bucks." I gazed down at the rare Mark Twain hardback I happened to be holding. "This one or the whole set?", I said uncertainly. "The whole set - all 23." I stared at the beautiful books trying to think of something else to say. Could I bear to buy the set from her for $40? I should have. I really should have. They had to go and they might as well go to someone who would love them. But at the time, we weren't experiencing an abundance of funds and $40 was a lot.
I set the book down and tried to think of anything that could give her comfort. I had no words. Only commiseration and gentleness. "We've been looking for full-time work for almost a year," I said. "Nothing yet." Her eyes lit up at the thought of helping someone else. "Oh, I know someone at the high school. Let me give you his number. Maybe it will help." I took the proffered card from her and reflected on the fact that a person losing everything could take comfort in perhaps helping someone else. I guess having to live as a recipient of sympathy and charity can become exhausting. Maybe people just want to feel the relative power and joy of being able to help others for a change. At any rate I pocketed the card and thanked her.
I headed for the door, pausing on the threshold. "Well, good luck to you." "Thanks," she said.
I know we're all tired of hearing about the economy, but its force is evident here in Berwyn. I see it in the for sale signs (at least 3 per block) and the boarded up windows still tressed in dangling Christmas lights. I see it in the hundred year old bungalow I looked at last year for $300,000 (lovingly restored by a sweet middle-aged hispanic couple) now in foreclosure at the bargain rate of $189,000. I wonder where they went? I see it in the kid who couldn't afford the buck for the pool party (which I provided) and the elderly Guatemalan mechanical engineer who is currently washing dishes after being laid off.
So that's why I quit blogging. I had nothing to say that I felt could transcend the reality of a single mom losing her life and dreams.
But here's the deal: life has a say of turning out okay. Most thing turn out okay eventually. Really. It may not seem like it, but it's true. It always gets worse before the upturn. True, you may lose stuff irrevocably and, true, things may be altered in the process, but there's always an upturn or at least a new-turn. And that's where I am. America may be forever poorer and people may never be able to climb back into who they were and what they had, but they will be someone else with other possessions and new priorities. You just have to make it through the steep plummet. And then you'll see what is on the other side. Joy and pain is always there.
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