12 Things I Love about Chicago

12.  Bike lanes - Wow! Actually having a lane to ride my bike in makes the road so much less scary.  Bikers still get hurt but for the actual number of bikers in Chicago, the chances seem statistically reduced.  *I did not do the math on that last statement.

11.  Outdoors - This city has a ton of outdoor space and people actually use it.  The first time I saw a sunbather in the middle of the city, I was shocked.  Now, it has become normal.  After hearing about the winter, it became reasonable.  Get all the fun that can be gotten from the summer by going outdoors.  The traffic along the lakeshore path almost deserves a place in the news or an app for phones.

10.  Independent everything - Stores, restaurants, bars, health clubs... the list goes on and on.  Chicagoans support the local and the local pays them back in quality, service, and neighborly living.

9.  Men in Uniforms - Not to say anything bad about other cities men in uniforms, but Chicago puts the cute one in blue.  I almost look forward to needing a cop just for the chance to stare at his face and pretend helplessness.  I would let a fireman carry me out of a burning building.  Wink, wink

8.  CTA - I love not having a car.  Reliable public transportation makes life so easy and frees up time to ease drop on others or make eyes at a cute guy.  My morning commute is my brain time to read the news and plan my day.  Nothing is better than a monthly pass to zone out while commuting to work.

7.  Bars - I would like to know the ratio of bars to people in Chicago and compare it to other places.  We,  meaning you and me, like to go out to catch a drink with friends or strangers.  Chicago has bars and they fully support them and that's a good thing for all.

6.  Free Concerts - This is how the city keeps the population happy, we suffer through winter to enjoy the free outdoor pleasures of the summer.  They are outdoor, they are fun and they are free.

5.  The Lake - Some day, my former teacher self will learn the name of the lake I live next to and maybe it's history.  The lack on basic and civil knowledge does not impair my enjoyment of it.  There is a bend on lakeshore path that still takes my breath away.  At that point, the city's size projects upwards in stories of concrete and man-made features while the lake rests calmly on the other side, completely unchanged nor bothered.

4.  Events - Who keeps the social calendar for the city?  Trick question, no one can.  There are always events going on, from bowling to museum openings.  Even focusing in on the neighborhoods, who couldn't find five organized activities to participate in every night.  Who can keep up?

3.  Dogs - This city loves dogs.  Chicago has dog parks, dog beaches, at least three stores per neighborhood devoted to dogs, water and treats outside of stores, an employment of hundreds of dog walkers, and even dog therapists who charge $500 to cure two dogs of barking issues.  Better to spoil a dog than a child so I'm hoping the kids are alright because the dogs are truly spoiled.

2.  Intrigue - Politics lacks boredom in this city, so does crime and corruption.  They all meet up often at the events from point 4.  Crime - well, just the murders and shootings - even have their own newspaper.  The Chicago Tribune needs nothing more than a few murders and a shooting to fill the from page.  They use politics as a filler.  Luckily, Chicago has several newspapers that can focus on other issues.

1.  Chicagoans - These are nice, fun, sporty, and artsy people.  The city has people for everyone and nice  comes as a common character trait.  Point 1 makes all of the other points possible.

Twelve reasons I love Chicago.  

Breakfast at the Cinnamon Cafe on Lawrence

This is a place of beauty in food...oh, and it tastes great too.

It burned my heart when it close

Such a cruel thing

With no warning

the doors stopped opening

salt shakers still on the table

And was replaced with a place that doesn't believe in brunch

Atheists 

French restaurants

not believing in God is one thing,

not believing in brunch is another

Snow and Other Mean Things to Say

Lets talk a moment about snow in alliteration:  It's white, water, and comes in winter.

Now let's talk about snow in Chicago:  It's a fact of life and a price I must pay.

I prefer alliteration.

Starting before I moved to this great city, people spoke of The Snow.  Friends and strangers advised me on how to cope with The Snow.  I was given advise without asking, while drinking, and even when getting a sunburn.  When people didn't know what to say, they mentioned it in catastrophic terms.  Groups would gather to discuss how I'm from the South and will have a tough time in the winter.  Length of coats, undergarments, and the glove v. mitten debate raged around me.

I bit my tongue.  Being from the South, I was raised to be polite.

 It snowed.

Sweet, soft, silent snow fell over the city Thursday night like a first blanket of winter.  

Wonderful, wistful, white snow

Black Friday Fear

I admit to being afraid.  I am afraid.  I fear shopping on Black Friday.  I cannot make myself go out to shop no matter what the savings are.  I will spend today scared of stores.

This day is historically the biggest shopping day of the year.  It's the day when all the stores that have a red balance sheets (they aren't making money) end up in the black (they finally make money).  To cause this to happen, millions of shoppers go out and fill their baskets with purchases then line up to check out.  Horror stories exist.

For this reason, I avoid the masses of humanity.  I am a weak shopper and cannot hold out.  This is why I avoid the shops today and huddle at home with chores.

Cars, Boats, and Questions

      These two buildings get noticed.  Really noticed...but what about the boat dock?

The building is in the middle of Chicago and has parked cars for several floors.  That alone makes me nervous.  What's to keep the cars from falling out?  A wire? It all seems a bit too risky for my backing tastes.  No one cares what's above, offices or apartments, because the backed up cars that could almost fall into the river catch the eye.

The whole thing feels to exposed, but what about the bottom?  A person could be on the way to a meeting, see a boat, and say "Hey, I like it." Poof!  A boat owner is born.  Just closed a huge deal, why not buy a boat to celebrate?  Coming from divorce court, a boat is just the thing to pick a newly divorcee up.

 This is too risky for the city.  The potential exists to have unprepared boat-owners who are not committed to the lifestyle of fees and repairs.  It's like having a bar in a house full of teenagers and then taking a trip.  What do you think will happen?

Luckily, while liquor in the house in free but a boat always costs money.  The price is the deterrent to keep the city from being full of unprepared boat owners with regrets and sad boats.  The river is not polluted with abandoned boats from a bonus, long liquored lunch, and then impulse with opportunity.

Really, what's in the rest of the building?

Forgive (again)

I saw the sign again but this time written in chalk on a wall and then later that day in spray paint on a wall.  Is this a message from someone?

It was a strange moment that reminded me of The Matrix.  The chalk message caught me just as I had finished telling a friend about the unsuccessful date.  The spray paint whizzed by as my train headed back to the Loop.  Was the message really there?  Was it meant for me?

I wonder who needs the city to forgive so much?  Do I need more of it in my life?

Forgive

 
Who writes 'forgive' on a sidewalk?

I couldn't help but think of five different scenarios to cause it.  Put the plausible stories aside and think about how many people run across this message.  Walking along, happy, tired, angry, bored, or drunk, and see a directive to let go of grudges and pains inflicted and let go of the pain and resentment.

As children, we are all taught this and as adults, we pass this lesson along to children.  The lesson of letting go enters our lives and leave multiple times before ever truly taking it in and acting on it.  It cannot be done by others nor can it be done for others.  So maybe this word on the sidewalk is to remind us to do it for ourselves.

Now, put away the philosophy.  I came across this statement while on an anger and frustration fueled walk.  It's my method of calming the brain and re-centering my thoughts.  So I was in the middle of the walk when I took the photo.

I had been heading out on a date a few weeks ago.  Not to get into details, on my way to the date I realized that this date was no good.  He was going to drag me down, unhinge my confidence, and take advantage of my character.  Not to say he was a monster of a guy, just one a loser.   He was a guy I wouldn't want any of my friends to date, so why was I heading out to meet him?  I cancelled in as nice of way as possible and taking all of the blame before getting off the phone.

After the photo, one might expect me to forgive the guy who started my walk.   For a moment, I considered it.  Then I rejected it.  While I could forgive the guy, it does not mean returning to the same relationship.  That memory serves as a lesson in life and character.  Some people are not healthy, some people are not good for you, and some people will not be good to you.   And I decided to forgive myself for every letting that kind of person far enough into my life to take up memory space in my phone.

I forgave and then deleted.   

Roller Derby Spectacular

Roller derby action is a girls event.  Great fun to watch, the cheering leaves you horse and the rules engaged.  And lets face it, we would all like to see some violence.

And somewhere deep inside, even the daintiest of girls would like to see women rewarded for physically aggressive acts.  Girls, go to a bout and see the action.  

Beauty in Beaches

As long as beaches are clean, they are gorgeous.  Any beach, any location, and even in any season, just as long as they are all clean.  There is beauty in the sand and ripples of the waves.

In Chicago, there is also fear.  People die in the water every week, and twice a week in the summer. It's a reason to not read the Chicago Tribune, they put every death on the front page of the website.  The water must be respected or else it will kill.

Maybe people should judge it.  Maybe we should let it contribute to campaigns like corporations. Or maybe, just maybe, this beauty that calms the soul should also be respected for the deadly creature it is.

Wine in the Purse

Maybe an evening that starts off with a bottle of wine in a purse on a bus must result in fleeting fun.

 I felt shameful for carrying my alcohol in such a public manner.  It was like a reverse walk of shame, everyone who noticed my purse would know what kind of trouble I was headed for that evening.  They could know and judge as I went off to my fun.

My purse can hold a bottle of wine, but thankfully not two...and yes, it was fleeting fun. 

Riding in the Rain

Adjusting to the weather requires skills I lack.  These skills involve watching the weather forecast, reading the weather, looking at weather maps, and even standing outside to look at the sky.  I have other skills but just not these.

So today, I got caught in the rain on my bike.  It was a lovely ride in the cold downpour.  Maybe I need to take weather classes?

Random Conversations

These types of conversations make me happy.  I classify random conversations when you talk to strangers (as I was taught specifically not to do) about a situation in front of both of you.  Today, I talked with a lost businessman about the wonders of Google map and two people on the train about my bag.

There is something uplifting about knowing that we are all human and can relate of both big and small issues, or even the wonders of Google.

Panhandling on the CTA

This is a rarity for me.  A guy gets on the train and starts to plead is case for needing money.  Dad is  drunk, they got into a fight, he's been living on the Blue line and needs a ticket to Rockford.  The ticket costs $18.  Thank you.

Today was the first day I ever had this happen.  At first, I looks away and thought about putting in my ear buds, but didn't.  Then, I thought about how I was a good person and he could actually be a person in need.  Then, I thought about what organizations can help him.  Then, I thought about how I didn't really want to be a part of his life in any way.  And finally, I decided that the karma good I might get out of a $1 was worth the risk that his story was a lie and a scam.  My dollar went into his hands.

Hours later, I meet a friend at an event.  We are talking about our day and the CTA, which trains are better, frustrations over rush hour, methods of getting a good place, and then the Rockford ticket guy came up.  She met him too.  She didn't give him money.  She felt bad.  She has seen him four times.

Four times?  During the five encounters at our table, he should have had the money to get to Rockford.  We laughed and bonded a little about being part of a scam, she resisting the bait of karma and me not.

Loose Key

I have a loose brackets key. I have to think hard to remember what the name of the key is. Luckily I do not use it much. The key has been loose for over a year - thank you to the cat who loosened it for me. She thought the keyboard made a nice scratching post. Her claws were getting long. Thus, I have a loose brackets key.

Shopping Finds

My shopping therapy does not involve excessive buys, the latest trends nor searches for sales. It involves the search through thrift stores for the golden finds.

At regular stores, it is normal to find your size and the right shade of color, especially in shirts. The stores help shoppers make choices by displaying maniquins or pictures of great clothing combinations and the staff spend their days looking at clothing and are eager to point out good fits. Especially in boutiques, the staff will pick out options and even be honest about what looks good. People who are "experts" in shopping are like runners on treadmills, sure they can go the mileage but they don't compare to a high altitude trail runner.

Thrift stores are the high altitude trail runners without shoes. Maybe, the shopper will be lucky and find the clothing arranged by type, size, and color. Maybe there will be a dressing room. Maybe the dressing room will be more than a booth with a cloth shower curtain that is large enough to set your bag down.

Employees at these stores are utilitarian, put out stock and ring up the cash register. They aren't paid for fashion consciousness, the shopper must bring it. Nothing can be ordered nor does it come in various sizes. Go to a thrift shop for an outfit and be ready to use skills of selection and coordination.

But the prize of a thrift store find can be worth it. A full outfit can be purchased for pennies on the dollar of a retail shop and the style ends up completely personalized. Originality comes at the price of time and effort.

Plus it's more environmental.

Music on the CTA

Chicago is a blessed city. It has a public transportation system that actually works, not just an effort to have one. Using this system, no one really needs to own a car. In the city, the system is called the CTA.

On the CTA today, I felt the pains of youth. I felt them because a fellow driver was in the throngs of it. She had her Ipod playing club music and a tatoo of a raven on her writst. I know this because I heard her music and saw her wrist. The Ipod was turned up so loud that everyone in the card could enjoy her music...

She didn't notice the volume escaping her earbuds. Her concerns were over the puff in her lips and replies to her text. Her mood followed the music and none of it reflected the scorn in her seat mate nor the humor in my dancing to her music. O, to be young again and not care but for the text of a boy...

Packing

Dear Luggage,

You always fail me when I need you. Why can you not be the right size? One piece is too large, and the other too small. I feel like Goldilocks.

I understand the strain. Sometimes, I act out and put you on several planes, handled by rough people who stab stickers on you. And then other times, I ignore you for months, even years. It is scary in the attic and the mice... lets not talk about what mice did nor a friend's cat. She didn't mean it and I apologized.

Please luggage, I know we can turn our relationship around. I think we can work it out. If you would just learn to pack yourself, I can try to be more consistent with my trips. We can make this work.

You already know my clothes. You understand what I pack and use. You also see what I pack and don't use. If we start communicating better, both of us will have a better time.

The next trip is coming soon and I want us to be ready, together.

Love

Your Owner

My Cat and Me

I moved my cat across an ocean. Unfortunately, she is finally getting comfortable with it. This means that cat is back to her usual routines.

To my cat, the day is for sleeping. The warning bells should have gone off, sleep during the day equals play at night. My bells did not ring loud enough for me to wake her up so I had to suffer the consequences. When I need to sleep, she is ready to play.

The other issue is that she is adjusting to a new home and new people. The sounds and movement of several people in a large, new space freak her out. In my room, she is comfortable. It is smaller, full of my smell, and usually only the familiar presence of me occupies it. Her normal personality comes out in this space.

This morning, the combination of daytime sleeping, comfort in her new space, and usual routines came together in a bad way. At 5 am, she was up. I know this because she woke me up. It is hard to sleep with a cat running over your body, repeatedly. She was making spastic laps around my room. Attack dirty laundry, check out the window, try to claw a suitcase, get yelled at, up on the bedside table, run over me, attack lumps in the comforter that move, off the bed, and back to the dirty laundry. It was great circuit training for her and bad sleep for me.

Finally, I kicked her out and got some sleep. Her timeout worked and she returned and was ready to sleep, just as I needed to get up. I hope I can break her of this routine.

Decide

Sometimes it is easy to know when things are decided. Accepting them is another thing. Accepting ice cream is not.

I discovered a new ice cream franchise today. Ten varieties of soft-serve ice cream and a multitude of topping options too. The staff offered samples. The more I tried, the harder it became to begin to choose my flavor. With self-service, if you stay out of the way, you can delay the decision time until the thought of ice cream seems unappealing.

I almost had that tragedy.

Into my container, I served myself coconut and praline pecan. A third option almost got added but wisdom of the two being good and three's a crowd applied. I bypassed the multitude of toppings for caramel and cookie dough (a very adolescent choice). The dessert was tasty and fun, I enjoyed every bite.

Staring at the decision line, I could not remake my choice. Repeating the process strained my brain. The experience delighted my senses but making the decisions without a strong emotional pull hurt my experience.

Then I shook my head. Everything in the store was tasty. Unless I mixed the ginger sorbet with the chocolate and topped with licorice, I would have been alright. It was not a big decision, it was an easy one of good and better choices. While the combination of flavors and toppings seemed endless, all I had to do was pick. Picking was easy and eating was easier.

Decisions on ice cream need not be hard when all the options are good. Maybe I should think less about ice cream and enjoy it more.

Lettuce

I have been living without lettuce... well, not completely without but lacking a secure and quality source for it. This drove me away from salads at home and towards ordering it at restaurants. At one point in time, I was growing rocket lettuce on a balcony and produced enough to go under a steak, but not enough for a salad. And forget iceberg. That was pricey and rarely available. The cheap lettuce of the US became the yearned for treat in foreign lands.

So, being back in the US, I indulged in lettuce. At a grocery store, I found a head of iceberg lettuce. I bought the lettuce, cut it up, put salt and pepper on it, and ate the whole thing as part of lunch. Iceberg lettuce cannot make a meal itself, but it did make me happy. The crunch and crisp leaves needed nothing more than a slight flavoring of fresh cracked pepper and sea salt satisfy the taste buds.

I had contemplated ranch dressing for the event. While ranch is amazing in taste and satisfying creamy texture, it can also overwhelm. The fresh lettuce event was so memorable because of the time spent waiting for it. The ranch dressing on iceberg lettuce will come another time. Don't worry.

The picture is of lettuce in the garden. I never thought of lettuce growing so tall, iceberg grows in a ball and rocket is leaves sticking up out of the ground. When I saw the plant, all I could think about was eating it. I contemplate eating it like an ice cream cone, with a dash of salt and pepper while I carry it around in my hand eating leaf after leaf.

Rabbits, look out!

Marmite - A British Treasure

Previously, I thought that marmite was a joke. It was the British equivalent to the spam joke. A food that people made fun of in conversation, gave as a gag gift, or put the label on the front of a t-shirt. It was not real food.

Then I met a British man named "Bob". I met him two hours after becoming curious in the grocery store. In that moment, I purchased the smallest jar of marmite, brought it home, tried a bit on toast, and washed out my mouth to rid it of the taste. "Bob" introduced himself and marmite came up in our conversation. I was scarred from the experience but he did not comfort me. In a fit of nationalism, he sided with the concoction and gave example of culinary uses for it. Small portions, that was my problem according to "Bob". This is why British "Bob" has an alias.

Enter another British friend who started to tout the virtues of marmite as a healthy product, full of vitamin B. Together they made an insufferable pair promoting the consumption of yeast extract the color of car oil. Marmite stayed on my mind but never again touched my lips.

Later, the product came back into mind on a quiet flight while reading a book. I was reading a history of cancer. In this book about a deadly and tragic disease came the mention of marmite. It was used by an British doctor in 1928 to cure anemia in Bombay, India that was caused by a severe lack of folic acid. This event was used to explain what cancer is and how it occurs in the body by explaining other cellular diseases of a similar nature. I smiled while reading the passage and highlighted it for further reference.

My marmite did not have such a noble purpose. In the cupboard of a friend sits the jar, mostly full. It does not need refrigeration and no one in the house is suffering from insufficient folic acid consumption. The jar is there to remind me of the conversation. After reading the passage about the medical use for marmite, I might one day reconsider trying it again. Until then, it will sit as a joke on a shelf, like spam.

Love of Lizards

I love the lizards. They are everywhere, literally everywhere. On the walls, on the ground, on the floor, outside, inside, under a book, or laying over a rock, the lizards in Liberia are plentiful. This country is a place for lizards so a healthy love of them makes life easier.

I debate as to whether they change color. The scales come in various colors and many times the skin coordinates with the background, but I've never seen them change shades. Maybe I think they change because I want them to be more than they are.

These lizards are simple creatures. Expecting them to suddenly change color is too much to ask. Perhaps a lizard with orange spots goes into the garden near orange colored plants. Be grateful that the lizard chose to match the surrounding instead of expecting them to change. They seem naturally drawn to the habitat that most suits them and adverse to spending time in areas that clash with their scales.

I love them for their fun. The lizards dart around in the sun. Almost irrationally afraid of humans, they scurry about when my footsteps are near. Ironically, I later catch the lizards proudly sunning themselves with a regal tilt to their heads. And five minutes later, I find one chasing the other like toddlers playing tag.

Lizards remind me of the small pleasures in life.

I love lizards.

Taxi Drivers

I have a new taxi driver. His name is Winsdom. He likes money and I like him.

My new driver came from the old driver bailing out on me. He texted one day to say he couldn't come. I replied with a "thank you for letting me know" and hailed a taxi home. The next day, he did not show again. Then he was gone. Four years calling the same taxi driver gone in two days.

The loss was enormous. Taxis, while abundant, have varying levels of comfort, driver, and dependability. Each day brought a new question of who would take me home. Several had questionable cars, then a few had questionable personalities, and lastly I was left to grind my teeth at night.

My savor came in the form of a new taxi driver. He liked the extra money from a charter fair and I liked him as a driver. Teeth grinding reduced by a good taxi.

Thank you Winsdom.

Overpriced Drinks

This is a $10 drink. Being a high priced drink, it is expected to have certain qualities about it. I paid for the qualities of having a martini glass in my hand and an unusual drink name. I did not pay for a professionally made drink or the luxury of describing a taste and having it appear in a glass with a twist of lemon on the side.

One day, I will be back in the land of proper bartenders. People who know liquor, mixes, and people. Ones who have skills, and not just high price. Real bartenders know people and drinks and how to make both of them mix for the best taste and tip.

It is lovely to have the services of an expert. Until then, I will order overpriced drinks to enjoy the stemware.

Gifts that Make People Cry

Sometimes, I do not know what I do.

In preparation to leave, my closet required weeding. For several years, I bought clothes in the summer and added them to my closet. I added and added and added. Once a year, I purged the clothes that I hated but the pile was never large. With my shopping restricted to the summers, I always worried about having clothes that I liked, so I never go rid of clothes that I didn't wear. It made me feel secure. The large closet made my lack of easy shopping options bearable, I would always have something in my wardrobe.

I was comforted by the amount of clothes, but it didn't help me get dressed. Shirts and dresses I did not wear go in the way of me seeing the clothes that I did. Image a dressing scene with 4 discarded dresses on the bed and a closet left to go.

Now imagine the weight of clothes. I am getting ready to move and weight matters. Clothes, while wonderful, are not a permanent fixture in life. A shirt, no matter how wonderful, will eventually get old. It can go bad because of repeated washing or tired from repeated wearing.

Either way, clothes are replaceable and I will replace most of mine.

Replacing means I need to get rid of my closet before I leave. Without a Goodwill or friends your own size, what do you do with the clothes?

My solution was to give them to a custodian at work. She does her job and is always very thankful for anything given. She has children and most likely supports more 8 - 10 relatives with her job. Her appreciation of gifts always got to me. She always made me embarrassed by her palpable gratefulness mixed with pride upon any offering.

She had one other great quality, she does not work at my home. I have had friends with this problem and have had it myself in Liberia, giving to someone who works in your home can lead them to look at your objects as future possessions. It starts to melt the line between ownership, especially when living in a country with a dramatic difference in lifestyles between the employers and the house staff. I had a month left to give, sell, or decided to pack items and I wanted that decision to be all mine.

The custodian started to cry at the four bags of clothes. It was a teary, quiet cry from a woman with burdens.

Not knowing what to do, the repetition of "sorry" came to mind. This use to annoy me in Liberia, but now I understand it. "Sorry" is used for any time you wish a thing did not happen. It is not just for regret for personal actions, but shows sympathy for others and their problems. The word means compassion more than regret. A person does not need to own the hurt to be "sorry" about it.

"Sorry" said for a cough.

"Sorry" said if you are late.

"Sorry" said if a child cries.

'Sorry' said when an accident happens.

This time I found my heart repeating "sorry".

"Sorry" I am leaving.

"Sorry" I will leave you.

"Sorry" I will leave this school.

"Sorry" I cannot help you anymore.

"Sorry" I made you cry.

"Sorry" I am not crying with you.

In this mess of emotions of sadness and guilt, an error was made that cannot be undone. I weeded out my shoes down to the essential. My only pair of black shoes lost a mate. This means I cannot comfortably, and in good fashion, wear certain outfits. I have no other black shoes to wear.

During the purging of my closet, transfer into bags, or trip in the car, I lost a shoe. Having searched everywhere, the one shoe is gone from my home and life. The only place it could have ended up was one of the bags I gave away. A bag that is now out of my possession.

"Sorry" I lost my shoe.

"Sorry" I cannot bear to ask for it back.

I did not know what I was doing at the time but by rushing to give away clothes, I made more available for donation.

Waking up to Sound

I woke up again to the sound of rain on the roof. Lying in bed, I willed myself to stay awake and enjoy the mist of sound that threatened the roof. It is a peaceful place between life and dreams, dry and wet, to know that the option is possible.

Poor Kitty

My poor cat will have to travel soon. She will go from being a cat who has ridden a car four time to an international traveller. Poor kitty cannot conceive of a world outside of her apartment, let alone a world in the air nor one on another continent.

It was traumatic enough to ride to the vet for her shots. She meowed for mercy while being in the borrowed carrying bag. Unhappy to get in the bag, severely unhappy while being lugged on my shoulder, quietly content in the car, and reluctant to jump out, each trip did get a bit better. Now, she has her own bag which makes the ride easier.

This weekend, I tried out sedation medication to see the effect. The effect on her was drooped eyelids, calm behavior, and an inability to walk straight. The effect on me was guilt. I am a guilty pet owner. Thankfully, the effects of the sedation wore off and she was back to her normal, kitty biting ways.

I hope my cat will like her new home. I am too guilty to leave her here and feel terribly guilty about the drugs, plane, and hours in the bag.

Rain

My new home has a tin roof. The rain becomes amplified by the metal and can produce a soothing or scary sound. I take comfort in that the geography of West Africa where I live does not lend itself to ANY major natural disasters, tornados, hurricanes, earthquakes, and lightening strikes are rare, blizzards, droughts, floods, hail, or even damaging winds occur very infrequently. Nature is kind to this part of the world and leave the disasters to the people.

While the sound of rain soothes my sleep, it causes anxiety in others. During conflicts, people came to the capital for safety and food. Years later, many have stayed and live in shanty houses. Made out of found wood using pieces of old tin roofs as walls, they are found in areas lacking basic sanitation, clean water, toilets, and drainage systems. Placed on the ground, the rains mean flooding in the homes. Rain, trash, and dirt fill up the houses and neighborhood. Misery can be spelled "living-in-water".

Either way, loving or dreading the rain, the country has some of the highest amounts of rainfall in the world. We all live with the seasonal rains, under tin roofs or in shanty homes. Rain effects us all.

Strange Pictures of Dreams

Picture the dreams played in a brain. The thoughts coming together for just a fleeting moment between long pauses. Images play out roles and their purpose is hidden. Flashes of the subconscious mixes with thought produce a circus of ideas.

I have been dreaming a mixture of cartoons and reality, and hoping they reveal something about life. Turned out, they just told me to stop watching TV shows about crime before bedtime. But strangely, the rain amplified by the tin roof has not entered the sleeping world. Taking up a dream dictionary, I cannot find reason with any of it.

Also, I cannot remember taking this photo. It must be from the water in a pool, but when? The edge of the pool leads me to think of my old apartment, but the style of the barbed wire leads me to think of a friends place. Either way, the picture looks like a dream to me.

Crabs in the Kitchen

Mr. Crab spend the morning tolling in the water looking for small animals to eat, then spied a hunk of meat, and found himself in a cage. No liking the small space, Mr. Crab certainly did not like sharing it with others. Scrabbling about, he searched for a way out. The Crab family would be missing one at the table that night. HELP!!!!!

Mr. Crab ended up on a large platter with others of his kind, resting on top of a woman's head as she walked miles to sell him. Eventually, he was bought and taken from the head, put into a bag, and finished up in a kitchen near a boiling pot of water.

You know the rest of the story. Yummy Mr. Crab.

Dear Waffle

Dear Waffle,

Thank you for appearing on the menu. I know that being served for dinner is unusual and disrupts your calendar but your presence was much appreciated. The new workout routine shows in the large square pockets on the front and back. It impresses me how you can hold a slice of strawberry and banana at the same time on a grid section. Seriously, the large, deep, square pockets just accentuates how you are are waffle and not a pancake, full of texture and form. I can't even manage a six-pack.

That was some sauce you brought to the table. The creamy texture of the whipped cream mixed with the chocolate drizzle excited the table. It was big of you to share the center stage. Be proud of it. Not many deserts can stand alone and be a substantive meal earlier in the day. Your flexibility and compatibility with sweets and bacon or eggs really makes you a great choice on any menu. Someday, I wish all food could be as flexible and versatile as much as you do.

I understand how disappointed you were when reaching my stomach and finding a boat load of sushi already there. While you weren't the first dinner item, I consumed you with the most pleasure. The lack of space was a clerical error in food consumption and in no way reflects on the quantity or quality of appreciation I have for you. Please don't be offended.

This desert was special. I will remember it always.

Love.

XOXO

Fanti Boats

The Fanti own fishing boats along the coast. Floating by the vessels, the decorations become clear to the eye. Normally, out on the ocean, the boats look like colorful specks on the horizon, up close the details emerge. Painting of flags, Bible verses, and soccer team symbols show above the water line. The poles on the boat hold up clothes line covered in wet apparel.

Floating by in a canoe, I felt like an invader. This was their life and the guide was taking me through it. Paddling between the boat and the mooring line, it felt like personal space. I watch the fishermen and they watched me. In such intimate space, the water offered a barrier making each of us a show for the other.

The Fanti were finished for the day and headed home. The laundry appeared relatively dry but was not going back on their bodies. Mostly shirtless, the men smiled and talked with each other while completing the day's tasks. A few called out to the boat to inquire what the man paddling was doing with four women. From the repeatedly questioning, the hint of a joke arose. Done with the day, they must have wondered why anyone would hire a canoe to see their boats sit empty and tied up for the night.

Children had come to use the boats as a jumping platform. Opportunistic, they tried asking for money. How did they think they could get it? Swim over to a moving canoe and hold the bills until they returned to shore out of the water? The tourists amused them into expanding the jumps and raising their voices to call out.

The way back was shorter with the current helping out. My fascination with the boats did not end, but I was glad to be out of their space. Too close of examination led me to see the flaws and appreciate the designs less. The Fanti lost interest in the canoe of touring women as the sun signaled the end of the day. As the children swam to shore, I wondered how our lives compared. The canoe ride ended with money for the paddler, new knowledge, and the sun decorating the sky.

Ghosts of Churches

Old churches hold a special place in the heart. With traditional design, solely purposed for worship and ceremony with a bell tower. The classic design speaks to convention and singular purpose. This was an active church for prayer, sermons, choir, and ceremonies.

Now it's a ghost. Abandoned for another building, conflict in the congregation, or from the civil conflict that lasted for over a decade, the roof is missing, walls need paint, and grass requires maintenance. None of the repairs required excessive resources or energy. Why was it abandoned?

In the future, will the ghost revive or be finished with a bulldozer? A statement in architecture reminds pedestrians of the past and to contemplate the present to future.

Grasshopper

The grasshopper sat in the morning terrorizing a leaf. From a distance, the size was immediately noticeable. Through the camera lens, a robot came to mind. The pattern of yellow and black resembled a graphic found on a computer. Nature produces all colors but the brightness still seems artificial. While still small, this grasshopper appeared sturdy enough to warn that a swarm can cause panic and danger. Terrible to think of hearty bugs attaching in techno-color. Poor leaf, it had no chance.

The Rooster Crows

(Another post about roosters)

Rooster crows heard early in the morning. Mostly they occur 10 minutes before the alarm. Repeating the call to get up, the source's location can be traced through the sound's volume. The roosters are following me, they want to get close to my ear, interrupt my sleep, and bring my morning time to an early start.

Once upon a time, I had roosters. Five roosters free-ranged in the yard and took turns trying to attack me. They puffed up their feathers, flapped useless wings, and danced on their toes. A broom or stick was all I needed to scare them away. Eventually, four were sold and the last one eventually died in the chicken coop of unknown causes. I was not sad to lose my rooster and didn't care if the hens were lonely.

Flash forward to my time in Liberia, the rooster crow became an alarm to wake me up every day. Intentionally, this was the first thing I heard on a daily basis. The crowing worked wonders as a motivator to get up. I did not want to snooze for snoozing meant hearing the alarm again. Sometimes, I heard an answer to my alarm clock from outside my window.

Later, I moved away from that alarm setting. Peacefully, I thought about how I would miss it. Having adjusted to the sound, I briefly wondered if I could miss the rooster.

Into my new home, and into the domain of another rooster. This one was real and again, a free-range. He and his flock peck around the compound unmolested by all. Clucking around, the rooster finds my window for a crow. He finds my window every day. He always finds it before my alarm.

I cannot escape the rooster.

I cannot escape the rooster.

The roost will find me and crow.

Insecticide

One result of living in a warm and humid climate is the prevalence of insects. To combat it, people use insecticide. With the low cost of manual labor, most houses have maids. Being use to exterminators, I rarely think of spraying for bugs or about insecticide. These items came together in a negative way several days ago.

Coming home from work, I entered my room and inhaled. Yes, inhaled a deep breath. That deep breath smelled like lavender and made me cough. This was the start of my problems.

Smelling the lavender, I thought it was air freshener. After putting down my bags, I headed to the kitchen to find the maid. She did not understand air freshener but did understand that the lavender smell was too strong. She has trouble understanding me and I have trouble understanding her, but I thought we worked it out.

I, still thinking it was air freshener, went back into the room, changed our of my work clothes, organized, stepped out to breath and cough, took out my laptop, and turned on the air conditioner "Wow, this air freshener was really strong" went through my head several times. Thoughts about the maid trying to make my room nicer with a scent that made me cough also entered my head. Then, I started to make fun of perfume smells. All of this, as I was coughing. Never did it enter my mind that I needed to leave. Air freshener is meant to be smelled. Large quantities might annoy the senses but should hurt the body, should they?

Another severe fit of coughing send me back to the maid. She thought she had sprayed too late in the day and went to open the window. I asked her not to spray again and got drink of water determined to not let the smell bother my day.

After wasting time in the living room, I thought the room must have aired out. No, no, no, it had not. Opening the window meant she opened the curtains. This did not let in any fresh air. The open door let the smell out into the hall. I had another fit of coughing just passing by the door. Window and door finally open, and probably letting in small bugs, the room could finally air out.

Realization finally dawned on me, it was not air freshener. The maid had sprayed my room for bugs. The bug spray in the can smells like lavender. I was inhaling insecticide thinking it was air freshener.

Two days of sore throat later, I rationalize that spraying insecticide in a room is not normal for me. This makes me feel better as I nurse my injured body. The result of lavender bug spray, a maid trying to do her job, and an oblivious American is burning in the throat and no bugs.

Naked Man

Last Wednesday was Decoration Day in Liberia. Traditionally, people go to the family graves, clean them up, and decorate. Along with this custom, people also pour beer on the graves. Some people have aiming problems and instead of pouring on the ground, the beer goes into their mouth. This is a simple mistake and I feel the dead understand the difficulty of the pouring task but still appreciate the effort.

With a day off, I found myself driving out of town to relax. This is when I saw naked man. He was completely without clothes, shoes, and did not care. Walking down the side of the road, naked man took up several feet of the car lane causing traffic to veer around him.

I had to say "Naked man", when I saw him. My companion, who has been here longer, completely missed it. After so many years, random naked men can be easily overlooked. While he was not walking fast, the car was heading at a comfortable speed the opposite direction, making the moment brief but notable.

This is not my first naked, or near naked, man to see walking down the street. Once, I had to drive around a naked man laying in the middle of the street downtown. Several times I've seen scarcely clothed men walking around with only a cloth wrapped around them or pants with failing zippers. I was warned of this habit upon my first arrival in the country. Naked men regularly appear when soccer teams score a goal and on holidays with drinking involved. People rarely take much notice of them.

Decoration Day creates a higher probability of a sighting. Besides this, the day is normally very traditional. People travel from cemetery to cemetery to see visit the dead. Like all family holidays, a debate exists as to which graves to visit in the time limits and with traffic issues. A few arguments occur about normal family conflicts. People wear nice clothes and usually everyone's visions of the day do not turn out as expected, running into distant relations, arguments about where to go and how to clean, or simple disappointment from the day not being "perfect".

But for humor, there is always a naked man walking down the street.

Roasted Pig

It's not often that I am in the room with a whole pig. This one was unique because it was thoroughly dead and cooked with a knife in his back. While I do eat pork and various other animals, I don't like to see them cooked whole. The first time I tried to cook chicken, the feeling of the meat reminded me too much of my cats leg and I stopped. Things change and I ate pig skin that night dipped in sauce.

Staring at Flowers

Of the many tasks I should have been doing, staring at flowers was not one of them. The flower connected to a vine with thorns and leaves that move when touched. Even at my age, I still found myself touching the leave, watching them close, waiting for them to open, and then touching again. The flower looked more beautiful the closer I zoomed.

My eyes should have been looking everywhere but at the ground, but that's where they focused.

Fisherman

Seafood is wonderful, fish, crab, lobster, shrimp, and others. The fresher it is, the better. I am always in search of fresh seafood, especially since I live in a country with a long coast two blocks from my home.

Meet fishman. He advertised seafood delivery. Also, he had a case of "miscommunication" with a friend. The friend ordered fish and shrimp, fishman said $20, fishman delivered fish and shrimp, and then friend found out that the size and type of fish brought was worth $1.20 in the market. Neither the friend nor the fishman spoke in person about the size and type of fish. Politely, I call it a "miscommunication" because the fish and shrimp were delivered for the price and I have lost my fishwoman.

My fishwoman was a maid in the apartments. She was not my maid, but her sister (which here could mean they share a parent, were raised together, or just know each other). I would give her $20 dollars and she would bring me two medium fish, cleaned, with the head and tail removed, and leave them in my refrigerator before I got home to cook dinner.

She was unique in her service. My maid refused the offer when I talked to her about it. It surprised me, turning down money is a rarity. I have to respect when someone refuses extra money for a small service and offers up another in her place.

My reliable and convenient system left me spoiled for delivery and hungry for more seafood.

Back to fishman...

I started to think about shrimp. Luckily, my neighbor delivered fishman's phone number during a moment when I was starting to crave it.

Craving + phone number = order for shrimp

Fishman has music as his ringer. This mean that when I call him, I get to hear almost garbled West African rap before I hear him shouting into the phone in a crowded market. It took effort to figure out when he picked up and the song stopped.

Ordering four dozen shrimp, he was eager to bring them tomorrow. I asked if he could. He insisted he could. I questioned the feasibility, and he assured me. The only lingering question after the conversation concerned cleaning and deveining. I sent a text about it the next morning and heard nothing back.

Go to Monday at 4 pm, I have talked about my cooking options all through lunch. Boil with potatoes, learn how to pickle, cook with yummy cheese grits, stir fry... the options kept increasing and all inspired me into hunger. The image of the shrimp meat, cooked, and on my fork sat in my head.

Then came the call. He could not find shrimp. Correction, he could not find shrimp in the market for the price we agreed. I was standing in the aisle of the grocery store, thinking of what to buy, and suddenly my dinner plans are gone. Poof!

I did not cry but I did go out to eat that night and order shrimp.

Next day, I get another call at 4 pm. Fishman has my shrimp. Where do I live?

Now, our phone conversation had ended poorly the day before. I was upset, he wanted to try tomorrow, I said my plans are ruined for tonight, he said price to much, I..., he..., I..., he..., and I said "I'm done, goodbye." Not a good ending, not a terrible one, but I hung up with no intentions of called back.

But he called me. Like after a dry spell in dating, I still picked up against my better judgement. I knew that he would offer shrimp. I knew that I was just desperate enough for fresh seafood to take whatever he offered. I knew that unless I wanted to find transportation to the fish markets in the afternoon, haggle for a good price, and then clean my own shrimp, I needed to take it.

In the end, I rearranged my dinner plans, frantically organized timing, made a few phone calls to see options for delivery, and asked a favor of a friend to accommodate his delivery. Cleaned shrimp were delivered to my home that day. The only inconvenience I did not have was the price.

I enjoyed the fresh seafood that night. It was worth it.

African Child

I was taking pictures recently and she was completely oblivious. In a crowd of neighbors getting free rice, she wandered around free and unconcerned. She was looking at the ground or her feet with fascination when I noticed her and waited. Finally, She noticed me, looked up and started to make a smile as I snapped her picture.

Cultural Dancers

In Liberia, if a big event is hosted, then cultural dancers area hired. All the ones I have seen have a set of drummers, dancers, acrobats, a beaded instrument shaker (the woman with the red hat, I don't know what its called), and usually a caller, my personal term, who introduces the group.

The drummers bring emotions with their beats and gather up emotions while the crowd waits for the dancers. There is never a need for amplifiers with the drums. The beating of multiple drums layers intensity into the air and makes not beats but music.

The caller tells the group about the county the dancers will represent and about the type of dance or people who live there. Dancers come through the crowd and the show really starts.

I am like a child with excitement every time I see a group. It happens so infrequently that I could be seeing the same group over and over again but don't know it. The drumming is felt in my bones and I have no desire to be anywhere else.

You can see it on the dancers' faces, they don't want to be anywhere else either. I love Liberia.

Intentions of Going Organic

Intentions of being an organic gardener lapsed when faced with sifting through dirt to pick out the trash. Really, there was trash in the dirt from the neighborhood. Plastic bags, metal, shards of glass and plastic bits all littered the soil intended for use in the pots.

Fertilizer gives happy, producing plants and the effort to make it organically seemed lost with the trash.

At least the tomatoes - that might be produced- will be local.

Soon, manual pollination must be done. I feel adolescent whenever discussion the necessity of doing the deed.

Things Forgotten

Times come when writing gets forgotten in the frantic mess of life. Moments to write pass by with only notations in the brain to remember a beautiful moment. Sentences are constructed in the head and disappear as the neurons stop flashing. Without memory, the missing leaves no mark.

And in other times, their is realization of the lost. Pausing in life, a thought dawns that time has past without recording. Now lost, the exact verbs and adjectives cannot be found but the gap exists. Scampering for records, the moment becomes recreated in flashing adjusted to beauty or horror or pain by the neurons lost on their track.

Come back to the routine in consciousness. Hold the words in the head and reach for the pen in the purse to stab them down for time. Stop, and just stop, for a moment while living to make a mention of the wonder that is life. Stop and then move on to reflect on learning and living.

Take out the pen and wear out the ink. Traits of civilizations include record keeping. High levels of society must remember to not forget. Beauty makes the time last longer.

Potato Greens

Leaf

A leaf fluttering on a tree

stopping, no wind can be found

searching, no shaking seen

branches still, air sullen

what makes the leaf flutter in the tree?

I wonder about the leaf in me.

Breaking a Spoon

Sundays are lazy days. They are meant to be a time to recharge and put life back into spiritual order. For some this means going to church, for others it means meditating, walking in parks, spending time with the family and friends, or watching excessive amounts of Food Network.

I irregularly pick the Food Network choice. Today, I should have headed to church.

After 2 hours of watching, I decided to cook. First, I was going to make a dump soup. This is a soup made by dumping canned items into a pot with a bouillon and let it boil. Simple.

Food Network saturated my brain and I could not be "simple".

Using yellow lentils, garlic, and onions, I fried them together and added my only can, canned cream corn. Then, I took out my spices and added and added. Focusing on the yellow color, I added only yellow spices and salt. Then, I put in water and sat it for a simmer.

When it came to tasting, the method of choosing spices by color revealed itself to a disappointment. The soup had flavors I wanted, flavors I didn't want, and I couldn't tell the difference. The solution was a bouillon cube and the old faithful yellow curry powder. Solution found.

Lentils require water, time, and heat to cook. They got an inadequate amount of the first two and excessive amount of the last. Remember the onions and garlic? I remembered them too when trying to stir.

Stirring. Stirring is good. It mixes ingredients together and keeps ingredients from burning on the bottom. Mine were both mixed and burned.

In the process of stirring, I managed to break a piece of the wooden spoon.

Remember, I'm making soup.

Soup

A liquid dish.

A dish that is mostly water.

A dish people eat with spoons.

A dish people can consume like a drink in a rush.

A dish served in a bowl to hold it.

I broke a spoon making soup.

A piece of my spoon cracked off from the tip while stirring soup. My Sunday soup was dangerous. Watching excessive hours of Food Network and then cooking is not advised on Sundays.

Must buy a new spoon on Monday.

Not Rising

I have to accept the failure and appreciate it. My bagels are not rising. It is not a personal thing and I shouldn't take it that way... but I do.

Dear yeast in my dough,

Why do you refuse to rise? I have given you sugar and let you sit in a warm place. Please, I don't mean to rush you but I need to bake you. After an hour of rising time, I saw little difference in size. Why? What did I do wrong?

Please let me know so we can work this out. I don't like the separation between us.

I miss you.

XXX

Exchange out some words in the message , and the text doubles as a letter to a friend after a fight - normally a letter from middle or high school best friends. How history repeats itself, from high school to baking, still amazes and amuses me.

A few weeks and several good and bad batches of bagels later, I stopped baking. Like all phases in my life, I was done with it and needed to move forward. No one moment sparked the end point but seeing frozen bagels in the grocery store might have done it.

My conversation topics changed from the rising of bagels to Egyptian politics and novels I was reading. My friends no longer got plates of bagels or heard about my latest efforts into making blueberry or cinnamon raisin ones. My waistline reduced a bit with the decrease in carbs which made me realize it had increased when I started this tangent. My kitchen was cleaner. I stopped feeling the failure of my non-rising bagels.

What direction would my baking had gone to if yeast worked properly for me? Would I had ventured on to other baking horizons? Or would I, like with the high school friend, have eventually ended up where I am today?

Morning

The sun rises on a new day. Noise in my mind broke me from sleep and thought kept me from knocking around in bed anymore. The brain awoke caught in a loop of thought I could not resolve nor could I ignore. But I was resolved to not give up the day to circles.

Using both the power of yoga and a morning, indulgent milkshake, I finally knocked myself into contentment and onto a straight line of thought. Changing environment effects the patterns of thought and distracts the mind from the thought it got caught on and releases it to other, more pleasant ones.

My poor kitty was happy not to snuggle in bed. Luckily, she benefited from my inability to rest my mind. This meant my, and her, day started earlier. Kitty got what she wanted.

The day was early and she enjoys the priviledge of a safe balcony to explore. Peeping over the edge, the guards at the gate interested her for a moment, then the blooming tomato plant, then the smell of the floor, and then the sounds from the balcony above, and finally the sun rising above. Her eyes caught two birds mating or fighting in the air. Neither one of us has enough knowledge to know which was occurring. She forgot them when they are out of sight and peers down at the dogs near the gate.

They are medium sized, short-haired canines, desperate for attention like children. With the owners away, they look to the guards at the gate to fill the vacant role. Kitty has lost interest in them, like the guards lose interest after a few playful motions with the dogs. She wants to be down where the dogs, birds, and guards are but not really. The safety of the balcony allows her courage to want to be down (but not really).

Morning air tastes sweeter than others. Every morning could be the same, but I am on the balcony to enjoy it and thus feel the newness of the day more. A calming feeling emits from the climate of the night's damp haze yet to burn off. Work not begun and traffic but a coming memory, the peace of the birds chirping rule the air.

I see the sun fighting to bring in the serious day, burn up the night's dew, and heat us all into serious efforts. But I will not head to work today, nor tomorrow, so the sun has little effect on me.