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.