I am back in the city. The city, the CITY, the Fabled Urbs in Horto. It's easy to make these things seem overly dramatic when really they aren't (see above). I'm here. I'm not there. Life continues onward. I flew back to Chicago yesterday afternoon. Stepping off of the jetway was such an exhilarating experience. I must have flown through the airport. Again, not the biggest of deals, but it meant a lot at the time. What has scared me all along is the knowledge that eventually I will hate waking up in this crazy apartment with this crazy commute in the rain when I can't afford coffee. It's almost like I am steeling myself against the idealistically rosy picture, defending my heart from becoming too set on this happy-go-lucky simple place.
I had the chance to spend some time surveying parts of the neighborhood south of me with Mikkele. The evening gave the trees and pretty lawns (That's right...beautiful lawns in Lawndale) a glowing freshness. There were families everywhere, children amok, cars and ice cream trucks constantly underfoot. The look and feel of the place is distinctive yet familiar. No barefoot running here. Stay inside at night. The place has this wonderful energy, an abundance of stimuli. There is also a wonderfully constant thrill of possibly being incinerated at any time by a passing (illegal) firework. In Pasadena, you remember, we found out in a city council meeting that everyone was able to purchase the perpetual fireworks out of rogue ice cream trucks. After talking to my upstairs neighbor Charlotte, it turns out that there are 3 houses on the block that purchase vans full of these things from Indiana and sell them to small children who apparently like to aim them at her front porch, especially while she is occupying it.
I had the chance to spend some time surveying parts of the neighborhood south of me with Mikkele. The evening gave the trees and pretty lawns (That's right...beautiful lawns in Lawndale) a glowing freshness. There were families everywhere, children amok, cars and ice cream trucks constantly underfoot. The look and feel of the place is distinctive yet familiar. No barefoot running here. Stay inside at night. The place has this wonderful energy, an abundance of stimuli. There is also a wonderfully constant thrill of possibly being incinerated at any time by a passing (illegal) firework. In Pasadena, you remember, we found out in a city council meeting that everyone was able to purchase the perpetual fireworks out of rogue ice cream trucks. After talking to my upstairs neighbor Charlotte, it turns out that there are 3 houses on the block that purchase vans full of these things from Indiana and sell them to small children who apparently like to aim them at her front porch, especially while she is occupying it.
3 comments:
1) i like this story because i experienced half of it so i have actual pictures in my mind to place with word descriptions
2) what a fantastic way to end a blog post. :)
indeed. i concur with mikkele.
ps. i want pictures in my mind of the place...maybe one day.
i like happy-go-lucky
Welcome back to the city....just wondering why you are here?
Not to shame you out, but to see where you might fit in the greater Mosaic. For example, if it's working with youth, there's a whole Urban Youth Network i can introduce you to.
i'm sure you'll tell your story piece by piece...but in today's microwave world, i want it NOW :)
Just so you know -- i found your entry on Arloa Sutter's blog & followed the trail to your blog.
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