May, Mary, Mahem

Vintage Chicago finally surfaces again! I guess I was either happily busy with my life or just busy, or just uninspired. It takes quite a nudge to get me to sit down and compose an entry and given the fact that I have been mostly going through my day to day routine, it has left me sadly, uninspired. But! "It's May, It's May...." Camelot fans sing and probably dance around to the rest of that fabulous song. As long as I have been alive and conscious of this delightful time of year, I have loved the month of May.

Starting with the fact that my birthday falls late in May, more often than not, in conjunction with Memorial weekend. How great is that, year after year, to possibly have a 3 day weekend for your birthday? Not to mention the feeling that summer is just beginning and before you are endless possibilities for fun and frivolity. Of course the younger you are, the more frivolous your dreams! And with a newly graduated daughter in the house, it is so easy to recall a summer long ago that held so much promise of friends, endless fun, and the delightful possibility of a summer romance! It won't be all fun and games for her though. She has her first summer job. Pool waitress at the country club. On second thought, what a dream job, it WILL be fun and games-with a paycheck! Working poolside with all of your high school friends, ogling the lifeguards, delivering margaritas to the moms at the kiddie pool; sounds like a Frankie and Annette movie. Modern day reference; like a scene from High School Musical 2. This week our family has four birthdays and five graduations, that's the mayhem part.

The other aspect of May that I have always loved is the traditional devotion given to the Blessed Mother throughout the month of May. May has always meant the month of Mary and the wondrous practice of the May Crowning. And of course,gorgeous Marian hymns sung at Mass each Sunday in May that you can sing word for word without even looking at the book. When you are a little Catholic girl you excitedly await the first day of May when you scour the house for pretty little bits to cobble together a devotional altar, IN YOUR VERY OWN BEDROOM! An upside down tissue box covered with a pretty hankie. The family Mary statue, or if you are lucky your very own mini Mary, probably a plastic version, that resides on a shelf somewhere in your room throughout the rest of the year. Mom's bud vase. The first spring flowers from the backyard. And if you are VERY lucky, your Mary statue is big enough for you to fashion a crown of clover buds to adorn her head. All very humble, all very awesome to a 6 year old.

Back in the day, when reverence and tradition were still in fashion, a May Crowning was a beautiful and special occasion. For as long as I live I will remember what it felt like to have a special role in a formal May Crowning ceremony. In 1964 when I was 5 years old, as luck would have it, my best friend had a sister who was a Senior at Marian Catholic High School. Chris was given the honor of crowning Mary. She would be dressed in a floor length formal gown and she would be wearing a "Marian blue" satin cape. Of course in 1964 all females wore some sort of head covering for mass. We had our crown of flowers, Chris wore a veil. She required two attendants to carry the train of her cape and one attendant to walk in front of her carrying Mary's crown on a pillow. Chris' little sister Patty, my friend, was the perfect age for the job. Patty was to carry one corner of the cape and I was to carry the other. My sister Susie, being a year older, was chosen to lead the procession carrying the crown of flowers on a satin pillow. Special dresses were chosen for us to wear, with matching shoes, white gloves and a crown of flowers for our own hair. You can't even imagine what it feels like for a little girl to be chosen and outfitted so beautifully for such an occasion. A blue organza "party dress" with matching baby blue shoes! I can still see myself opening the refrigerator several times throughout the day to sneak a peek at my flowers. As the evening ceremony approached I don't remember being nervous, (amazing for a little thing that was constantly afraid of her own shadow) only excited beyond words. When I myself was a Senior at Marian Catholic High School in May of 1977, there was no May Crowning, probably hadn't been one for years. I often wonder why such ceremonies and traditions went by the wayside. I guess they don't fit too well with guitar masses and liturgical dancing.

Well, May 2010 is almost history. I will leave you with the May 25 message from Our Lady to the visionary Marija from Medjogorje in the former Yugoslavia. Since 1982 Our Lady has been appearing with messages of prayer and conversion to bring souls to her Son and to bring peace to the hearts of all.



“Dear children! God gave you the grace to live and to defend all the good that
is in you and around you, and to inspire others to be better and holier; but
Satan, too, does not sleep and through modernism diverts you and leads you to
his way. Therefore, little children, in the love for my Immaculate Heart, love
God above everything and live His commandments. In this way, your life will have
meaning and peace will rule on earth. Thank you for having responded to my
call.”

no facebook, no myspace

Really, the world doesn't need to see all of me...occasionally I have a thought that tugs at me and longs to be expressed and put out there for whatever reason. We all would like to be heard, noticed, understood...to a certain degree. I have no desire to lay my whole life out there. My family is my own and if you know me well enough, you know them. They baffle me, surprise me, delight me, disappoint me, but they are mine and I hold them dear. Occasionally tho, I will share them. I don't myspace or facebook. I twitter every now and then but often wonder why. You can tell by my lame and often akward blog layout that I am very low tech, but have to say, in person, high touch. So leave a comment if you will. I will see it and know you are out there...

MCHS/BLHS That was then This is Now

BLHS Fall 2009
MCHS Fall 1977


In the end, I got in by the skin of my teeth and some luck. She got in from the start because she has awesome skills. Its been a blast wathcing her these four years. She sparkles with those eyes and that smile. Saturday could very well be her last highschool football game. Enjoy it honey, I hope your memories are sweet.

MCHS/BLHS

I have been back in high school since April. Crazy to be 50 years old and going to high school everyday. Subbing for teachers every once in a while was one thing, but being here daily is something else. Not in a bad way, its a pleasant job, nice surroundings being able to watch modern high school life from a safe distance through the lens of the bookstore windows. On the surface it looks simple enough, kids are happy, safe, enjoying or not enjoying their lives. The ever present specter of the "FUTURE" hanging over their heads.

I work in the school bookstore which is often like holding the keys to the life raft on a floundering ship. On a daily basis I have the opportunity to throw some poor kid a lifeline to save his day. Lending a book forgotten, loaning a tie lost whereby saving a kid from starting his day with certain detention. Selling sweatshirts to poor students getting frozen to death in a classroom of a menopausal teacher who sets her thermostat according to the severity of her latest hot flash. Day after day chatting with the kid who comes in to ask the same litany of questions about a book he supposedly needs to purchase but doesn't really need to purchase, what he really needs is a place of escape during lunch to avoid the pain of having to sit at a table all alone.

It causes me to often rethink my own high school experience. What would it be like to be able to do it all over with the experience and wisdom{?) of my current self? Would I be more confident, more invested, more hardworking, more appreciative, more considerate of other people, more willing to take risks? Less fearful? Less concerned about what other people think? Would I still turn down that sweet but dorky guy who asked me to Homecoming? Would I still panic if a teacher called on me to stand up in front of class? There is soooo much that I didn't take advantage of at the time, too often paralyzed by fear. Fear is the WORST. Afraid of looking foolish, afraid of sounding stupid. So, opportunities were lost, who knows how many. But behind the scenes I WAS sticking my neck out, WAS risking failure, risking looking foolish. After two failed attempts to make cheerleading, I succeeded. My world opened up and I got a taste of how the other half lived. And it was over in the blink of an eye.

The Time Traveler's Daughter

I would like to think that this pristine underground tunnel with the approaching shiny new subway train would still exist were I to venture down below the streets of Chicago. But I know better, I saw it with my own eyes and smelled it with my delicate and easily offended nose. I imagine that it is not a subway train at all but a time machine that would take me back to the city in the late 40's, early 50's. When ladies wore gloves and dresses and men rarely went out in public without a hat or necktie, no matter the weather. The war was over and life was getting back to normal settling into an era of relative peace and prosperity for the average person.
Supper clubs and elaborate movie houses were scattered throughout the city. Streets were bustling with shoppers and business people, mostly still city residents rather than suburban commuters. That would come soon enough. Before long, many young couples ventured out for a little more room in the 'burbs to raise their families in the fresh new surroundings of affordable new first homes.

And the next generation would make their trips downtown courtesy of the solo family car or by way of the Illinois Central or Rock Island Lines that stretched out to meet the needs of the south and north suburbanites. Even in the late 60's and early 70's the IC still had the old "ironside" train cars that were a history lesson in themselves. They were single story heavy iron dinosaurs with worn wicker seats that would leave a waffled imprint on your backside in the summer.

I made my move to the city after college in the early 80's. My preferred mode of transportation was my own two feet or the 151 bus line (which was not without the occasional derelict/pervert/wacko), with a rare cab ride when the budget allowed and the evening was late. I saw the stairs that led down to the subway but hadn't a clue where they led! I wasn't brave enough to find out and figured I could live without knowing. My first subway ride came 20+ years later thanks to daughter and her incredible ability to find her way around any town, anywhere. Its like a sixth sense she has. Fearless and somewhat reckless I would say. I have to say I saw neither women in gloves, nor men in hats in that underground world. It was like a creepy movie with a cast of bizarre characters. Some harmless and entertaining, some sinister and unsettling. How she can skip over the puddles of pee and focus on where she's going is beyond me. She admits that she is often harassed and left to fend for herself even when surrounded by able bodied "men" who in another era would have risen to her defense. Gallantry is gone with the wind and crude behavior is the norm. As modern as she is, she would have fit right in to the earlier age of ladies in gloves and gents in hats. So if you ever see a petite young lady on a subway, a bus or a train, she won't be offended if you offer her your seat, tip her your hat, or give the bums rush to a masher. There are still ladies out there gentlemen, even if they are not wearing gloves.

Coffee with Jim

He looked a little startled by my offer but jumped up and walked with me through the drizzle to his favorite McDonald's on the block. They recognized him, he must be a regular in the neighborhood. He was taller than I thought he would be seeing him crumpled up there on the corner, he was older too. Although he had a baby face with cheeks rosy red from the cold turns out he was 26. Twenty six is old enough to have found out a thing or two about yourself and about life. He chatted almost nonstop which he attributed to the methadone he was on to manage his heroin addiction. Yes, I was having coffee with Jim the homeless heroin addict. He preferred a coffee with five sugars and an order of cinnamon rolls to a burger. Sugar addiction, add that to the list.
He quickly spilled out his life story as he saw it. Growing up bi-polar in a cushy suburb. Slipping easily into marijuana in high school to cope and fit in. Quickly transferring to heroin which was way too easy to come by. Explaining what a joke and a game rehab was. Parents at their wits end, throwing up their hands after years of trying to deal with him. Tough love I wonder. Who would willingly have their kid on the street? He offered more grissly details of his recent past. What life is like sleeping on lower Wacker in the winter. Life in the shelters. Life with his girlfriend the married heroin addict nurse that keeps him addicted. Lots of excuses, little ownership.
Quite a reality check for my bleeding heart. After a while I said good bye, I will pray for you Jim. I had nothing else to offer him. A short time out of the rainy cold, a sugar fix. He thanked me. Said people don't talk to him, I guess many don't even look at him after a while. A city dweller's coping mechanism no doubt.

I went back into Marshall Field's and I could see the colors that I couldn't see before, the splendor, the joyful riotous displays of spring flowers. I wandered around there for a while revisiting my favorite spots in that glorious building. It tells an age old story of glory days past, trying to hang on to its history while reinventing itself for its own survival. I peered into the Narcissus room envisioning what it was like in its hay day of prim ladies lunching in all their finery. The Tiffany ceiling, the Frango candy making machine silent for the moment, the children's department where Santa greets 4th and 5th generation visitors come Christmastime. The fascinating historical display a nod to Field's illustrious history graciously left on display by Federated. And of course a look into the soothing warm paneled walls of the Walnut Room.

And my peace returned. All of the tensions and agitation of the weekend left me. I ventured out once again reminded of my painful feet wondering what to do next. I couldn't pass up the chance to have a look inside the Burnham Building that was standing before me on the opposite corner. As I crossed the street, I looked back to see Jim once again positioned to work the afternoon and the passersby under the clock. The regal old Hotel Burnham did not disappoint. Elaborate elevator grates, mosaic tiled floor, a gem restored. I was able to forgive the newly installed, unremarkable fireplace since it was offering me comfort on a sad gray day. From there I hatched my plan to drop into a CVS to buy myself some cushioned insoles hoping to soothe my feet to keep me going a bit longer. Divine intervention that CVS was next door to the Palmer House. I ducked in remembering that old Potter Palmer constructed this gorgeous haven 100+ years ago in tribute to his beloved Bertha. I found the plush "ladies lounge" and deftly slipped the insoles into my boots. Then I figured I had earned the right to sit a spell in the lobby bar in a comfy high backed sofa. It was close enough to happy hour I reasoned and ordered myself a perfectly luscious bloody mary. It was filled to overflowing with lime wedges, gigantic olives, and flowery celery, practically a meal! Either the charming east Indian waiter saw my distress and took pity on me or they figure that if you lay down $12 for a drink, it better be worth the cash. He also brought me a generous dish of snack mix and I tried to refrain from devouring it all at once. There I sat taking it all in, the opulent surroundings, the historical significance, the events of the day. Sitting there as the tasty cocktail began to take affect, I decided that I was no longer so in love with my favorite city. I know daughter will enjoy her life here but it will come at a cost. Her heart is as soft as my own. She delights in all of the wonders the city has to offer but sacrifices a piece of her soul each time she encounters one of these sad sights. And she encounters them daily.
The poor will always be with us, whether by their own failings, bad luck, bad health, misfortune. No need to empty your pockets at each encounter but harden not your heart, look them in the eye, smile, say a prayer for them, and take the occasion to express in the silence of your own heart, gratitude for your life, your blessings, and the strength you have been given to bear your own crosses.

Rainy days and mondays was a sad song

So as you know, Monday found me back downtown to plead for mercy from the housing office. After being tearfully dismissed by daughter, I set out on foot once again to spend the afternoon entertaining myself. Not hard to do right? Did I mention the cold and the rain?! It was noon yet it was so gray that it felt like evening was approaching. The umbrella was moderately helpful as I headed north once again. My stomach was howling so I ducked into a Panera Bread for a steaming bowl of amazingly creamy and satisfying mushroom soup with a perfectly wonderful half panini sandwich. Although I am dismayed at the thought of a chain restaurant appearing before me on State Street, I took advantage of it none the less. I warmed up and relaxed, taking my time and feeling alone and anonymous wishing I had daughter sitting across the table from me instead of some stranger at the opposite table also alone.You know how it is when you are facing someone and you try not to look but they are right in front of you?!
Since I was within spitting distance from Marshall Field's (that's about two blocks in my book) I headed back out into the gloom, jumped a few puddles and found myself under the old clock. And right there under that old landmark was a shabby young man huddled against the rain begging for food. I walked a few steps past him and knowing I had a perfectly intact crusty loaf left over from lunch, I turned around and handed it to him. Now you never know when you do something like this if the gesture will be sneered at or welcomed. Is the begging a ruse for quick cash to feed a habit or a genuine call for help? I figured I got my answer when I saw the young man eagerly devour the bread. Watching him for that short moment sent my emotions spiraling out of control. My nerves were shot to begin with after the last few days watching my child wrestle with city life, so I proceeded to lose it. I ran into Marshall Field's past the elaborate springtime displays desperately searching for someplace private. It was all I could do to quickly find myself a quiet stall before I totally embarrassed myself by breaking down in public. Although with all of the characters that I encountered that weekend, it is likely that I would appeared to be just another oddball.
However....when a mother sees a young person in need, she instinctively sees her own child or a friend's child there. It's sad enough to see an adult street person, disheveled and in need. It's quite another thing to see a young person in such a desperate state. I had all afternoon to fill before I would meet my daughter. I had no excuse. I pulled myself together and went back outside into that cold, gray, wet mess to revisit that sad scene.