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.

Jumping around the weekend's events

I digress, as usual...

So things are quite out of order here. Just wanted to go on the record to show the weekend was not totally bleek. But then again....

Saturday the Sun was shining...

After spending the night on daughter's dorm chair/couch, I decided to head up to one of my favorite places in the city, the Chicago History Museum, formerly the Chicago Historical Society on Clark at North Avenue. For those of you who know, if you start off at Congress & Michigan, you've got a long way to go. The morning was cold but sunny and a stroll up Michigan Avenue is a joy on such a day. My walking shoes were cowboy boots which normally are quite comfortable believe it or not. My pace is more like a commuter clip as opposed to a tourist stroll so off I went. Before I knew it I was at the river, hands freezing, feet getting a good pounding from the pavement. When the sun bounces off of the magnificent Gothic structures that line Michigan Avenue at the river, the affect is spectacular. Forget that the wind was living up to the legend, there is little that can prevent you from enjoying the sight except maybe one excruciatingly sore foot. I knew I had to give in and either find a bus or grab a cab. Not knowing the bus system well enough I opted for a cab. Thank goodness because I had a few miles more to walk to the museum. The museum is currently celebrating Bicentennial of Abraham Lincoln so the permanent Lincoln exhibit was even more extensive with one of the 5 handwritten copies of the Gettysburg Address. Wow. Also on hand was a stunning exhibit entitled Chic Chicago with gowns on display from the late 1800's to modern day. Gorgeous! I could just picture Bertha Honore Palmer in her finery aching to be as well thought of as the grand dames of New York society instead of queen of the barbaric and uncultured Chicago rabble. A widely held view of Chicagoans by New Yorkers in the 19th century (probably, still).
My yen for Chicago history temporarily satisfied, I was brave enough to set out once again on foot but knew I wouldn't last long. The sun was bright but that wind off the lake was slicing right through me. Yet, I walked. The Cardinal lives in the neighborhood so I wandered past his historic red brick mansion wondering if he was in town. State Street starts up there and its a great neighborhood of old brownstones and mid rise, mid century apartment building and hotels. Now if I could just get daughter situated in this neighborhood I would visit frequently. She needn't worry tho, its not in the budget! OK, feet are throbbing now. But after going through my cash fairly quickly on cab fare, I resist. A couple of more blocks gets me through the posh shopping district where you might find Oprah or Michelle. Suffering now, I head over to Michigan Avenue knowing I can get a bus in front of Water Tower to get me down to Randolph and the train station home at least that was my regular route 25+ years ago. And who should exit the 151 at Randolph with me but Memoir Girl. (See her very own blog entry at theLtracks.blogspot.com) Success and the aroma of train station popcorn greets me. Why does that smell so darned good?! Cheesy popcorn fingers for the ride home.

living for the city

Anytime I actually visit Chicago, I must report because it's always different. For starters, I've finally figured out the significance of my title, vintagechicago. At first I thought it would represent Chicago memories of myself and others. Since hardly anyone reads this blog, it has really been about mine. So vintagechicago is actually me I guess, an aging fragment of an earlier time with roots in and occasional recent experiences of that grand city.
I must say however my last visit was at times, heartbreaking. It should have been an uplifting early spring, Easter weekend. Realistically tho it was mid April in Chicago which could still mean snow. Not to forget the Easters of my youth that were spoiled by having to wear a winter coat over a perfectly wonderful new Easter dress. Especially fabulous was the year all three of us sisters had -get this- new dresses with matching coats, matching hats, lace tights, new shoes and probably white gloves. How the parents pulled that all off I'll never know, must have won the lottery that year. Bleak, gray, rainy weather aside, I got to encounter some equally bleak aspects of city life up close.
Daughter was desperate to find off campus housing so we enlisted the help of a professional who promptly told us what I already knew. To find an apartment for the paltry sum that we had budgeted would land her in a seriously sketchy neighborhood. (To qualify here, $1200/month-shared by two, is not paltry by any means, unless of course you're talking big city real estate) Not suburban sketchy which we are more accustomed to, neighbors that maybe don't cut the lawn as frequently as they should or park too many vehicles of various types on their property. No, we are talking seriously sketchy as in probable gang activity.
After an afternoon of viewing "apartments" carved out of 100 year old buildings which probably were never meant to house a normal sized human being, we regrouped and ventured out to the magnificent Opera House to enjoy a contemporary concert by local musical genius Andrew Bird. Funny how the two of us fret about what we will wear to such a special event. Obviously from the looks of the crowd, few others gave it any thought at all. I MEAN, you are partaking of a not inexpensive night out at a glorious historic venue. Give it the respect it deserves. Same goes (even more so) for the disappointing crowd at Easter Sunday mass. PLEASE PEOPLE, what rates a little effort anymore?! Are ratty jeans and a lame tshirt the new black?
Now by Monday time was running out to find daughter somewhere to lay her precious head for the summer and next school year. Consequently Mom heads over to the housing office to plead daughter's case even though she missed the application deadline by a mere month. They take pity and find her a spot in a 5-story vintage building which has actually been rehabbed to be inhabited rather confortably from my point of view. Daughter is upset since her dreams of being let loose to live the authentic city life have been derailed. Mom however, will be sleeping a little easier. She runs off to edit a film that is due and tells me through her tears she will be at it for hours and that I shouldn't hang around. Ya, right. I am not leaving my daughter in such a state. Five hours to kill downtown is nothing I tell her, I will see her at dinner time. Those next five hours are a story in itself.....

KUM-BY-YA YA'LL

You know I love to wander through the blog-o-sphere checking up on my favorite bungalow rehabbers and all things Chicago. It makes me crazy though because those people are thouroghly and utterly dyed in the wool democrats at the least and rabid liberals at the worst. I try to overlook all of that but it is getting harder and harder since I am finding it almost intolerable to stomach their enlightened view of the world in this post-Obama election universe. All of a sudden they are all enlightened about being bi-partisan and optomistic, and oh so generous about working together to CHANGE the world into a better place. OK, where has their generosity of spirit been for the last 8 years? Now they are willing to be cooperative and bipartisan since THEIR guy is in the White House. It is no great effort to be so when your side holds the keys.
I am happy to live in a town that has yard signs reading "Welcome Home Mr. President". I hope George and Laura will be comfortable here and able to live with peace and dignity after 8 years of constant criticism and hate. I don't care what you think about his policies. He governed according to his conscience just as Obama will. Just because his ideals and policies differ from your own is no cause for hate. Obama does not represent my ideals but he is my president. I will work and pray for the causes I believe in and I will not resort to hate. I think Obama is wrong wrong wrong on just about every issue. This is America, I am entitled to my position and so are you. Don't take away my right to express my views (Un-Fairness Doctrine) because you now have the power to do so. I don't ask for ABC, NBC, CBS, CNBC, Air America, countless big city newspapers, Time, Newsweek etc, to be silenced so don't you ask for FOX or talk radio to be silenced.
I am proud to live in this country, always have been but I worry for her soul. I see a constant battle between the darkness and the light with the darkness getting stronger every day. Government is not the answer to all of our ills, the people are the answer. Obama cannot save us from ourselves but he can facilitate our demise. The people's hearts united with the will of God is the answer.

Souls Connected

What is it about women blogging that draws snickering from kids, rolled eyes from husbands, disdain from intellectuals? Granted, it's not brain surgery. It's frequently self-indulgent musings, whining, ranting, self-reflection. But you know what? It's also a web of souls connected. Strangers who put their lives out there for whatever reasons, searching, seeking, living. People who are deeply touched by other's joys and sufferings, reaching out to lend love and support because really, your children are my children. Your heartbreak could easily be mine. I sat in tears today reading a friend's blog that told me about two year old Cora who recently succumbed to cancer. And last year I learned about little Gloria who also passed away at the tender age of 6. Her short life was remarkable. She had love and devotion for God that was supernatural. She taught so many people about life, and faith. A profound testimony that I was able to witness because of her mother's blog.
I have also "met" so many interesting, creative, faithful, genius, hysterically funny women wandering from one blog to another. In a very discouraging and often godless world I am lifted up by these incredible people. They are a light shining through the darkness. Because we know afterall that this incredible tool we use for our education and entertainment is also a conduit for trash and hate.
Of course it would be wonderful if we could have these encounters and "conversations" in person but life is what it is. Seek out the good and beautiful and humorous in the world because it gives life. Pass on the stories of suffering as well as beauty because there is God in the suffering too. An even if the story ends with death, it is just the beginning of the next chapter. The most beautiful one of all.