Winter has arrived

The snow was coming down heavy and steadily a few days ago when I split up from my friends at Union Station and rode the train out of town. There was a weather alert across the country for the winter storm that was passing, which explained the hundreds of people covering almost every inch across the great marble expanse of the Great Hall, splayed out and camped with their luggage trying to get home for the holidays.

I stepped my way through all the travelers after my roommate and I jumped out of the taxi and dashed onto my train with minutes to spare. I put my hood up and my headphones on and left the city. The drive to my family's house was through the rapidly falling snow, which had followed a couple of days of subzero temperatures. The snow was so thick on the ground when I arrived, that I wished I had brought my snowpants and gloves so that I could go and roll around in it.

My dad pointed out a bird to me in the corner by the edge of the woods, a larger bird about the size of my hand and forearm. I caught it landing and we watched it with its head down, poking at the ground with its beak.

"That's a Kestrel. I'm thinking about making a nest for it."

"What do you make a Kestrel's nest out of anyways?" I wondered out loud.

"A box. Where it can lay eggs."

I envisioned that, and watched the bird lift off after a minute and spread its tail like a fan as it shot upward. It had distinct white markings spread across the tail when it fully flared.


And today I've been watching a fawn. On the drive from the train station, we saw a small herd of deer hanging out in the front lawn of someone's house. This is where they go when they are chilling. This one has been standing at the edge of the woods, in the same place where I saw the falcon. There is a runoff of water from where it drains from uphill there, and it seems to be the spot where animals like to gather. I had my camera close by and got a quick snapshot. An hour later I went back to the window and she was still there, joined by another.




The weather warmed up and the massive piles of snow that have accumulated all over the house have been collapsing like bombs as they slide off one part of the roof to another. Anything above freezing here outside of Chicago feels almost balmy. The sound of the water droplets from melting ice and the sight of icycles liquifying has set a rhythm to the day.

Croak!!!!

My voice is croaky, because after a strangely silent and numb couple of months, the narrative stream of consciousness has returned between my ears. I am not sure how other writers find their words, but for me they come from a speaking voice that has always existed in my thoughts and I just write the words as they come along. When I was younger this voice was often at odds with my actual speech voice - I was shy and introverted and often couldn't get my thoughts to converge with the words coming out of my mouth, and so many years people assumed I was borderline autistic unless they happened to be a penpal. I was the master of the passed note in my school days; that's how I made friends.

Anyhow, the past few months have been like the end of V for Vendetta when the fireworks explode the parliament buildings all over town to Beethoven's 5th symphony. It was like a spectacular destruction of my life as I knew it and was comfortable with on many levels - professionally, romantically and domestically. I took solace in knowing that as things came up with me to figure out and work through in my life, the rest of the country and world was going through similar crises and transitions.

A global financial meltdown and new president later, we are piecing together a new plan for the future. I am glad that my soul is coming down from being stunned into shock so many times and my writing voice is returning - the other day I was walking with a dear old friend and found myself fumbling for the pen I had kept handy for that moment, when my thoughts returned.

What makes a human have ability to formulate intellectual ideas above those in a more primal survival mode is being able to clear your mind enough to let those thoughts rise, I suppose. I knew that I was in a transition phase during the past few months, and gripped my mental cap nervously as I assured myself that the silence in my head would pass when I could finally stop freaking out.

So on this Thanksgiving I would like to check in and apologize to this neglected project for my inability to croak out anything positive or good to hear the past few months. I would like to express my thanks to my brain for snapping out of the shock, and my gratitude at being a little older now and having the perspective to know how my creative cycles work - as opposed to dramatically perching on a bridge assuming my soul was dead forever. I have been musing upon cycles in general - as this may be a time of downswing in my life and in my world, there will be a future for which we should focus on positioning ourselves for. Can't wait to see what happens.

Grant Park Victory Rally

Election Night 2008

In the spirit of moving forward, the United States elected Barack Obama as the President of the Untied States of America. This ended a very long process - years of the primary race within the Democratic and Republican parties and a very condensed past few months of heavy campaigning by both parties. I believe the whole country must be relieved that we have finally come to a conclusion.

I watched John McCain's concession speech from the counter of our local pizza spot, as the camera flashed to glimpses of the Obama rally taking place downtown at Grant Park. As he gracefully stepped aside in the race for the presidency, it became more and more apparently to the jubilant crowd in Chicago that it's hope for change was not quite as audacious as it had been in previous election years.

An image gently weeping Jesse Jackson marked the remarkable and historic shift in social and political possibilities. As I crossed the intersection of Congress and Michigan Ave. after jumping on the train to head to the rally, this thought occurred to me again when I realized that I had crossed the site of the riots of 1968 during the Democratic National Convention, 40 years ago. how the world seems to have changed. I heard the crowd roaring when I stepped out of the subway a few blocks away at jackson and Wabash, and knew the victory speech had begun.

The crowd in Grant Park was elated, full of smiles at random strangers, exchanges of hugs and high fives. No one was more enthused and proud than the city's African American population who represented themselves, bearing signs proclaiming "Yes, we did!"

This was not a dream.

Tonight I stepped outside for some phone reception, when I heard the lilting sounds of horns trailing off into the distance. I finished up my call and was about to step back inside when the chords rose, lifting into a progession and the sounds wrapped themselves around my heart. I paused for a minute, then wandered in the general direction of the music.

I couldn't figure out where it was coming from, so I wandered the blocks and ran into people walking their dogs and chatting on the phone, all with their heads up, wondering where the music was coming from. Then a quick light beat kicked in and gave the horns a platform, completing the song. I wondered what I would do when and if I ever got close to where the music was coming from - knock on the door and ask what track it was?

Hypnotized and mesmerized by the sounds, I thought how silly it was that I was wandering around in slippers with my front door slightly open, abandoned, searching for that perfect sound. It was like a perfume lover catching a stray note on a stranger's fragrance, a mark of beauty that was so compelling that I was powerless against it.

I finally decided that it must be coming from a rooftop on Milwaukee Ave. and stopped on the curb to let the melody imprint onto my brain.

This week has been as volatile in my life as the financial markets have been in the news, but with staggering heights to match the bottoming lows. I feel a change coming in the air as nature prepares to shift into a new season, and I feel geared up and ready, weary of a long hot season that began for me 7 months ago when I got on the plane to the Philippines and shed my winter coat. I never thought that I would be stoked out for the cold weather, but right now I am looking forward for the shift into news things all around and can feel those changes at work already.

Post-birthday Spiral

I hate to admit it, but ever since my birthday life has been charging forward like a barreling train, in which I have been lounging louchely in the party car. This past week I have gone to sleep (or passed out, exhausted) with dancebeats more times than not, my muscles pummeled by soundwaves from speakers. It sets the soundstage for my dreams, which are larger and livelier than ever.

I don't live like this all the time, and this kind of energy is actually typical for me around this time of the year so I know to enjoy these fun times for what they are. My birthday occurs during a season of change, which always makes me reflective. Recent events have brought a unique tinge to this particular year, which have led me to spend this time reflecting on previously unconsidered meanings of the idea of freedom.

***

This weekend my friend Jenny is getting married. I have known her since we were little girls playing on the swings in the park, from so far back that I remember when she lost her baby teeth.

It will be an honor to read this at the ceremony tomorrow, as it has been such a beautiful thing to read all week for me:

Strive eagerly for the greatest spiritual gifts.

But I shall show you a still more excellent way.

If I speak in human and angelic tongues
but do not have love,
I am a resounding gong or a clashing cymbal.
And if I have the gift of prophecy
and comprehend all mysteries and all knowledge;
if I have all faith so as to move mountains,
but do not have love, I am nothing.
If I give away everything I own,
and if I hand my body over so that I may boast
but do not have love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind.
It is not jealous, is not pompous,
it is not inflated, it is not rude,
it does not seek its own interests,
it is not quick-tempered, it does not brood over
injury, it does not rejoice over wrongdoing
but rejoices with the truth.
It bears all things, believes all things,
hopes all things, endures all things

Love never fails.