Author: Becky Sarwate

Bronzeville with Ms. Catherine (November 3, 2009)

Becky SarwateLeave a comment

bronzeville

On leave today from our normal Monday-Thursday routine of hitting the streets to play tourist detective, Sam and I were sent out into the field with one of the volunteers from The Chicago Neighborhood Greeters’ Tour, operated by the Department of Cultural Affairs. It’s a pretty neat program actually. Visitors, new residents or simply people looking to learn something new can go out for 2-4 hours with a layman expert in their neighborhood of interest. That person will show you the insider’s guide to what’s what. Sam and I are assigned to research Bronzeville next week and the Powers that Be thought it might be a useful exercise to take one of these tours to assist us with our fact finding. And it was. But what Sammy and I found out was that Ms. Catherine, the formidable 70 year-old woman who showed us the sights today, was about to educate the two of us about a lot more than Bronzeville history. She was about to school us in the game of life.

Ms. Catherine Williams is a 19-year resident of Bronzeville, a retired employee of many years with the City Colleges. She has raised two sons succesfully, both Ivy League educated and living in New York doing fabulous things. Her eldest granddaughter, 21 years old, is about to graduate from Harvard. She interned with former Senator, now Secretary Clinton, and Ms. Catherine has a photo of this child in her living room casually posing with President Barack Obama. How do I know this? The first stop on the Bronzeville tour, Ms. Catherine-style, was her living room, a fantastic apartment on the 19th floor of a Lakefront building. She wanted to show us the breathtaking view she has of both downtown as well as Gary, Indiana. The latter is a mixed blessing, but you get the point. I felt like such an ambitionless underachiever after listening to Ms. Catherine recount her brood’s lengthy list of accomplishments. Did I mention that the superstar granddaughter is also a gorgeous classical ballerina? Come on!

Ms. Catherine is once divorced, once widowed. Her husband is gone and her family lives on the East Coast. Do you think Ms. Catherine is sitting around feeling old and sorry for herself? As Whitney Houston famously said on the television classic, Being Bobby Brown, hell to the naw! She is too busy. In addition to being involved with the Chicago Greeters’ Program, she is also a jetsetter. She just returned from a four-day trip with some girlfriends to Hilton Head Island, and she’s headed to South Beach with another galpal in March. Ms. Catherine is well groomed, chic and expensive looking without being dated or overtly gaudy. She is active in her Church.

Best of all, Ms. Catherine can’t turn off being a mother – not ever. Friends, I am 31 years old and I got sent to the bathroom before we took our trip, “just in case because there’s a lot of walking.” And I went. Such was the command of the 5’3″ granny. Apparently, Ms. Catherine is superhuman and never bothers with silly things like bodily needs or sustenance herself, though it was nice of her to think of us. She walked step for step with Sammy and I throughout the day – three miles easily, yet she never used the restroom, ate or drank, or appeared tired at all. In fact, after she dropped Sammy and I back at the Cultural Center, she was off to the Mag Mile for a little shopping. Meanwhile, come 2:00 PM I am nursing a hunger headache, and my bladder was heavier than the burden on Bears’ coach Lovie Smith to hold onto his job. Do you think I was saying anything? Whining about fatigue in front of a 70 year-old lady in high heels?

What a day. Oh and Bronzeville was pretty cool too. For all my intense fear of aging, if Ms. Catherine and her indefatiguable energy are what retirement look like, I want some of that.

Kick it Like KK (November 1, 2009)

Becky SarwateLeave a comment

I am, quite possibly, the biggest softie in the entire free world. Now I know that may come as a surprise given that my tough side equally represents. I can be a hard ass when I need to be, certainly. However, to bring the point home, let me hearken back to my 8th grade graduation. The teachers at Pilgrim Lutheran Grade School got together every year to do a comedy sketch, lampooning that year’s crop of graduates. The teacher chosen to play me, Mrs. Halter, a flaming red haired, pale skinned woman (admittedly, the best physical choice for the role), hammed up two elements when fashioning my character: huge green glasses, and a whole lotta crying. Her portrayal stung with the humiliating brand of truth that 13 year-old girls cannot endure in front of their peers. I wished I could scream that it was horribly off base to depict me as a nonstop water works, but I knew even then that the basis for any good roasting is a healthy dose of reality.

I have grown somewhat of a thicker skin over the years, but I am still pretty damned weepy. How many times have I bawled after a particularly moving routine on So You Think You Can Dance? Jennifer Hudson, when she competed on her season of American Idol (her 7th place finish was a travesty that has since been exposed), brought tears to me eyes every time she lifted that beautiful voice toward the sky. This year’s episode of The Office which finally inaugurated the marriage of Jim and Pam choked me up in the extreme.

But as 10 year-old KK was reminded anew today, Aunt Becky’s tears are not limited to the privacy of her living room and television stimulation. Yes, even though KK is my sister Jen’s daughter, I reserve the right to play the proud Aunty and write about this kid. KK and I have always had a special bond – dating back to when I lived with her and Jen for nearly the entire first two years of her life. I changed KK diapers, gave her a bath and put her to bed while Jen toiled away at night school. These were the young crazy days before Jen and I settled down with our husbands, and KK was an adorable light in our bachelorette lives. The connection I have with my now almost 10 year-old niece has always been something I treasure (note: I hope to have this same bond with the more discriminating Rosebud if she ever decides I make the grade).

KK has been involved in quite a few activities over the years, and I am proud to say is a two-time beauty pageant victor among other accomplishments. But my girl is much more than just a pretty face. In recent months, KK has taken to karate like nothing else she has tried before. To know my niece, this idea would instantly bring a smile to your face. KK is the skinniest mini in the world, a relatively tall gal, but appears to weigh all of 10 pounds soaking wet. The karate gi she wore today looked like a parachute, and she had trouble keeping her hard won green belt (fourth level) around her tiny hips.

But you know what? KK might look like a sweet and delicate flower, but she can kick some booty! For reasons that remain unclear, all of the girls in her regular class except she chose not to enroll in the tournament out in Naperville today. There are some reasons I could suggest but that is not my business right now. Thankfully, Max and Jen have no problem allowing their darling daughter to toughen herself up and take a knock now and then. It truly does build character and if I may say, KK apparently took some hard practice shots to the face that left her stunned and red, but she neither quit nor cried.

Instead it was KK’s opponent in the first heat who needed the tissues. My little niece brought the pain. Fine, I may be using a bit of hyperbole here. It was not an ultimate fight or anything and the kids were well padded, but there was definite contact. At one point, KK illegally, but mistakenly, connected with her sparring partner’s face, and I am sure it didn’t tickle. She was not awarded a point for this, but is it sick if I admit it was nearly my proudest moment?

Ultimately, KK took second place in her group, the only girl competing against four boys. Her final opponent, the first place victor, had at least three inches, not to mention 25 pounds on my kid. She held her own amidst the backdrop of the whooping of myself, one of her cousins, Jen, and especially Daddy Max. She was steely and focused. Man did I like what I saw today.

I felt a swelling in my heart as I snapped photos and watched KK receive her rather large 2nd place trophy. But it was the quick victory of her very first heat that set me off in a fit of verklemption that even Jen found surprising. I maintain that she should know by now that Aunt Becky is elated almost to the point of physical pain by her nieces’ triumphs. I reminded her again that they ought to know better than to invite me to these things. I realize I am a tremendous embarassment, but I literally can’t help myself. Once again, watching KK punch little boys on her way to victory, I experienced what has been known since August of this year as the “Westminster Effect.” What can I say Jen? Blame your fabulous daughter.

A Halloween Limerick (October 30, 2009)

Becky SarwateLeave a comment

Halloween 2

Listen to my tale, if you dare
of a Hallow’s Eve Chicago scare.
The City is broke.
Our Mayor’s a joke.
He’ll be tossed in 2011 if life is fair.
Happy Halloween trick-or-treaters! Stay safe and eat lots of candy!

Walking in Roseland (October 27, 2009)

Becky SarwateLeave a comment

 

 

Roseland

 

The far South Side neighborhood of Roseland was founded as a suburb of Chicago in the 1860s, by Dutch immigrants who nicknamed it “High Prairie” due to its elevated situation. The area enjoyed a booming heyday in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, when it served as a satellite community for the nearby Pullman factory. South Michigan Avenue was once a veritable warehouse of big name, flashy department stores and businesses, a multicultural Magnificent Mile that serviced residents and employees of the local steel mills and railroad workers.

However in the 1960s, Roseland fell upon hard times with the exodus of steel plants and the slow disintegration of Pullman’s operations. The tremendous loss of jobs caused a “white flight” from the area that only exacerbated Roseland’s downward economic fortunes. Sadly, in recent years, Roseland has gained notoriety for more violent headlines such as these:

http://www.chicagobreakingnews.com/2009/09/boy-16-found-slain-on-far-south-side.html

http://www.highbeam.com/doc/1P3-583562951.html

It was to Roseland that Sam and I were sent this week in our work with the Chicago Office of Tourism. The decision makers on the Neighborhood Mapping Project mean absolute business when they say they want to bring marketing and tourist attention to ALL of Chicago and I applaud them. Truth be told, perhaps I am being terribly naive, but I had no real qualms about going to the neighborhood. The residents of Roseland are people like anybody else and I wasn’t planning on being stupid. Yesterday we rode the Metra Electric to 115th Street, and today we opted to take the Red Line all the way to 95th. Both days we stuck to the main streets.

Anyway, the point of this post is this: why is that the people who have the least in terms of resources are often the most welcoming? I cannot tell you how many times I have been treated like crap, or flat out ignored in the most well to do trendy neighborhoods on the North Side – and this bad attitude permeates every walk of North Side life: bus drivers, shop workers, etc.

As Sam and I walked along South Michigan near 113th St., a concerned passerby actually asked us what we were doing there. I didn’t take the time to explain the whole project, but I assured this kindly elder gentleman that we knew what we were doing.

While patronizing Old Fashioned Donuts, a truly original and authentic local hangout with cheap and delicious cinnamon rolls (I know from experience), a few of the customers spent a minute or two checking Sam and I out, but not in any rude or derisive way. And once they had a good look, one of the men seated at a table nearby asked me how I was enjoying my doughnut. After I relayed my enthusiastic opinion that my treat was pretty damned good, he proudly declared the shop, “the best in the City” as if he owned the place.

It was then I realized what is missing in large degree from the North Side – a sense of ownership. Has gentrification stripped Lakefront Northerners of the ability to feel community? Is there just one too many Starbucks or Whole Foods stores in the way of neighborhood identity?

I am by no means recommending that you pack up the car and take the kids down to Roseland for a Saturday good time. It’s not quite ready for that yet. But if King Daley spread the stolen wealth around a bit instead of keeping it downtown and along the North Lake Shore exclusively, I think he’d find Roseland and neighborhoods like it have all the raw materials a great destination needs. People in this place actually care. Imagine that.

Diary of A Mad H1N1 (October 25, 2009)

Becky SarwateLeave a comment

Wednesday, October 14, 2009:

After a day spent walking in that annoying, light, drizzly rain, the kind that chills you to the bone without really getting you wet, I have come down with a nasty case of the sniffles. I have two reviews to write for the Edge, but I can’t. I am going to bed.

Thursday, October 15, 2009:

Holy crap. My body hurts. I just finished taking my morning pee pee, a release that usually feels so refreshing, yet I am doubled over with cramps. What the hell? I am not going to work. I can’t walk around South Deering in the rain again. I hope I don’t lose my job. It’s only my second week.

Friday, October 16, 2009:

Eddie is home. That would be awesome if I hadn’t been up all night alternately stripping down and bundling up, each movement cloaked in a dense and slimy covering of chilly sweat. I took Tylenol, Nyquil, anything I could swallow and my fever unswervingly clocks in at 102. Shit – I cannot miss work again. Can I? Wait a minute. My alarm clock is broken. No, on second thought the power is out in the whole house. It’s 6:30 AM already? Fuck – why is the power out? I had better wake Eddie.

(2:00 PM that day) The goddamned power is still out. I can’t breathe. My body is breaking out in red splotches. I am irrational and bored. That’s it. I am going for a run.

(2:15 PM) What just happened? My chest exploded at block 2. I tried to go farther but ultimately turned around to come home when my left side felt like it needed to create an opening to let my ever swollen and painful organs out. I feel worse than before. Eddie is going to be so mad at me. The freaking power is still out. I have already made two hysterical calls to my property manager.

Saturday, October 17, 2009:

It’s 5 AM. The power didn’t come back on until 8:30 PM. I am going to kill my landlord – once I can stand. Fever still just under 102 and it appears there is nothing in the world I can do to bring it down. I am afraid to go to the bathroom for any reason. Any attempt by my body to eliminate waste feels like I am Mel Gibson bravely enduring death torture, a la the final scene in Brave Heart. I am starting to get an inkling I might have the swine flu, especially after some clandestine middle of the night research. I had better wake Eddie up so we can go to the doctor. Shit. I hate doctors. I hope they don’t draw blood. Oh crap – I hope Eddie doesn’t get it. Maybe I have pneumonia. My lungs hurt like hell.

(10:00 AM that morning) Oh mother f”er. It is the swine flu. I called Jen from the doctor’s office. I am starting a steady diet of Claritin and Advil. I had to laugh though when the doctor broke up one of mine and Eddie’s usual mini-power struggles. He told him this was my flu, not his. LOL. Ow – it hurts to laugh. I need to lie down.

Sunday, October 18, 2009:

The fever is down to a manageable 100. A steady diet of medicine and Eddie’s TLC (an unexpected blessing) has done some good. I wish I could exercise. It’s been days now. Maybe tomorrow. It still hurts to pee. Man, what is that?

Monday, October 19, 2009:

I am going back to work no matter what. I feel mostly alright. No more fever. The cold has moved from my head to my chest. I sort of feel like any other person with the flu now. Cool. The worst is over.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009:

Riding the el home from the office, I grab a backward facing seat. This unexpectedly triggers a raging case of motion sickness right around Sedgwick that takes until late Friday evening to completely subside. I feel nauseous and sick the rest of the week and wonder if the swine flu qualifies for a medical marijuana prescription. It should.

Saturday October 24, 2009:

Ok, I am back in the saddle. I finally conducted the interview with Chad Bliss of the Cob Connection that I had to cancel last Saturday. I spent 90 minutes standing in community gardens in Humboldt Park. It’s raining again. I try to run when I come home but my left side almost explodes anew. I make it to my 3:00 hair appointment, badly needed as it has now been 7 weeks since I touched up my roots. Right before I leave, around 5:00, I develop a twinge of a headache. I assume I need to eat.

(6:00 PM that evening) All the lights are off in the house, as is the TV. It is a sensory free zone and I am huddled on my bed with a full blown migraine. I haven’t had one of these in four years, since before I started dating Eddie. WTF? I have to make a lame phone call to my best friend Gary, due to arrive in 45 minutes, to tell him I can’t make it to Brandon’s party tonight. I hope I don’t puke up the dried cranberries I just ate. Both Gary and Brandon are probably mad at me. Shit. Nothing I can do about it. I am taking four Excedrin migraine tablets. Why the hell aren’t they working? I wish Eddie would shut off that Hindi movie and come to bed.