Which End is Up? (November 11, 2009)

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This week, I feel the appropriateness of the title of mine and Jen’s blog more than ever. For both of us, the last 5-7 days have been immensely trying, on family, personal and parental levels. Many of the experiences of the last few should provide inspirational fodder for my writing, and yet I find myself perversely wordless at the moment. I believe Jen, as I am, to be walking around in a dense fog of shame, confusion and of course, that good old standby, anger.

If it were only about myself, I’d go into detail. My goal is not to titillate with the dangling carrot of hot gossip, only to hold back. But with respect to current situations, there are too many people I love involved who might be hurt by my characteristic openness, so I will depart from the usual and remain mum for now.

For those of you out in the blogosphere who check in with us now and then, we need your strength and support to get through the rest of this week. Many more challenges lie ahead before we greet the next Monday morning. Jen and I need to hunker down, grit our teeth and pull out the ferocious tenacity that has gotten us both where we are today, but there will be plenty moments of weakness too. That’s when we’ll need each other the most.

The Sky Falls (Literally) on the Old School (November 5, 2009)

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Nanni_Poppa House

Jen and I have had an interesting day. About 3:00 this afternoon, I received a FaceBook message from an old grade school pal by the name of Barry Burman (the erstwhile Brad as he wished to be called at Pilgrim Lutheran Grade School). Barry is kind of a dorky name (I kid!). Has anyone read or heard this new story today?

http://www.chicagobreakingnews.com/2009/11/mysterious-ice-slams-into-north-side-home.html

The house above and to the right is the unfortunate home slammed with the errant refuse. Guess what dwelling this is? The abode of the maternal grandparents of your very own Boop and Jen. Excuse me, WTF?! What kind of weird karmic fuckery is this?

Most people are quite familiar with their grandparents homes, no doubt, but it is not an exaggeration to state that Jen and I lived here for 16 years. With two working parents who lived on the Northwest Side, and our grade school a mere block and a half from Nanni and Poppa’s house at 4242 N. Wolcott, we spent far more time in Ravenswood that we ever did in our home neighborhood (which in truth, I am not even sure the name). And what a bumping block the 4200 block of Wolcott was back in the day. Yes, I am about to go all retro on your asses. But it must be said: we Pilgrim kids who lived on that street were a bunch of bad mamma jammas.

Take for example, the time myself, Jen and Becky Jo Lauderdale from across the street (a little white blond pipsqueak of a thing) choreographed our own dance, complete with cartwheels and pelvic thrusts, to the Salt and Pepa classic, “Push It.” Or the 25,000 games of tag we played with Becky Jo, J.B. from next door, and two out of the three Burman boys from down the street. My first “french”kiss occured on that block (with Latin hottie Martin Aramburu – seriously, meow!). Jen got hit by a bike once right in front of the house, on the sidewalk, as my humongous Poppa, all 420 pounds, former ball turret gunner of him, put down his fly swatter and glass of homemade sweet tea (a most unusual turn of events) to cuss out the little “son of a bitch” who hit his granddaughter. Too many good times people.

So I can’t tell you the flashbacks I endured, and I know Jen went through the same, as we looked at the smoldering wreckage of our grandparents’ roof. True it has been 10 years since either of them lived there. They were renters and Poppa, with his morbid obesity, passed away in 1994. There was never, mark my words, a finer man. In fact I owe it to him to write more on that another time. Nanni moved into a retirement home in 1999 and died there. But even after the long passage of time, it was like stepping right back into the mid 80s when I clicked that hyperlink today. Jen and I are sitting side by side on those unmistakably tall steps that led to Nanni and Poppa’s second floor apartment. Then we were running down those same steps as fast as our little legs would carry us to overtake the ice cream truck. We rarely missed.

Thankfully, the current families who live there were unharmed. The roof will be patched up and life will go on. They will likely sue some airline or another. But for two little girls at heart today, a random news oddity literally hit too close to home.

Bronzeville with Ms. Catherine (November 3, 2009)

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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)

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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)

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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!