Ponderings and Musings

I enjoyed a bike ride today. It’s been a couple of weeks since my last bike ride, but the weather was beautiful and I was wanted to see how this fine city was holding up.

It’s holding up very well.

There were several cyclists on the street; a particular group was passing the other direction on Halsted. We were waiting at opposite corners when one of them called out to me and simply called me “Grandpa”.

This got my introspective side going, so I put together some thoughts.

To the young man in Boystown who felt it was prudent to shout “Grandpa” at me as I waited for the light on Halsted to turn green so I could continue my bike ride: THANK YOU. Your comment and observation prompted me to be reflective for the remainder of my ride. Now, I realize my 24-speed bike was built in 1999 and that my cycling garb is probably equally as old, all from before when you were born. Did you know that bike has over 20K miles on it? I have socks that show above the ankles and a handkerchief under my helmet to guard my aging bald head from the sun. But I’m thankful: I’ve survived spinal meningitis, had my “plumbing” replaced, and luckily have had no other close calls with death. I’ve been happily, actually blissfully married for nearly a quarter of a century. I have an unbelievable family, chosen, biological, and through marriage, that have shown me love I still can’t believe I’m worthy of. I can fly aircraft above the planet where there’s no borders, no boundaries, and no petty differences over skin color. I’ve shaken hands with CEOs of the biggest computer companies in the world, sang with Top 40 bands while hanging out in a bar in New Orleans, swam in three of the five Great Lakes, two oceans, been off my home continent, and been to cities where I didn’t speak the language. I’ve driven 15 hours to buy my husband an ice cream cone. I’ve lived where I’ve wanted to live, and have always found life where I looked for it. I’ve watched buildings fall down and others rise up. I’ve seen peace and have volunteered for war, only to be told I wasn’t the “right kind”. I’ve worked hard at minimum wage and I’ve worked hard at a very comfortable wage. I’ve watched friends die of AIDS and HIV and I’ve spray painted SILENCE = DEATH on sidewalks while your parents were probably still watching Barney. I’ve marched in parades and attended rallies so others could dance in the street holding hands with the ones they love. I’ve tried things Dr. Ruth would endorse with a standing ovation. I’ve strongly advocated for the less fortunate and been advocated for by people who strongly cared. I’ve been hugged at my job for being who I am and I’ve been threatened with a gunshot between the eyes for being who I am, yet here I am as I am. tl;dr? I’VE LIVED LIFE. Thank you for calling me, while nearing my 52nd birthday, Grandpa. While I have no grandchildren (the closest thing is a pineapple shark), I’m at the best point ever in my life and I’m proud of how I got here. Thank you for reminding me of how great I have it.

We have five months until the next Presidential Election. Like each season of “American Idol” being the best talent ever, this next Presidential Election is the most important election here in the United States of our lifetime. Except this is not a marketing ploy. We’ve been hearing about this 2020 election since the 2016 election. Usually I’d be sick of hearing about presidential candidates by now but they’re barely mentioned in the news cycle; there’s just too much chaos going on.

I currently believe we have a 50/50 chance of making it as a country until November. I’m surprised the folks that make the decision about the Doomsday Clock haven’t reconvened out of cycle and shoved that sucker even more perilously closer to midnight.

When I was back in high school learning about history we’d never get much beyond the very beginning of the 20th century. We’d run out of time before we had to cram for New York State Regents Exams, so we never really learned about the Korean War, the Vietnam War, or the racial divisions that plagued much of that century. I know there was a lot of societal upheaval in the year I was born but I don’t know the details. I feel that I’ve failed in not feeling motivated to learn more as an adult. I need to rectify that situation.

As bad as I sensed the late 1960s were I feel like what we’re experiencing here and now is just as bad as it was back then. It is different, but in too many ways it’s also the same.

Side note: I’m sitting on our balcony typing this and noticing a lot of helicopters are heading toward the south side of the city. I was hoping the relative calm vibe of today would pervade but I have a feeling something big is going on again.

I guess I was of the mindset that blatant racism would die off as older generations passed on. It’s apparent that I was wrong with that thinking; racism has been successfully passed on from generation to generation and unfortunately this is evident with who have been elected to positions in our government and the approach many take toward their fellow men and women.

I really hope we make it to the November elections and I doubly hope that the right choice is made at the voting booth. Since I’m on the fence as to whether we’ll make it through the end of 2020, I sure as hell know we don’t have a chance of surviving four more years of whatever this is we have today.

I was up at my usual time this morning to go for a walk. The curfew here in Chicago ended at 6:00 a.m. today, so I figured it’d be safe to go out and get some exercise before diving into the workday later this morning.

As soon as I went outside I instantly noticed how quiet the streets were today. Both the CTA’s ‘L’ and the METRA commuter rail run through our neighborhood and neither are operating with any sort of regularity. Westbound landings into O’Hare fly directly overhead as well and of course there’s been a huge reduction of flights since the pandemic took over the world.

Before going to bed last night I noticed in the distance several helicopters hovering over the Loop to the apparent northeast of the Sears Tower. There are no helicopters this morning.

The neighborhood is eerily quiet this morning. Even noticeably more so than when the quarantine started back in March. I think it’s the lack of the rumble of the ‘L’ that’s the most noticeable. Every once in a while I can hear an announcement being blared out on the loudspeakers but I can’t ever make out what they’re saying, even if I’m standing on the platform. Some folks feel the need to yell into the microphone.

I’m so very tired, especially of the woes and injustices plaguing American society. I hope and pray that the rest of the world isn’t like this. I know there’s places in much worse shape than the United States right now, I hope there are places that are in better shape as well. We can do better than this.

We must do better than this.

When society didn’t listen and/or instead clutched their pearls because football players took a knee during the National Anthem, I totally get why people would be pushed to the point of outrage that we’re seeing this weekend. Now, this doesn’t mean I think everyone should go out and start smashing windows and grabbing anything they can get their hands on, but it does mean that I hear them, I get it, and most importantly things need to change.

Perhaps if we stopped judging and started listening we could start moving in a positive direction again.

This COVID-19 pandemic has given us the opportunity to slow down and reflect on our own priorities. I know I’ve been much more reflective and there are some aspects of pandemic life that I’m actually enjoying. We eat at home more, we’re spending more time together, I cherish family time, and I’ve been in more consistent contact with my family back East.

This readjustment of life has also given me a better perspective of life in Chicago. Is The Windy City as appealing when everything is closed down? Are summers as memorable when there’s no street fairs, no block parties, or no rides on a boat on the Lake?

Life is what you make of it.

I’m not willing to risk my health or the health of my family just to sit in a corner pub to eat some grub and have some drinks. I value my life, and the life of those I love, more than that. Yes, I would be happy if my husband would finally get a haircut, but I don’t want him to contract Coronavirus just to have shorter hair. We’ll get through and maybe one of these days he’ll actually let me near his head with my Oster 76 clippers.

I don’t like seeing my airline pilots friend out of work. It breaks my heart. But I have to admit I’m not sad about less pollution in the air. Does everyone need to fly everywhere? It’s nice to travel to far off places but in most cases it’s not necessary.

Maybe if we start seeing this pandemic as an opportunity to slow down and take stock of our priorities we’ll find some good and learn something along the way.

I know this experience has changed me. If anything, I hope it’s made me a better person.

There are people working everyday at the local elementary school. For the past 60+ days I’ve noticed March events on the marquee. I guess they’re too busy cleaning the building to share well wishes or even a blank message on the sign.

The lingering messages of events in March are a reminder of what was and what is now.

My favorite scent of the season is the scent of lilac. Dark purple, light purple, white, doesn’t matter, lilac is a glorious scent that makes me feel centered and happy.

Grandma City had several lilac bushes along the back fence of her backyard back in the day. I wonder if the lilac bushes are still there. Every spring she’d cut a couple of flowers and have them in a vase on the kitchen table. The scent was wonderful in the carpeted kitchen. She took a couple of shoots of one of the bushes and planted them near our mobile home in the early 1970s. It grew slowly but sturdily and would have a couple of flowers for the rest of the springs we lived on that lot. I missed the scent of those lilacs when we moved across the street to the new house. Curiously, we had no lilacs at the new house. I always wondered if there was just too much sand in the soil. We lived over what had once been Lake Ontario thousands of years ago. There were sand dunes not too far from our little village, even though the shore of Lake Ontario was seven miles to the west.

When my husband and I moved into our first house together in 1997 I was happy to see there were lilac bushes along the back deck. When we had new landscaping installed a couple of years later the lilac bushes all stayed; the new landscaping was designed around the lilacs. Over the years a couple of smaller bushes started popping up in the vicinity of the older bushes. We took one of them with us to the new house in 2003. When we moved to Chicago in 2017, the relocated lilac bush was tall and strong and doing quite well. I hope it’s still there.

There are a few lilac bushes along the sidewalks in our neighborhood. At this time of year I stop and smell them during my morning walk. I think of Grandma City. I can hear her saying, “Hi, John”, in her Grandma City voice.

It all makes me smile.

Last night was the series finale of ABC’s “How To Get Away With Murder”. No spoilers here; so you don’t have to worry about the content of this blog post.

My husband and I have watched the series since day one and while some of the storylines have been a little out there and there has been some unevenness along the way, particularly with the last one or two seasons, Viola Davis is a powerhouse and for the most part the supporting cast has been strong.

With the series finale I know I’m a little sad to see the story come to an end but they wrapped everything up well and didn’t take any last minute wild detours to try to close everything up with a pretty bow. In the series’ universe little of the finale felt contrived.

I particularly enjoyed the addition of Amirah Vann to the cast a couple of seasons ago and I always enjoyed her scenes. While a completely different experience, I feel the same way I felt when “Downton Abbey” came to an end, satisfied with the ending, hopeful for a movie someday, and sad that our regular viewing has come to an end.

I’ve spent much of the evening doing research for my ultra-geek website, The Vintage Point of Sale site. Tonight I concentrated on the systems at the long defunct department Store, Zayre. Or, maybe it was spelled *Zayre. Either way, I’m pretty sure *Zayre was using the asterisk long before Wal*mart, which is now *Walmart.

As I browsed through some old *Zayre commercials, I remembered that back in the day they were the stand-out discount department store at the holidays because they were (gasp) open 24 hours a day between Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Unheard of in the 1980s!

I know everything is open all ways all the time these days, but back in the 1980s *Zayre would feature these “60 Hour Sales” during the holidays, where everything was specially marked for 60 hours straight, morning to night and back to morning again.

I shopped at *Zayre in the middle of the night during the 1986 Christmas holiday shopping season simply because I was in college and I could. It was around 3:00 a.m. and there were quite a few people in the brand new store in Dunkirk, New York. There was a little bit of a kicker though; you couldn’t check out for about an hour in the middle of the night because the cash register system was doing its close of day. So the staff invited you to browse the specials while they moved the date up a notch.

I don’t think I’d want to walk into a *Walmart in the wee hours of the morning in the 21st century, but back in the day shopping at *Zayre in the middle of the night was kind of nifty.

Ah, simpler times.

I haven’t ridden the train in over two months. This is highly unusual but to be expected with this whole pandemic thing going on. On my daily walk this morning it suddenly hit me, I miss silently observing people and watching the world go by.

It’s difficult to sit and observe people when everyone is trying to avoid one another and/or have masks covering their face. I thoroughly enjoy watching people just go about their business. I learn from people and I learn to appreciate people. Two months into these lockdowns and I’m realizing this may be the hardest thing I’m dealing with, not being able to watch people as easily as I’d like to.

Being around people, but not necessarily interacting with them, is what keeps my introverted self happy. Many think of introverts as folks curled up in a corner reading a book. That’s definitely something I enjoy. But I’m probably happier when I’m alone in a crowded room. Let me sit on the sidelines and watch people be people.

People are fascinating. Yeah, lately they’ve been rather irritating, but for the most part, people are fascinating. I’m almost always impressed in some way with a person.

I look forward to the day when we’re all able to be in relatively the same space again. It’ll be nice to watch the world go by again.