The Dime Store of Broken Dreams

My parents owned a "variety store" when I was third grade--maybe after and possible before, but I know for certain I remember going there in third grade. After school my sister and I would walk from elementary school ten minutes to the block-long business district known to everyone then as "uptown" to spend time there until Mom closed up shop at five and took us home. Sometimes my friend Marie would offer me a ride on her banana-seated bike, in which case my nine-year-old laziness would force me to blow off my sister's accompaniment.

Our store was called Remington Variety. It sold all kinds of stuff from office supplies to toys (a personal favorite) to housewares, and paint. It was there where I got my big singing break--or took my opportunity, really. One Saturday afternoon while my father literally "minded the store" to give Mom a break to do fun things like clean the house, do laundry and grocery shopping. I wouldn't be surprised if she tried to squeeze in a couple of shots of Jack or a nervous breakdown. It was a slow day (you could almost smell the bankruptcy), so I thought if I swung into action I could bring customers into the store and keep them there, enraptured by my vocal stylings and purchasing the wares we peddled at reasonable prices.

There was a little-known intercom system (except to me--even then all things electronic caught my interest) from the back office to the front of the store or showroom, as I called it. I didn't feel the need for rehearsal. I had put of on plenty of shows with my sisters for my grandma, though as a back-up singer (the youngest), not as the lead. This is what they called in showbiz as a "make or break moment." I hopped on the little stool by the intercom master control center (on/off switch), grabbed the CB-radio-shaped microphone and pressed the button before bursting into my rendition of "Delta Dawn" by Miss Helen Reddy. Over and over. Like a flawless track on a perpetual loop. It's moments like this I recall with great curiosity, fondness, and even pride. Somewhere along the line I stopped indulging the little voice inside and its whispers of encouragement and daring.

I was in the middle of my third repeat when I heard the unmistakable tap of my dad's hard-souled shoes, heading my way--FAST. He rushed into the office and said, "You know that thing is on?" I just stared at him blankly, hoping I wouldn't have to answer that question and that he'd leave so I could continue my in-store entertainment. But this show didn't go on. Apparently my talents were too esoteric for the likes of that hick town. A dream crushed. A true calling burned to the ground. Another boring afternoon sniffing the wares in the paint room (where one of my illegal stashes of Wacky Wafers and Marathon bars were kept.) I hadn't known so much humiliation since the day I nearly choked on root beer-flavored Wonka Bottle Cap during the Spring Fling Sale.

We lived on the opposite edge of town in the old Bible Baptist Church my folks had purchased and converted into a house. Our part of town was newer and didn't even have sidewalks. It was fun to be "uptown" (which at some point in the passing of time has changed to "downtown"); to be in the thick of the what little hustle and bustle a town the size of Mayberry could generate. Running across the street to the post office or going next door to the cafe for "a breaded tenderloin and a milkshake, please" or running to the drug store to get Mom and me little bottles of Coke, each costing "two dimes and a nickel."

It went out business after a couple of years. Not long ago at a family gathering I asked, "Do you think it was because of all the candy I stole?"

"Yes,” my mom replied. "I'm certain it is."

(Thar she blows! The green storefront back in the day wasn't green and was nestled between Brookings Shoe Store on the right and The Remington Cafe on the left.)

We Walk the Same Line

I rarely buy complete albums in this day of iTunes and digital music. But, I've been waiting YEARS for an album to be available via iTunes (and incredibly lazy for not just buying the CD that sat on my Amazon wish list since 2002). I got the cassette of "Amplified Heart" when I worked at the now-defunct music chain Coconuts in the mid/late 90's and fell in love with it from the second i pressed the little indented arrow on the play button. It quickly became the soundtrack of my life. I listened to it constantly. When I was happy, when I was sad, when I was bored, or when I was busy. I still have the cassette. I could never get rid of it. I hadn't checked iTunes intermittently and when I did so in late 2010 it was there! And based on the comments posted by fellow impatient fans, it had only recently landed on iTunes. I bought it immediately, listened to the album while I synced it to my iPhone.

Though I love all the songs--which is quite rare for me--one song in particular always resonated deeply with me. "We Walk the Same Line" is a song about love or friendship when one can't go on, the other one picks up the slack because their fates are one. I remember listening to the cassette on my Sony Walkman-knock off while on plane to Miami to see a close friend who had recently endured a lot of hardships. The song acted like a roadmap for me once I saw him. "If you lose your faith, babe, you have mine. And if you're lost I'm right behind cuz we walk the same line." Beautiful lyrics--and so meaningful to me. Of course--single at the time--I applied the psychology of the song to all my close friendships. It made happy, knowing if I were lost, I'd be found by Mark or Kathy or Tina or Retta. And likewise, I'd find them were they ever lost.

But as I recently listened to this beloved song when I purchased it digitally, it hit me like a ton of bricks how appropriate it is for my life now as my husband deals with a serious illness and do my best to care for him--physically and emotionally. "When it's dark, baby, there's a light I'll shine. If you're lost I'm right behind, cause we walk the same line." The lyrics now have morphed into the soundtrack of my life now...15 years later. And whenever I listen to it, it relaxes me and makes me happy, like it's telling the story of kenan and me, and a metaphorically detailed events and feelings we've both experienced over the last year and half. It sort of slipped on me like a favorite old glove you'd misplaced and finally found. And when you put it on it instantly reminded you of all the adventures you'd had while wearing it--good and bad. It wasn't just a glove. It was part of you, your history.

My favorite line has coincidently always been "And we can't run and we can't cheat, cause babe when we meet what we're afraid of, we find out what we're made of." I knew kenan had the "stuff" to handle his diagnosis because he'd dealt with it before as a child and more than that, it's just the kind of person he is. And though I really didn't think I was going to crumble, I had my doubts that I'd be able "shine that light" as brightly as I wanted or it needed. But in living an unreal life as we are, finding out what you're made of is par for the course and something to be celebrated. I'm happy to say overall I'm good with what I've made of. Sometimes I wonder if I have enough faith to give, but I guess that's only normal. It's not about quantity. Giving is giving. And usually, even when I think I've given it all, more magically appears for me to parse out.

So in honor the impending Valentine's Day, I'm going to play the song here and post the lyrics below. It's a beautiful song. My words can't speak volumes enough about these words. Or how I feel about my beloved, crazy handsome, and just crazy husband. I love you very much. Keep these lyrics in mind. I hope they give a little of the same comfort and reassurance they offer me.

It can't be left unsaid that many of you reading this walk the same line with us, shining plenty of light and giving faith. We know what you're made of, and we love you and appreciate it so!

Lyrics to "We Walk the Same Line" by Everything but the Girl

If you lose your faith, babe, you can have mine,

and if you're lost I'm right behind,

cause we walk the same line.

Now I don't have to tell you

how slow the night can go,

I know you're watched for the light.

And I bet you could tell me

how slowly four follows three,

and you're most forlorn just before dawn.

So if you lose your faith babe,

you can have mine,

and if you're lost, I'm right behind,

cause we walk the same line.

When it's dark baby,

there's a light I'll shine,

and if you're lost, I'm right behind,

cause we walk the same line.

And I don't need reminding

how loud the phone can ring

when you're waiting for news.

And that big old moon

lights every corner of the room.

Your back aches from lying

and your head aches from crying.

So if you lose your faith babe,

you can have mine,

and if you're lost, I'm right behind,

cause we walk the same line.

When it's dark baby,

there's a light I'll shine,

and if you're lost, I'm right behind,

cause we walk the same line.

And if these troubles

should vanish like rain at midday,

well I've no doubt there'll be more.

And we can't run and we can't cheat,

cause babe when we meet

what we're afraid of,

we find out what we're made of.

So if you lose your faith babe,

you can have mine,

and if you're lost, I'm right behind,

cause we walk the same line.

When it's dark baby,

there's a light I'll shine,

and if you're lost, I'm right behind,

cause we walk the same line.

Blizzard

Growing up in the Midwest, there comes a time during a blizzard when you realize you've prepped all you can, you stop caring how/when you'll be able to get out of your abode, and you just enjoy life slowing down a bit. The City of Chicago is all but shut down. Most people I know had a "snow day" today, work is canceled. Every school is closed. It's unprecedented in the almost-twenty years I've lived in the Windy City.

Our official snowfall is around 20 inches, but it's supposed to quit sometimes this afternoon. I have taken so many pictures. It's mesmerizing. And it's reminiscent of childhood when during heavy evening snowfalls, your stomach would get a little tingly at the thought of a school cancellation the following day. If you were lucky, they'd announce the cancellation the night before (not my school, of course).

Yesterday around 3 PM...



This morning around 9 AM...


I have to face the fact I won't be able to dig the car out until June or later. In addition, I don't think I'll be able to get to it until sometime in late April...

I've Always Been a Jetson Wannabe

I start the day when my iPhone 4's harp plays angelically in more of a "reassure" tone than an "alarm" tone. And unlike my dusty clock/radio, it doesn't hold it against me when I hit "snooze". Maybe it's because I cuddle with it until it's "really" time to get up. After padding to the kitchen and waiting 30 seconds for my perfectly brewed cup of coffee from the Keurig, I sit down in my office in front of my trusty and beloved MacBook Pro to check email, weather, pay bills online and the like.

As I fire up the television to see what TiVo has to offer from the night before I make some notes in MacJournal or work on a project in StoryMill before hopping on the train. While on my train commute, I pull out my Kindle for thirty minutes of light reading (as I do on the way home.) If I drive to the office, I employ the GPS just for reassurance. Once there I'm reminded about my meetings thanks to Outlook and renew a prescription via an app on my phone.

I might have to order lunch for a meeting, giving preferential treatment to any restaurant that has a web portal or an app, allowing me to not to have to talk to anyone which frees me up to better multi-task (and not get annoyed repeating the spelling of my name...S...not F), yet guarantee delivery in a timely manner. I begin to think of what I'll make for dinner, and then remember, I already selected a menu using MacGourmet and purchased all the necessary grub for it thanks to Grocery Gadget.

The internet and cable went out the other day, and my phone was getting zero reception. It almost became a "situation". I may or may not need professional help for my consumer technology addiction.

There's Something about Tina

Tina is a buddy of mine who I met back in 1997 while attending training at Second City. I think our friendship fate was sealed on the first day of improv class as he were tangled into a continuous, hand-holding "human knot" and were tasked with unknotting ourselves while not letting go. Shortly thereafter, I found myself behind Tina, hands cupping her......breasts. I was horrified, and she couldn't stop cracking jokes about it--and hasn't to this day.

At that time Tina lives near me in Lakeview so after departing from our classmates after having a drink or two after class, Tina and I would head up north via "L" and stop for a "slushie" at Sidetrack, probably the most patronized bar in "Boystown." Our class ended in the afternoon, we'd arrive at Sidetrack in the afternoon, yet somehow it would always be dark when we left Sidetrack. It was a strange phenomenon we'd try to tackle each time we sat down with a frosty grape-flavored, vodka-enhanced drink.

This week we decided it was time for a trip to our old watering hole in order to catch up--it had been far too long since she and I got some face time. After we met up at our tribal meeting spot, I couldn't help but consider that it had been 15 years since our first trip there together and all the fun times that have ensued. We were a little stunned at the number considering we're both 22 years old, but after a slushie or two that math problem always seemed to fade away.

We share the same a common language and a humor this is wrong, inappropriate and if not illegal, then at least "frowned upon" in most red states. As a result, we were dubbed "the dark hearts" by our "friends." And though the years may have softened our every day delivery, when we get together, I'm reminded how appropriate the nickname remains to be.

As always, the tide of people ebbed and flowed around us, but we didn't really notice. I've found it's hard to see anything through eyes, gushing with tears from laughter. (They are sore this morning, from all briny tear production!) I have wondered what the people around must think--aside from the requisite jealousy--as we tell stories, gesticulate, and laugh to a point of silence because breathing isn't possible.

If your ears were burning yesterday, now you know why.


(Is it me, or does it look like she's talking about me?)

January Snow Day

I can't say I was looking forward to the holidays ending, because of the doldrums that inevitably follow a fun and busy holiday season. But I figure once we burn through January then we have one less month for potential snow. I took the time today to walk outside and appreciate what was a beautiful snow fall. The snow falling can quiet the busiest street, neighborhood or city. It never ceases to amaze me how quiet Chicago is when I stand outside during a snow. It's a special kind of quiet, broken only by shovels, hacking away at sidewalks, streets and driveways. There is something unifying about it. I feel a kinship with my co-shovelers though I've never spoken to many and never even seen some of them.

As we grow up and our lives get complicated and rushed, we forget to appreciate the snow.

New Year, New Promises, New Challenges

Another New Year. It's odd to think the New Millennium (the REAL one) was ten long years ago. Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin' into the future, right?

I am a Resolutionist! I know many people who pooh-pooh the idea, but I think it's a marvelous time to mark new beginnings--no matter how well you fare at them. New beginnings can start anytime, but there is something particularly appealing about them coinciding with a brand new year, where you can say months later "Oh, I started/stopped/changed that at the beginning of the year."

For the first time in my memory, I've already got a jump on several of my standard resolutions and am excited to keep up the momentum. It certainly makes things a little easier.

• Every year I always vow to get in shape at the very least. To that end, I'm three months ahead of the game, having started with a personal trainer on on Oct. 1, 2010. Check. (I even got some compliments over the holidays with people remarking that I looked great and had lost weight.)
• Integrate writing in my daily life--at home and at work. Well, though not as prolific as I'd like, this blog is part of that one. In addition, I'm still working on my NaNoNovel and project with some confidence I can get the first draft done by end of January. Check-ish.
• See friends more regularly. 2010 has been a challenging year for my husband's health. As a result, he of course, became (and still is) my first priority, but as I am getting acclimated to the "new deal", in addition to giving him the best possible care, I want to reconnect with my incredible network of friends. Check-in-progress.

2011 will no doubt present its share of challenges for me and us--as it does with most of us--but I'm learning to take things as they come. Celebrate the victories--no matter how small they may seem--and not to get overwhelmed by the challenges. Sometimes when I feel a little "overdone" or "undone" or "done-done" I remember Dory's famous words from "Finding Nemo" and I "just keep swimming." And sometimes I repeat it over and over again. It's like Yoga for idiots, but it works.