Wednesday, July 11, 2018

Rage

I scream into a dark void.

Children being taken from their parents. Refugees fleeing violence and terror find their families torn apart as they seek safety in what was once a country of promise. No records are kept so the reunification of these families, even in their home countries, may never be possible.

I scream into a darkening void.

A man, put into power by a minority of the people, insulting our allies while cavorting with oppressive dictators.

I scream into a void.

I find myself glad sometimes that I am in the final third of my life. I consider what it would be like to witness this madness in my youth, that hate and divisiveness may be all my future holds.

I scream into the dark void.

A man, put into power by a minority of the people, dividing us. Pitting citizen against citizen, us against our allies, screaming and lying to his minions. Demanding they be allowed weapons of war. Demanding that laws be created to reflect their beliefs, stifling the beliefs and trampling the rights and freedoms of others.

I scream into an increasingly dark void.

I do not cry. Mine is not the sadness of tears. It is the sadness of fear and dread. The fear and dread of increasing hate, of the erosion of liberties. Fear of desecration of the planet we share. Fear of growing economic disparity, of creating a permanent servant class scratching through the cast off remains of the wealthy to survive. Fear and dread of violence in schools, churches, concerts and movie theaters. Fear that one day I will no longer recognize the country in which I was born and raised, that the damage to it may be too great to ever be repaired.

I scream into a dark void.


Sunday, June 3, 2018

Spring Forward Chicago Style

It was early in the afternoon, my errands were out of the way and the day was warm and bright with sunshine. I headed out on my bike for my first ride of the year. It was early May but it felt like mid June. The people I passed on the lakefront trail were all smiles and pale white skin, I sometimes jokingly refer to it as winter white. A cute young man with jug ears pedaled by in the opposite direction singing to himself in Spanish. April had been abnormally cold. It seemed to drag on forever. It appeared as if everyone out that day felt they deserved this small window of summer like warmth and sun, this harbinger of the season to come. 

The strong winds from the south, the reason for the unseasonable temperatures, challenged me as I set out. City crews had been hard at work since my last ride. The playgrounds that dot the lakefront had been outfitted with gleaming new swings, slides and monkeybars. The rusted metal and peeling paint of the exercise pad that sits alongside the bike trail had been similarly transformed. 3 new workout stations inhabited the space where derelict ones had stood. 

Time constraints, the strong wind and concern about sun on my pale flesh so early in the year kept me from going the full distance I usually ride. As I turned my bike north the wind was at my back and pedaling at times seemed superfluous. 

That night we watched from our west facing kitchen window as thunderstorms approached. Occasionally hard, fierce and furious the rain soaked the dry ground. The following morning a dense, cool fog had settled along the lakefront. Once it burned off it looked as if spring had arrived, all at once, overnight. Flowering trees had bloomed, on others, the sun and rain coaxed leaves to unfurl from small green buds. Grass and shrubs had gone from dry and brown to that rich special verdant shade only seen for a few short weeks each year. Scores of daffodils and jonquils joined others of their kind already in bloom. Brightly colored tulips burst from their tightly closed green shells. Thick leaves, low to the ground, seemed suddenly sturdier, holding the promise of more flowers to come. 

It was spring in Chicago. After 30 plus years I knew that anything could happen. But, that day, I reveled in the moment, enjoying the feeling of warm wind in my face and the bright sun on my shoulders.


 

Tuesday, January 30, 2018

The State of the Union - MAGA

I fear for my country's future. I grew up connecting the passage of time with progress. Yet the slogan Make America Great Again suggest that some wish to turn the clock back.

Although species depletion and extinction is still an issue, mainly stemming from poaching and habitat loss these days, we have witnessed the return of the bald eagle and,through captive breeding and reintroduction into the wild, the black footed ferret, a small mammal whose population once numbered only 50. Reintroduction of wolves helped to restore some of the natural beauty, bounty and species diversity of Yellowstone, the park the very definition of a national treasure. The Chicago River, once a toxic, bubbling cauldron, has been restored and is cleaner that at any point in the city's modern history.

Now I watch, in horror, disappointment and disillusionment as pristine wilderness lands are stripped of protection. Our coastal waters are opened up to drilling for an exhaustible fossil fuel that, throughout much of the world, is swiftly becoming obsolete. Clean and renewable energy sources come under economic attack by a shortsighted administration that sees only immediate financial profit.

A seemingly endless stream of divisiveness and hate spews forth. It aims to stoke fears of those that do not conform to a white, so called, Christian, ideal. Hate of immigrants, gays, people of color and Muslims. It creates true fear among those against whom the hate is focused. Yet Jesus preached of brotherhood, peace an helping one another, particularly those less fortunate. These are the Christian values that I, a minister's son, was taught. They are values all humane and loving people should embrace, regardless of their belief or faith.

Corporations, in collusion with the administration, enrich themselves while offering their workers compensation so inadequate that they are forced to apply for public assistance. Even this aid is under attack. Our military takes over half of our government budget while U.S. citizens go hungry, even homeless.

Many talking heads on television speak of the exhausting nature of this administration. It seems a new outrage emerges everyday. Perhaps it is a plan to wear down the public. To tire us to the point where we are no longer shocked, where inhumane and what should be unacceptable actions are accepted as "the way things are".

Presently the slogan Make America Great Again suggests that we step backward. Perhaps, like some other slogans and words once hurtful, we should adopt it as we attempt to stem and repair the damage that is being done.

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

An Autumn Evening

The soft glow of streetlamps filters through the trees still carrying almost their full canopies of leaves. Further south autumn colors are at their peak, it will be a couple of weeks before it is our turn to be, once again, treated to this annual dazzling display of nature. This year, due to unseasonable high temperatures and scant rain, some leaves have been burned. They fall to the ground, dry and withered, a dusty brown. But as I look out from my 9th floor kitchen window or travel through the city I see the first splashes of yellow, red and orange. Despite the warmth the fountains have been turned off, put into hibernation in anticipation of the season ahead. The sun has moved further south in the sky, it's light slanting in from an angle instead of streaming down from straight above as it does in the summer. Even the most sunny and temperate of afternoons are now bracketed by cool mornings, evenings and nights. Many claim fall as their favorite season. Time can languish in the summer. In autumn you can feel it moving ahead. Soon there will be the merriment of the holiday season, when you can find solace from the occasional chaos of the world by celebrating and being surrounded by family and friends.

Wednesday, July 26, 2017

Scandinavia 2017 - Epiloge

I love to travel, this blog makes that evident. I love to experience new places, see new sights and observe different cultures. It is easy, in a country that stretches "from sea to shining sea", to become myopic and unaware of the wealth of treasures and experiences that exist outside our national borders.

What I do when traveling may not be all that different then those things I do when I am at home, but the backgrounds to those things differ, sometimes greatly. Wandering the tiny lanes in Stockholm's Gamla Stan is something quite different than hustling down Chicago's Michigan Avenue. Stockholm's Durgarden, a beautiful urban oasis, serves the same purpose as Chicago's lakefront ribbon of parkland but with it's own unique flavor.

Copenhagen's bustle happens on streets lined with beautiful 18th and 19th century facades. In Chicago it happens among brawny, historic late 19th and 20th century buildings, many of them architectural masterworks.

In Copenhagen tiny pleasure and  sightseeing boats ply canals, in Stockholm boats provide transportation across the sometimes broad waterways which separate the islands of the city. I cherish the memory of riding on the top deck in the open air watching the fairy tale skyline of old Stockholm come into view.

 I look back fondly on getting lost on bikes in Copenhagen as the street names changed every 2 blocks. That was how we found the quiet cemetery with it's towering poplars, a lovely and peaceful spot to remember and reflect on loved ones who have passed on. It is something we may have missed had we taken a more conventional route.

But as I land in Chicago, as plane wheels touch the ground or a train I am on pulls into Union Station, I am glad to be home. It is my anchor, my place in the world which is mine. I love to travel, but I also love to come home.  

Monday, July 3, 2017

Scandinavia 2017 = A Royal Sendoff

We had an afternoon flight home which allowed us one final morning in Copenhagen. We decided to have breakfast at the small restaurant across the street, having enjoyed it so much the day before. They seemed to have eggs on hand that day as we didn't see anyone dash across the street to procure them as we had on our previous visit. We chatted with the proprietor. On our first visit he had apologized for the cool weather. After we informed him that it was no different than what we would be experiencing at home at that time of year, mid to upper 60's, he explained that he thought the entire U.S. had the climate of California. On several occasions we found that some Europeans don't have a concept of how vast the U.S. is. Several expressed surprise upon learning the the population of the Chicago metropolitan area exceeds that of the entire country of Denmark. The charming proprietor told us that he lived in 250 year old army barracks which, when built, were considered to be outside the city. He mentioned to me that he was planning a 1 month road trip to the U.S. with his family and if I had any "must see" suggestions. I was somewhat at a loss, the U.S. does, after all, take up a third of a continent, except to say that unless you are crazy about agriculture the states of Nebraska, Kansas, et. al. could probably be skipped. There is the surreal, rugged beauty of many portions of the Southwest, The history of the south and the east coast, and, of course, my beloved Chicago. He realized he would have to research and plan more thoroughly.

Being only a block from the palace there were a number of embassies in the area. Across the street from our hotel, visible from our room's window, was the Swedish consulate. We felt this was fitting since our trip began in Stockholm. In a row around the corner were the embassies of Venezuela, Portugal, The Netherlands and Ukraine.

The fountains across from the palace courtyard were turned up full that last morning, tall plumes of water shot up into the cool air. After waiting for the bus tour groups to move on we took photos before continuing to the courtyard for one last visit before returning to the hotel and leaving for the airport. As we walked across the courtyard one of the guards, in his tall fur hat, shouted sharply something in Danish and struck the butt of his rifle smartly against the stone sidewalk. A pair of black sedans with tinted windows rolled across the venerable stones, one disappearing into a recess in the Prince's palace, the other stopping just outside it. Was it the Prince? Perhaps the Queen herself? Or just the nanny escorting the royal children back from soccer practice or returning home after a trip to a Danish Walmart.

Scandinavia 2017 - A City Within a City

We noticed, during our time in Copenhagen, that it appeared nearly every building had a courtyard. Doors to the street would occasionally be left open offering the passerby a glimpse into this hidden world. I have seen this before in cities where front yards are rare. In San Francisco apartment buildings and Victorians hug the sidewalk in an even line. Behind them yards, home additions and even the occasional cottage can be found. In Mexico's classic colonial architecture the courtyard is often the center of home and family life.  In Amsterdam, as in San Francisco a separate world exists behind the centuries old canal houses which stand shoulder to shoulder along the streets. I was in the yard of one open to the public. A small wing jutted out of one of the homes next door. In the yard of the other sat a copper roofed gazebo. Across the small yard where I stood, sitting amid the flower beds, was a tiny caretakers house. There are also the half homes, originally slave quarters, in the yards of homes in New Orleans, not to mention the famous courtyards there.

They might all be considered cities inside of cities. Some of them may be purely functional, providing access to portions of the buildings difficult to reach from the street, but they can also be places for socializing, sharing time with friends and family or conversing with neighbors across the "back fence". Or occasionally they be a place of your own. An inner place of quiet and solitude away from the noise and crowds of the  city.