Sitting near the rear of the plane we were among the last to leave. We straggled, jet lagged and sleep deprived, through the debris laden plane. The vehicle was, in a word, trashed. Blankets, pillows, garbage and empty water bottles were strewn about looking like the aftermath of a cross between a riot and a rock concert. I almost expected to see a stray, single shoe or discarded empty hash pipe among the messy, swirling heaps.
Leaving the jetway and entering the immigration area was a further descent into chaos. There were lines, of a sort, if people standing as much as 3 and 4 across could be considered a line. Clumps of humanity massed in front of too few immigration agents who were being very, well, the kindest word for it was thorough. Invasive is another term that comes to mind. We, somehow, got into the slowest "thing that resembled a line". People were standing at the window for 10 minutes or more before having their passports stamped and being allowed to proceed.
Eventually my turn came.
"Are you traveling alone?"
"No, with my husband, he's next in line."
Have you been to Europe before."
"Yes."
The immigration officer looked me up and down then began to flip through the blank pages of my recently renewed passport.
"I just had my passport renewed."
I attempted not to sound too anxious or defensive.
"What is the purpose of your visit?"
"Tourism."
"Is Sweden the only country you will be in?"
"No we are also going to Denmark."
"What is the date and time of your departure/"
"The 24th and I forget what time."
I didn't want it to seem like I was being evasive about the time. By this time I almost expected him to ask, "Are you now or have you ever been a member of the Communist Party?" (For those that don't understand this reference goggle "MacCarthy Black List") He picked up his stamp. I held my breath. He slammed it down onto my passport, with a tad more force than I thought necessary and yelled "Next!" I hightailed it through the doors. My husband followed seconds behind. After quickly verifying that he was with me the same immigration officer that had just held my feet to the fire stamped his passport in a matter of seconds.
After well over an hour we were now free to roam about Sweden without fear of official reprisal.
Monday, June 5, 2017
Scandinavia 2017 - Notes From a Disheveled Mind
An 8 hour overnight flight. I can't say I slept, I rested. It was a little less than three hours to our destination. I got up and headed to the tiny airplane bathroom. I washed my face and made sure my legs still operated as they were supposed to. We were passing just south of Iceland. The air outside was a crisp, bracing 56 degrees below zero. At almost 40,000 feet the words of David Bowie's Space Oddity came to mind, "here am I sitting in a tin can", well, flying, but one gets the idea. I noticed for the first time that the Scandinavian Peninsula resembles the sexual organs of the human male. My mind craves caffeine.
Early after the flight took off they dimmed the lights on the plane. Some, like myself, closed our eyes and settled into the closest approximation one can get of slumber while sitting upright. Then, after an hour of whit I presume the airline assumed was nonsense, the lights were brought up full. Carts filled, literally filled, the aisles laden with libations and food. We ate, the lights were once again dimmed and I began to feel like I was a lab animal being subjected to some type of sleep deprivation/feeding experiment.
As the next day dawned, sooner than I felt it should have, were it being considerate, bright daylight reflected off of the cloud cover below. My only thought was that I hoped that by the following morning the time tested order of night and day would return to normal.
Early after the flight took off they dimmed the lights on the plane. Some, like myself, closed our eyes and settled into the closest approximation one can get of slumber while sitting upright. Then, after an hour of whit I presume the airline assumed was nonsense, the lights were brought up full. Carts filled, literally filled, the aisles laden with libations and food. We ate, the lights were once again dimmed and I began to feel like I was a lab animal being subjected to some type of sleep deprivation/feeding experiment.
As the next day dawned, sooner than I felt it should have, were it being considerate, bright daylight reflected off of the cloud cover below. My only thought was that I hoped that by the following morning the time tested order of night and day would return to normal.
Scandinavia 2017 - Prelude
It was a concept which, over time, became an a idea, which, over time, took on mass and solidified into me and my husband waiting,at Ohare Airport, several hours, for an overnight flight to Stockholm, Sweden. My husband loves water. Stockholm is a city built on islands. From Stockholm we would travel by train down the Scandinavian peninsula, which, we hoped, would be awash with lush, spring green, to Copenhagen, a city also built on islands.
During my recent job search i found myself in the sometimes uncomfortable position of informing prospective employers that we had a prepaid trip on the horizon and any new position would have to accommodate it. Neither I or my husband had ever been to Scandinavia, so it was virgin territory for both of us.
As we waited at the gate CNN reported the latest in a growing list of indiscretions by the current administration occupying the White House. Events had been moving so quickly that we wondered aloud what we would come home to in a week and a day's time. But until then there were winding medieval streets to be wandered, a massive 17th century ship rescued from the waters of Stockholm to be viewed and the 2nd oldest continuously operating amusement park in the world, Tivoli Gardens, to be visited. Until then there were adventures to be had and cultures to be experienced. Until then there was a new, at least to us, part of the world to discover.
During my recent job search i found myself in the sometimes uncomfortable position of informing prospective employers that we had a prepaid trip on the horizon and any new position would have to accommodate it. Neither I or my husband had ever been to Scandinavia, so it was virgin territory for both of us.
As we waited at the gate CNN reported the latest in a growing list of indiscretions by the current administration occupying the White House. Events had been moving so quickly that we wondered aloud what we would come home to in a week and a day's time. But until then there were winding medieval streets to be wandered, a massive 17th century ship rescued from the waters of Stockholm to be viewed and the 2nd oldest continuously operating amusement park in the world, Tivoli Gardens, to be visited. Until then there were adventures to be had and cultures to be experienced. Until then there was a new, at least to us, part of the world to discover.
Friday, March 10, 2017
View of a Skyline: Dateline Chicago
It was an interesting view of Chicago's skyline from the southwest jury room vantage point. The Sears, now Willis, though no one calls it that, tower rises up in the foreground. For many years it held the distinction of being the world's tallest building. Then, in Malaysia, another building was constructed. An ornamental spire placed atop it gave it the world's tallest building title. We took solace in the Sears tower having the highest inhabitable floor and if you took the t.v. antennas on it's roof into account it was still the tallest. Chicago is proud, we do not give up easily. Witness the Cubs. It took over 100 years of their fans sticking by them before they were awarded with a World Series win in extra innings in the final game. Apparently we are also fond of suspense.
Tallest building or not Chicago's architecture is impressive. The bright red CNA building, the crosshatched facade of the John Hancock tower and more recently the undulating balconies of the Wave, notable not only for it unique silhouette but also because it was designed by a woman. One often finds here the steeples of a turn of the 20th century church rising above a low lying surrounding neighborhood. Late 19th century and jazz age office buildings line the narrow streets of the financial district. Many of their lobbies retain the ornate trappings of a time, prior to a stripped down, form follows function aesthetic, when a designers eye was allowed to imagine and create extravagant spaces of exceptional design and detail.
After 30 years of familiarity Chicago still retains the ability to surprise me. As with an old friend about which you discover something new, something previously unknown, it makes me love it even more deeply than I already do.
Tallest building or not Chicago's architecture is impressive. The bright red CNA building, the crosshatched facade of the John Hancock tower and more recently the undulating balconies of the Wave, notable not only for it unique silhouette but also because it was designed by a woman. One often finds here the steeples of a turn of the 20th century church rising above a low lying surrounding neighborhood. Late 19th century and jazz age office buildings line the narrow streets of the financial district. Many of their lobbies retain the ornate trappings of a time, prior to a stripped down, form follows function aesthetic, when a designers eye was allowed to imagine and create extravagant spaces of exceptional design and detail.
After 30 years of familiarity Chicago still retains the ability to surprise me. As with an old friend about which you discover something new, something previously unknown, it makes me love it even more deeply than I already do.
You Have Been Summoned..........
Jury duty, one of the most predictably unpredictable parts of U.S. citizenship. I have been more fortunate than some, every time I have been summoned I have worked for a company that paid me for the time. I was chosen for a jury once. We were told we would be deliberating on the amount of damages to be paid. In the jury room we introduced ourselves to one another. There seemed to be a consensus that, when the time came, I would be the top candidate for jury foreman. Despite my lilliputian stature I suppose, at least that day, I possessed a commanding presence. The judge had warned one of the people involved in the case that if they appeared late one more time the case would be dropped. They were late, we were released and I found myself with the majority of the afternoon free to do with as I pleased.
It was Valentine's day. January and February had been unseasonably mild. I boarded the bus and headed downtown where I would connect to a bus headed southwest to the courthouse. The ride along Michigan Avenue during rush hour reminded me of what I missed working in the suburbs the last 4 years. Namely, people, everywhere, all shapes, ages and sizes. Often in the suburbs I am the only person on the street. There I dodge cars, their inhabitants seemingly amazed that I am walking and therefore in their way. I transfer and head west. A line of beautiful, classic, art deco buildings line the Chicago river as it splits north and south. Further out venerable warehouses have been converted to apartments. As I traveled still further out industrial areas mixed with neighborhoods of turn of the 20th century row houses. steps leading up to their front doors. The streets seem spare, less lush and tree shaded than those in my lakefront home turf. The courthouse comes into view. It is unmistakable a courthouse. A mash up of Greek and Roman influences. Columns rise up the facade, the space under some windows decorated with bas reliefs of swags and flower baskets. The cornerstone reads 1927. Next to it sits a nondescript late midcentury building. This is where the trials are held and the jurors check in.
In an attempt to keep our country safe I encounter chaos. Too many people, too few employees, metal detectors and x ray machines. The frazzled civil servants shout instructions above the din. I set off the metal detector and am patted down, including my ass, the first time that portion of my anatomy has been checked in an official government manner, even by the most through TSA employee while entering an airport terminal. Directional signs are non existent but I somehow manage to find my way to the third floor and a somewhat less chaotic check in line.
The jury holding room is a space of dropped ceilings with fluorescent lighting, bare walls and tattered furniture. Although the jury cattle pen is only on the third floor it does afford, over the parking lot across the street, through ample windows I was grateful for, a splendid view of Chicago's elegant yet muscular skyline.
I begin to read the collection of science fiction short stories I plucked from my bookshelves before I left home. I read, wrote, texted and generally whiled away my time. By early afternoon we were told that they had overbooked jurors for that day and we were free to go. I walked out into the bright afternoon sunshine and got on the bus knowing that I was free of this civic obligation, at least for the next 12 months.
It was Valentine's day. January and February had been unseasonably mild. I boarded the bus and headed downtown where I would connect to a bus headed southwest to the courthouse. The ride along Michigan Avenue during rush hour reminded me of what I missed working in the suburbs the last 4 years. Namely, people, everywhere, all shapes, ages and sizes. Often in the suburbs I am the only person on the street. There I dodge cars, their inhabitants seemingly amazed that I am walking and therefore in their way. I transfer and head west. A line of beautiful, classic, art deco buildings line the Chicago river as it splits north and south. Further out venerable warehouses have been converted to apartments. As I traveled still further out industrial areas mixed with neighborhoods of turn of the 20th century row houses. steps leading up to their front doors. The streets seem spare, less lush and tree shaded than those in my lakefront home turf. The courthouse comes into view. It is unmistakable a courthouse. A mash up of Greek and Roman influences. Columns rise up the facade, the space under some windows decorated with bas reliefs of swags and flower baskets. The cornerstone reads 1927. Next to it sits a nondescript late midcentury building. This is where the trials are held and the jurors check in.
In an attempt to keep our country safe I encounter chaos. Too many people, too few employees, metal detectors and x ray machines. The frazzled civil servants shout instructions above the din. I set off the metal detector and am patted down, including my ass, the first time that portion of my anatomy has been checked in an official government manner, even by the most through TSA employee while entering an airport terminal. Directional signs are non existent but I somehow manage to find my way to the third floor and a somewhat less chaotic check in line.
The jury holding room is a space of dropped ceilings with fluorescent lighting, bare walls and tattered furniture. Although the jury cattle pen is only on the third floor it does afford, over the parking lot across the street, through ample windows I was grateful for, a splendid view of Chicago's elegant yet muscular skyline.
I begin to read the collection of science fiction short stories I plucked from my bookshelves before I left home. I read, wrote, texted and generally whiled away my time. By early afternoon we were told that they had overbooked jurors for that day and we were free to go. I walked out into the bright afternoon sunshine and got on the bus knowing that I was free of this civic obligation, at least for the next 12 months.
Thursday, January 26, 2017
Life As a Snowflake - Part Two
When a lot of snowflakes come together they can create a blizzard
The day after the inauguration the Women's March was planned. Begun by a single woman utilizing social media a worldwide protest movement was formed. As I headed to work that morning the El platform was crowded with people. Some wearing pink, some carrying signs, one entire family with children, came through the turnstiles and headed to the trains that would carry them south to Grant Park, where the Chicago march was to begin. Already the march route had to be changed to accommodate the growing number of expected participants. The original estimate of 22,000 people had swelled to 55,000. I sent a text to my cousin, knowing she was on her way, to tell her that all the signs I was seeing were pointing to a large turnout.
By the time the rally and march was scheduled to begin the crowd had grown to 150,000 to 200,000 people, making an organized march unsafe and impossible. The rally went on as scheduled. A multitude of causes were represented, women's reproductive rights, equality for women, LGBT people and persons of color and different faiths. There were signs regarding access to health care and wealth inequality. Individual voices had formed a choir. There were marches and rallies not only across the country but around the world, Berlin, London, Prague and Peru. A photo showed a bridge across the Seine in Paris swarming with humanity. For the first time since the election I felt hopeful. I felt as if we, the people, might still be capable of forming the perfect union envisioned by our founding fathers.
Later that evening comments on social media, as well as main stream media, that means you CNN, attempted to belittle and trivialize the event. Perhaps concerned that something had happened that was larger than them, that something had happened that they would not be able to spin or control. They said it was unfocused and leaderless. Nothing more than a gathering of privileged white liberals. Yet photos showed people of color, gay, straight, Muslim, Christian and Jewish, all banding together, side by side.
A photo of my cousin's tween daughter was shared on Facebook marching past Chicago's Bean. She is of Mayan descent, adopted at 6 months old by her out, proud, lesbian moms. They are, like I, an out, proud, gay man, Americans. A representation of the melting pot, that badge that we have for so many generations worn with honor. My fathers forebears part of the "tempest tossed" welcomed to this country upon their arrival.
Perhaps it was just one day, or perhaps it was the beginning of something larger. However it ends it was, for that moment in time, a blizzard of snowflakes. A massive, peaceful gathering of humanity demanding to be treated as human.
The day after the inauguration the Women's March was planned. Begun by a single woman utilizing social media a worldwide protest movement was formed. As I headed to work that morning the El platform was crowded with people. Some wearing pink, some carrying signs, one entire family with children, came through the turnstiles and headed to the trains that would carry them south to Grant Park, where the Chicago march was to begin. Already the march route had to be changed to accommodate the growing number of expected participants. The original estimate of 22,000 people had swelled to 55,000. I sent a text to my cousin, knowing she was on her way, to tell her that all the signs I was seeing were pointing to a large turnout.
By the time the rally and march was scheduled to begin the crowd had grown to 150,000 to 200,000 people, making an organized march unsafe and impossible. The rally went on as scheduled. A multitude of causes were represented, women's reproductive rights, equality for women, LGBT people and persons of color and different faiths. There were signs regarding access to health care and wealth inequality. Individual voices had formed a choir. There were marches and rallies not only across the country but around the world, Berlin, London, Prague and Peru. A photo showed a bridge across the Seine in Paris swarming with humanity. For the first time since the election I felt hopeful. I felt as if we, the people, might still be capable of forming the perfect union envisioned by our founding fathers.
Later that evening comments on social media, as well as main stream media, that means you CNN, attempted to belittle and trivialize the event. Perhaps concerned that something had happened that was larger than them, that something had happened that they would not be able to spin or control. They said it was unfocused and leaderless. Nothing more than a gathering of privileged white liberals. Yet photos showed people of color, gay, straight, Muslim, Christian and Jewish, all banding together, side by side.
A photo of my cousin's tween daughter was shared on Facebook marching past Chicago's Bean. She is of Mayan descent, adopted at 6 months old by her out, proud, lesbian moms. They are, like I, an out, proud, gay man, Americans. A representation of the melting pot, that badge that we have for so many generations worn with honor. My fathers forebears part of the "tempest tossed" welcomed to this country upon their arrival.
Perhaps it was just one day, or perhaps it was the beginning of something larger. However it ends it was, for that moment in time, a blizzard of snowflakes. A massive, peaceful gathering of humanity demanding to be treated as human.
Life As a Snowflake - Part One
You are free to call me a snowflake. Snowflakes are beautiful and each is different than the other.
The Cubs were in the midst of the World Series as we boarded the bus on our way to Soldier Field. For the 2nd time in 2 years we had been gifted with seats to a Bears game. The energy in the city was electric. Even those who were not Cubs fans were, at that moment, Cubs fans. As we walked past the Field Museum the giant dinosaur sculpture outside wore an equally gigantic Cubs jersey.
That night was a travel day for the Cubs so only one game mattered in Chicago, the match up between the Bears, suffering through a beleaguered season, and the Minnesota Vikings. We planned an early arrival so we could take a self guided tour of the stadium. We traveled down to the seats close to the field where the "other half" sits, our seats were in the mezzanine (I'm not complaining they are awesome seats) and surveyed the growing crowd. As it was Halloween a number of the fans were in costume. Rainbow Brite strolled by. Two young men, who were featured on the jumbo tron as they took their seats, were dressed in sherbert colored Willie Wonka outfits. There were a number of horned hats, a homage to the opposing team playing that night. Even a few in all out Viking regalia.
As the game progressed it appeared that, however implausible given the level of play that season, the Bears might win, Again, it being Halloween, the people that run onto the field waving flags during breaks in the action were also in costume. Superman, Batman, Spiderman and Thor apparently had no evil villains to fight that evening as they were on the field in front of us, waving flags. In a nod to the Cubs a person dressed as the Cubs mascot dashed across the field waving a World Series banner, a blue W on a solid white field. The Bears did win that evening and we left the stadium happy, having had a wonderful night.
Two nights later, at a little after midnight, the Cubs won the World Series, for the first time in over one hundred years. Like many of our neighbors in our cluster of lakefront high rises we were out on our balcony yelling, banging spoons against pots and ringing bells to celebrate. The sound of bottle rockets going off in the surrounding area could be heard.
A week later I watched as election returns began to come in. In dismay and disbelief I watched as state after state went to Donald Trump, some by the slimest of margins. Due to the antiquated nature of the Electoral College he had become President despite receiving almost 3 million fewer votes than Hillary Clinton, perhaps the most qualified person to ever run for the office.
Although he has no popular mandate he has filled his cabinet and staff with picks as equally unqualified, inexperienced and frankly, dangerous as he. A Secretary of Labor that does not belief in a minimum wage and is attempting to automate many of the tasks in his business now performed by people. Machines, he says, do not cause trouble, they don't ask to be treated as human beings. A
Secretary of Education that does not belief in, and has never sent her children to, public schools. She prefers a voucher system. These could be used for "for profit" and Christian schools, destroying the barrier between church and state. It would allow my tax dollars to be used to line someones pockets and in some cases in religious education teach students that my lifestyle has no validity and is "immoral". A Secretary of State with close ties to, in fact lauded by, a nation that meddled in our election.
I felt, during those days, that barring a serious health issue or horrible accident, I would still be living at the end of this presidential term. I felt, during those days, that the nation I would see would not be the same as the one I grew up in. I felt, during those days, that the U.S. might be viewed by some as a rogue country. I felt, during those days that the nation could be left in tatters. I only hoped, during those days, that we had enough needles, thread and will to repair it.
The Cubs were in the midst of the World Series as we boarded the bus on our way to Soldier Field. For the 2nd time in 2 years we had been gifted with seats to a Bears game. The energy in the city was electric. Even those who were not Cubs fans were, at that moment, Cubs fans. As we walked past the Field Museum the giant dinosaur sculpture outside wore an equally gigantic Cubs jersey.
That night was a travel day for the Cubs so only one game mattered in Chicago, the match up between the Bears, suffering through a beleaguered season, and the Minnesota Vikings. We planned an early arrival so we could take a self guided tour of the stadium. We traveled down to the seats close to the field where the "other half" sits, our seats were in the mezzanine (I'm not complaining they are awesome seats) and surveyed the growing crowd. As it was Halloween a number of the fans were in costume. Rainbow Brite strolled by. Two young men, who were featured on the jumbo tron as they took their seats, were dressed in sherbert colored Willie Wonka outfits. There were a number of horned hats, a homage to the opposing team playing that night. Even a few in all out Viking regalia.
As the game progressed it appeared that, however implausible given the level of play that season, the Bears might win, Again, it being Halloween, the people that run onto the field waving flags during breaks in the action were also in costume. Superman, Batman, Spiderman and Thor apparently had no evil villains to fight that evening as they were on the field in front of us, waving flags. In a nod to the Cubs a person dressed as the Cubs mascot dashed across the field waving a World Series banner, a blue W on a solid white field. The Bears did win that evening and we left the stadium happy, having had a wonderful night.
Two nights later, at a little after midnight, the Cubs won the World Series, for the first time in over one hundred years. Like many of our neighbors in our cluster of lakefront high rises we were out on our balcony yelling, banging spoons against pots and ringing bells to celebrate. The sound of bottle rockets going off in the surrounding area could be heard.
A week later I watched as election returns began to come in. In dismay and disbelief I watched as state after state went to Donald Trump, some by the slimest of margins. Due to the antiquated nature of the Electoral College he had become President despite receiving almost 3 million fewer votes than Hillary Clinton, perhaps the most qualified person to ever run for the office.
Although he has no popular mandate he has filled his cabinet and staff with picks as equally unqualified, inexperienced and frankly, dangerous as he. A Secretary of Labor that does not belief in a minimum wage and is attempting to automate many of the tasks in his business now performed by people. Machines, he says, do not cause trouble, they don't ask to be treated as human beings. A
Secretary of Education that does not belief in, and has never sent her children to, public schools. She prefers a voucher system. These could be used for "for profit" and Christian schools, destroying the barrier between church and state. It would allow my tax dollars to be used to line someones pockets and in some cases in religious education teach students that my lifestyle has no validity and is "immoral". A Secretary of State with close ties to, in fact lauded by, a nation that meddled in our election.
I felt, during those days, that barring a serious health issue or horrible accident, I would still be living at the end of this presidential term. I felt, during those days, that the nation I would see would not be the same as the one I grew up in. I felt, during those days, that the U.S. might be viewed by some as a rogue country. I felt, during those days that the nation could be left in tatters. I only hoped, during those days, that we had enough needles, thread and will to repair it.
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