Saying Goodbye

Last week, my family and I said goodbye to Mark Herring, a boy that lived on the same floor at Misericordia as my brother, Michael. I don’t know how many years I’d known Mark. My memories of him blur into a collage of brief encounters, moments I spent with him while visiting my brother. Like the time Mark was reading a Best Buy catalogue and I asked him if he was buying a new flat screen TV. Or the time my dad and I were taking Michael to Easter Mass in the rotunda, and Mark asked if he could go along. So I walked beside him as he steered his powered wheelchair down the hall, my father pushing Michael in his chair next to us, and we sat together during mass.

I don’t remember the last time I saw Mark before he died. Lots of times it was in passing while I was visiting Michael. I’d see Mark down the hall and wave. Or I’d stop in the multi-purpose room where all the kids gathered to watch a DVD and give him a kiss or a high-five.

I was at Misericordia the Saturday before Mark died. Michael wasn’t feeling good, and mom and I stopped by for a visit. We spent a couple of hours by Michael’s bedside, talking to him, trying to make him laugh. I took a picture of mom and me holding Michael’s hands and uploaded it to Facebook. As we were leaving, we stopped by the nurses’ station to chat with the nurse on duty. The hallway was quiet, not filled with the usual kids hanging out playing, singing, or drawing. I peeked in the multi-purpose room, looking for Barb, Michael’s CNA, but I didn’t see Mark. If I had, I would’ve stopped to talk to him. Two days later my brother Chris called to tell me Mark died of a sudden heart attack.

I didn’t know a lot about Mark. I wasn’t even sure how old he was. Never met his family. It wasn’t until his funeral when I learned the answers to these questions. The laminated memorial cards told us Mark would have been seventeen in June. In the front row at the service sat his mom, sister, brother, grandmother and step dad. I’d never met them. None of us had. I gave his grieving mother a hug and told her how beautiful her son was. I was one of hundreds of strangers that came up to her that day. I wonder if she knew what an impact her son had on all of us.

Mark had impossibly long eyelashes. Dark and curled, like every woman’s dream. It was the first thing I saw as I knelt beside his small white coffin. I told him that I wished I’d spent more time with him when I had the chance, that I wished I’d seen him on that last Saturday of his life. We always regret the time we didn’t spend with someone once they’re gone. But it reminds us to cherish the time we have with ones who are still with us. 

Scent of a Season

Last week I finally turned on the heat when the thermostat in my apartment dropped below 70 degrees. The furnace chugged and coughed and rumbled as it awakened from its hibernation, and soon it released a gassy odor that spread throughout my home, an odor that only emits the first time I turn on the heat for the season. That smell is the official start of Fall for me, like the opening bell of the season. The scent makes me think of what the next few months will bring.

Like when my feet get icy cold while at the office, I’ll kick off my pumps and pull on my old knee-high, pale pink Uggs. With worn sheepskin and holes in the seams, they’re no longer adequate to wear outside during a Chicago winter, but perfect as an extra pair of slippers in the office. Putting my chilled feet into the plush fleece sockliner still brings a smile to my face.

I’m excited to put away my faded t-shirts and denim shorts and tired flip-flops that I wore all summer, and instead pull out long-sleeve sweaters and wool skirts and knee-high leather boots. I love putting on my leopard print beret that I bought in Provincetown and leaving it on even after I take off my coat and gloves. I love tying a scrunched pashmina around my neck.

I’ll get inspired to make homemade chicken broth. And while the broth is simmering for hours on the stove my home will fill with warmth, the windows will steam up, and the sweet aroma will sift out my front door and into the hallway so the neighbors can smell it the moment they step off the elevator.

I’ll fill my refrigerator drawers with a variety of apples picked from orchards in the northwest suburbs. I’ll think of recipes to use up all the apples before they rot: apple pie, apple crisp, applesauce, apple turnovers, baked apples…

I’ve covered my bed with the soft cotton yellow and white striped comforter that sat folded on top of my printer all summer. I pulled out the down throws and blankets and the Snuggie my brother got me for Christmas last year, and keep them on the couch for easy access.

I’ll kick off my shoes after a long day and pull on my favorite red slipper socks. My aunt searched every mercato in northern Italy until she found a pair and sent them to me. I love them because I don’t have to take them off when I want to curl up on the couch, and I can still wear them to go down and get the mail. One time I almost left home with them on.

I’ll consider the multiple invitations to Halloween parties around the city and brainstorm ideas for inexpensive costumes. I’ll buy a pumpkin, but won’t get around to carving it, then consider using it to make homemade pumpkin pie.

I’ll watch as the leaves on the trees in Lincoln Park turn from green to brownish-yellow and fall to the ground, and remember how grateful I am that I live in a condo with no yard to maintain.

Most of all, Fall is a prelude to the Christmas season. One whiff of the crisp autumn air reminds me that soon I’ll be shopping for a Frazier Fur and pulling out strands of white lights and boxes of ornaments to prepare for my holiday party.

And then I’ll get excited for Winter.

Chautauqua: Final Day

My last full day in Chautauqua. Tomorrow we leave for East Lansing early in the morning, then Sunday morning I catch an 8:30 a.m. train to Chicago. After a long week of learning, relaxing, and reflecting, I’m ready to return home to the real world.

We woke up to another rainy morning. I decided it would serve me better to stay in bed than to walk in the rain to morning meditation. Kathy made us BLUEBERRY PANCAKES again! God bless her! After the kids left for club, Char and I relaxed with our coffee and our journals.

The morning lecture was given by Robert M. Franklin, president of Morehouse College. He told us a list of things he teaches his students: to be well read, well spoken, well traveled, well dressed and well balanced. He closed with an excerpt from a speech that Martin Luther King’s gave the day before he was killed, the “If I had sneezed” closing paragraphs. I counted 30 knitters.

During lunch I went to writing lecture by Clint McCowan called “The Hydrogen Atom of Fiction,” which it turns out is “setting,” which includes not just the geographical location but the general environment of the characters, like religion. I found this interesting because as I continue working on my novel, the characters’ religion, Catholicism, is becoming a bigger part of the story.

I decided to skip the interfaith lecture and instead hung out in the plaza. By the afternoon, the sky cleared and the sun was shining. I read more of the book Char loaned me on understanding men called “It’s a Guy Thing: An Owner’s Manual for Women.” I’m learning a lot about those bastards that I can’t live without.

We went blueberry picking in the afternoon. I picked about three and a half pounds so I’m going to have to find some creative ways to use them: blueberry pancakes (of course), smoothies, cobbler, pie. I’ll be eating blueberries the rest of the summer. Lots of antioxidants.

After blueberry picking, Char and I took the ferry to Bemus Point for dinner at the Italian Fisherman. We ate chicken fingers and Italian nachos (a sky-high pile of chips sprinkled with Asiago cheese, crumbled Italian sausage, tomatoes, banana peppers and green onions) while sitting on the floating dock, watching the sun go down, and drinking Margaritas.

We made it back to Chautauqua just in time for Jason Alexander’s show “Donny Clay Wants to Show You the Way!” He put on a great show. I thought it was amusing how his humor drove a lot of the old folks out of the amphitheater. The best line from the show was unscripted. Donny asked an audience member, “What do you do?......You drill what?......Oh, gas holes.”

We’re back at the apartment now getting ready to go to sleep. I’m sad to leave Chautauqua, but I know I’ll return some day. I didn’t work on my novel as much as I planned, but I wrote a daily blog, journaled every morning, and cleared my mind. There’s so much to experience here. I really wanted to take it all in. There aren’t many places on this planet that you can walk through a safe, gated community and hear the orchestra practicing in one amphitheater, the kids frolicking in the plaza, the opera singers doing scales from the practice huts, a renowned guest speaker giving a lecture in the open Hall of Philosophy, the Chautauqua Belle steamboat blowing its horn in the distance, all while grandma knits a scarf on a nearby bench. It’s a magical place, and I hope to be back soon.

For now, it's time to get back to reality.

Chautauqua: Day 5

For the second day in the row, I was the youngest person at the morning meditation by at least 20 years. It was nice to see so many older people embracing something eastern like meditation. Since I’m here in Chautauqua to experience, to be enlightened, to clear and open my mind, I pushed all judgments to the back. As I sat during meditation, and I felt my mind start to wander as it usually does, I brought myself back to the center with affirmations: I am whole. I am happy. I am intelligent. I am prolific. I am complete. Just to remind myself why I’m here. Bill the moderator (whose name, I found out, is actually Jim) told us to imagine that each breath we take is like a wave from the ocean ebbing and flowing. He said it helps him fall asleep at night, too.

After meditation, I sat on the front porch writing in my journal, sipping coffee, watching the people across the street set up for the peace prayer. I considered not joining them today (again I was the youngest one there) and instead observe them from the porch. But I’m not here to observe. So I closed my journal and joined the prayer circle. I even learned how to say “peace” in sign language.

As I walked back to the apartment, I wondered why it seems that so many people in Chautauqua are old. I realized that it’s because the kids are usually in club all day. People in their 20s are here to study music, dance, theater, etc., so they’re probably in class. Others are taking continuing education classes or maybe sitting on the beach. So the elders, who are probably retired, are just here to relax, meditate, pray. It’s all good.

I wonder if anything I did this week will have an impact on my life once I get back to Chicago. I’ll probably go back to my non-secular lifestyle, watching too much bad American television, searching for my next freelance project, struggling to get the words of my novel on paper. But maybe I’ll take a few minutes each morning to do a little bit of yoga, write in my journal more often, or just sit quietly in an attempt to meditate. I learn something from every experience and take it with me wherever I go. That’s the whole point of life. There’s no such thing as a negative experience.

Leila Nadya Sadat, and international human rights lawyer gave the morning lecture. She was a great speaker, talking mostly about the International Criminal Court and her criticism of the US’s involvement. She made some interesting points, and overall I was impressed. I still counted 24 knitters though.

After lunch there was a Mystic Heart Meditation Seminar that I was interested in attending. On my way there I considered skipping it. Maybe it’s too new age for me. Too spiritual. Maybe I should just go to the plaza and write. But I dragged my butt to the Hall of Missions. The teacher was a man named Subagh Singh Khalsa. He was skinny with an olive complexion and a long grey beard. He wore a turban, and although he was very friendly with a gentle tone, I couldn’t help but notice he looked a little like Osama Bin Laden. He took us through a couple of meditation practices that involved chanting, which made me just a tad uncomfortable, but I went through the exercises, and as my fingertips rested on my thighs, lips pressed together, feet planted on the floor, I remembered a time when I was little, probably around five or six. I would sit in my room and be deep in thought about my own existence. I guess it was a form of meditation. Just without the chanting and deep breathing. But I remember actually being so deep into it that I almost felt something like an out-of-body experience. That’s pretty deep for a small child. I never experienced that feeling when I got older. Still haven’t.

I ran into Subagh later that afternoon while I was grabbing a snack at Food For Thought. I told him I was a writer, and he smiled and said, “You’re going to be a successful writer. I can see it.”

Char and I attended the interfaith lecture given by Mohamed M. Keshavjee, a Muslim lawyer from England who was harassed at the US border in 2003. We weren’t getting much out of his lecture unfortunately, so we left after 20 minutes and walked around the plaza. At 4:30 the kids put on the annual Air Band Competition where each different grade lip-synced to a skit. Char’s daughter Clara did a solo performance of the Electric Slide.

I was going to attend a Unity workshop, but decided I had had enough spirituality for one day.

Tomorrow, last day in Chautauqua:

§ Morning meditation

§ Peace prayer

§ Morning Lecture by Robert Franklin, president of Morehouse College

§ Brown Bag Lunch: The Hydrogen of Fiction. We’ll see what this is about.

§ Interfaith Lecture by Harvey Cox, Hollis Professor of Divinity

§ Jason Alexander (yes, George Costanza) presents “Donny Clay Will Show You the Way!” Really looking forward to this one

Talk to you tomorrow.

Chautauqua: Day 4

It rained all day in Chautauqua. I carried around an umbrella from morning mediation, to peace prayer, to the morning lecture, to the afternoon interfaith lecture, to Bat Chat, to the opera recital, and to the ballet. Now a fog has settled over Chautauqua as everyone turns in for the night.

My day started with the Unity meditation which I dragged my butt to at 8 a.m. Meditation has always been a challenge for me, the very few times that I’ve tried it. But I believe it’s a great exercise to master, so I gave it a shot. I sat among 15 people in a circle, my feet planted on the ground, my back straight, eyes closed, breathing deeply. As the moderator, Bill, talked us through the clearing of clutter in our heads, my mind wandered: my blog, my book, even my abandoned Catholic faith seeped its way into my head. But as Bill instructed, I gently brought my mind back to the present, staring at the blobs and shapes in the back of my eyelids. After meditation I went to a quick prayer for peace. We stood in a circle mentioning people in places that need peace: Iran, Afghanistan, Darfur, Sudan, even here at home.

The morning lecture was by Ralph Williams, a religion professor from University of Michigan. His style was animated and he made some funny jokes, but I still couldn’t focus on what he was saying. Guess the mediation didn’t help. Instead I counted knitters in the audience. I got up to 26 before I stopped.

The afternoon interfaith lecture was much more exciting. Bishop Gene Robinson, the first openly gay Episcopalian priest. Best quote: “God wants reconciliation among all. All. What part of “all” don’t you understand?”

Char recommended the Bat Chat in the afternoon where an enthusiastic woman spoke for an hour about the bats of Chautauqua and how they eat all the mosquitoes. And that a very small percentage of them actually have rabies. She passed around photos. My favorite was the one of the bat enjoying a fig.

After dinner we went to an opera recital, then to An Evening of Pas de Deux by the North Carolina Dance Theater, which I enjoyed more than I expected.

Another full day in Chautauqua.

Quote of the day:

“Stop arguing! Danielle is not going to want to have any children because of you two!”

-- Char yelling at her kids who wouldn’t stop bickering about doing the dishes

On the agenda for tomorrow:

• Unity meditation

• Peace prayer

• Morning lecture: Prosecuting Crimes Against Humanity: Caught Between Justice and Despair by Leila Nadya Sadat from Washington University

• Mystic Heart Meditation Seminar

• Interfaith Lecture by Mohamed Keshavjee, professor of Islamic Law

• Air Band Competition by the kids

• Unity Class/Workshop

Busy day tomorrow. Talk to you then!

Chautauqua: Day 3

The phone woke us up at 8 a.m.

“Who’s calling us so early?” Char snapped.

I stumbled to the kitchen and picked up the receiver. It was Kathy, our landlord. She made us blueberry pancakes and I was to meet her at the bottom of the stairs. One thing that will get me out of bed early is a hot breakfast. Especially blueberry pancakes. Kathy handed me a plate full of steaming hot cakes, a bowl of fruit and a small pitcher of warm maple syrup.

After we ate and the kids went to club, I sat on the deck enjoying my coffee, writing in my journal and doing yoga. Char read my blogs from the last two days and made a point to clarify that she was not a suburbanite as I had claimed. “I lived in the city longer than you have!” she said. After some debate, she had me convinced. I guess no matter how many American suburbs she’s lived in the last 15 years, no matter how many SUVs she’s driven, or how many pies she’s baked, she will always be a city girl at heart. Just like me.

I opted to skip the morning lecture given by Michael Gazzaniga, which Char said was amazing, and instead sat in the plaza and wrote, churning out four pages. Afterward I spent some time reading a book that Char gave me on how to understand men. (I’ll blog about that later. If I learn anything.)

After a picnic in the plaza, Char and I attended the afternoon interfaith lecture by Rabbi David Gordis, but we left after a half hour after not really getting anything out of it. Char went to writing class, and I spent the afternoon walking around campus.

For dinner we went to a restaurant on the lake called the Casino in nearby town called Bemis Point. After ice cream from Perry’s and some grocery shopping we made it home by 10 p.m. Another exhausting but productive day. And my toe is doing better. Still a little purple though.

On the agenda for tomorrow:

· Unity meditation (didn’t make it to mediation this morning as predicted)

· Chautauqua Prays for Peace (not sure what it is but Char says it’s cool)

· Morning lecture

· Bat Chat: learning all about bats in Chautauqua

· Performance by the voice department

· Ballet

Talk to you tomorrow.

Chautauqua: Day 2

The alarm went off at 7:30 a.m. As we roused out of sleep, Char reminded me of the 9 a.m. yoga-latte class (yoga and Pilates combo; no latte) I wanted to take. I dragged myself out of bed, trying to motivate myself with what was on the schedule for the day: yoga-latte class, lecture by Elie Wiesel, writing class, and the ballet. I quickly showered, and although I prefer wearing my hair straight, Char talked me into letting it go natural, i.e., wild and curly. Vince was patiently waiting to walk me half way and point out Turner Hall where the class was held. I scrambled to gather my things. Where’s my yoga mat? Where are my shoes?

Soon Vince and I were on our way. The storms from the night before passed and the sky was clear with just a few clouds. Vince pointed out Turner Hall to me and turned to go to club, which is like a day camp for Chautauqua kids. As I walked to Turner Hall I was reminded of my early college days trying to navigate my way to classes throughout campus. The yoga-latte class ended up being booked solid. Every day. All week long. So I walked back to the apartment and did my own yoga on the deck as I listened to a finch chirp in a nearby tree.

After yoga I walked around campus snapping pictures that I doubt will do Chautauqua any justice. Even though I swore I wasn’t going to buy anything, I allowed myself a peak in an antique store where I bought a 1930s era toy oven during my last trip. Thankfully, nothing called out to me. No money spent.

At 10:45 I met Char at the Amphitheater for the daily lecture. Today’s lecture was given by Elie Wiesel and focused on this week’s theme: What makes us moral? As we sat in the outdoor theater filled with 5,000 people, the women on either side of me were knitting, which Char says is a typical thing in Chautauqua. A couple of great things Elie Wiesel said (I’m paraphrasing):

“If I want to be hungry it’s my choice. But I choose for you to never be hungry. That is being moral. It could be a hunger not just for food, but a hunger for liberty, happiness, love and humanity.”

“My one piece of advice is that whatever you do in life, think higher and feel deeper.”

This afternoon Char and I attended a writing class. Char convinced me that we should ride our bikes to class instead of walking. I hesitated. After all, she’s a suburbanite. When they need to go somewhere two blocks away, they drive. I’m a city girl. I won’t hesitate to walk a mile to get to my destination. And I hadn’t been on a bike in fifteen years. But I agreed anyway, and it ended up being a pleasant ride through the neighborhood, except for the time that I fell over on the bike going 0 mph, stubbing my toe bloody and scraping the palm of my hand. I told Char I would stick to walking. It was still faster anyway.

The afternoon writing class was on Writing Nonfiction: How to Profit at Writing and Marketing Nonfiction Magazine Articles and Books. While I focus mainly on fiction, I still thought I could learn a thing or two. I signed up for one class with the option of attending the other two this week if I chose to.

The class took place in an old one-room octagon shaped building where Char says they have Quaker meetings. Inside were rows of old wooden desks. Feeling inspired, I took a seat in the front row. But as soon as the teacher started speaking, I knew it was going to be a long class. He spoke at a slow pace and with a mild stutter. His voice was soothing, which was great if I were trying to fall asleep rather than learn how to write magazine articles. I so badly wanted to give him a shot of espresso. This guy actually wrote and published a book on collecting antlers, and once wrote an article for Modern Maturity on how to fall down properly. After several minutes went by, I glanced at the watch of a man sitting nearby. Forty-five minutes left? I spent most of the class writing today’s blog in my head. Fortunately Char killed ten minutes asking about getting free publicity in magazine articles. It broke up the monotony. I won’t be returning to the class tomorrow or Wednesday. Surprisingly, Char will.

Our landlord Kathy cooked us a delicious dinner of penne with shrimp scampi in an alfredo sauce. By 8 p.m. I was tired but we went to the ballet where my friend Tim, and Char’s ex-husband, was conducting the orchestra. All the dancers and musicians were students from the Chautauqua ballet and orchestra programs.

On the agenda for tomorrow:

· Meditation at 7:15 a.m. (only of I could drag my ass out of bed, but it’s doubtful)

· Try to get into a different yoga class

· At least open my manuscript and pay a visit to the troubled Moore family whom I neglected for a week

· Relax and be enlightened

I’m exhausted, and my toe really hurts. Talk to you tomorrow.