August 2nd
Last night we played a house show on the back patio of an apartment complex at a Baptist seminary, and got to revisit some of our Cornerstone friends, namely “Dougle,” a six-and-a-half-foot Scottish man who warmed up for us with some anti-anarchist punk songs. He and his roommates also gave us a floor on which to crash for two nights, since we didn’t have a show today.
Today we woke up early because one of the apartment neighbors had offered us free breakfast and coffee. We took the elevator to her floor and spent the next hour hanging out with her and eating the food she made us: vegan sausages (they didn’t taste like meat, but they were quite good) and Christmas pancakes (chocolate pancakes with peppermint flavor!). She sent us back downstairs with a bagful of food for the road tomorrow. Again, the generosity of the people we’ve met on this trip has been amazing.
After that, we agreed we had to visit downtown Chicago. This was my first time, so I was pumped as we walked out into the muggy air. We drove for what seemed like ages, and then ahead through the mist, I glimpsed a hazy silhouette of buildings, which sharpened with each passing minute. It was the Chicago skyline— with buildings more massive than I have ever seen in my life.As we drove into the city proper, I saw it was everything I imagined: a mix of brick towers reminiscent of the Industrial Revolution and glassy skyscrapers shining with modern technology, streets crammed with cars and pedestrians, seagulls wheeling through the sky, wind lashing between the dichotomous buildings.
It took us forever to find somewhere to park, and then we could only afford to buy two hours on the meter. We skirted the edge of Millennium Park (which was closed because of an upcoming festival), then walked along the edge of Lake Michigan. I had never seen any of the Great Lakes before, and it was strange to see a body of water as big as the ocean to the eye, disturbed only by tranquil ripples. The blue-green water faded into fog in the distance.
We rode the Navy Pier Ferris Wheel (another first for me— I’ve never been on a ferris wheel), and then it was time to head back to the van to keep the meter from running out. By this time, Tyler looked as if he was about to keel over from heat exhaustion. By Midwest standards the weather was average for August, but Tyler’s internal temperature is set to Oregon, and that doesn’t go well with 90+ heat and humidity. I worriedly fed him water and trail mix, but he didn’t really revive until we were on the road on the way back to the apartment.Now I sit in air conditioning, taking a break between editing my Write@Home papers. So long to Chicago for now— tomorrow we head to Springfield, and then this crazy-awesome month of tour will be drawing to a close.
~Lisa Shafter
As one of my old college buddies might observe: "You've had a trip."
ReplyDeleteAnd the interesting part of it is that the distance you covered in the physical world pales next to the travels your soul has made. You have hammered out some aspects of your perspective on life in a much faster fashion than had you been stuck in the Shire.
As I read through the last few entries of your blog, I've noticed a change. Sorrow to say you are more awake than when you left. My sorrow comes from knowing what this awakening means for the future.
There is something euphoric about ignorant bliss. It allows a soul to bungle along in a kind of carefree manner that just isn't possible once you start becoming aware of questions.
Questions can fasten to your interior life like a weasel. Before you know it, you're walking around with a weasel in tow on your neck as Annie Dillard might say. Difference being that unlike the eagle who might bear a weasel skull about its neck like a pendant, you are stuck with the whole weasel, alive and still working away at your throat.
Anyway, I hope all of these thoughts and observations will remain bearable as you age.
I haven't been very comfortable with the weasel on my throat. : )
I do feel like I'm more awake than when I left. And although this opens the door to a lot of sorrow, it opens me to a lot of joy, too. It's easy to remember the unfairness of evil, but I strive to dwell more on the unfairness of good. Maybe that's easier to do when you're young, but I hope it's something that I'll never forget.
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