Seasonal Impressions

I have a blog coming up for all of you very soon, but I was searching through old gmail attachments, and I found some things worth sharing.

My mood, generally, is very dependent on weather. Sometimes, all I need to restore me is a cool breeze across closed lids. These are two instances, on that took place in a Chicago fall, and one that took place in a Chicago spring, as I was on the eve of heading back to my home state, Michigan.

~*~

FALL.

The Belmont el stop.

The best place to see the sky in Chicago is at the Belmont el stop. A couple of days ago, the transient weather of fall meant that from the open air station, I could see several days of weather in one sky.

To the west, the sky was clear, an enameled cerulean blue.To the northeast, wedding white mares tails, little ice crystal clouds moved in sync to the southwest like lacy old ladies arm in arm, clipping down the street in their sturdy black shoes. To the southeast, however, trouble broiled. Cobalt cloud mountains faded into black marshy mists, and the illuminated buildings against that dark sky looked cut out of the scene. The trains coming from the south were coming wet, and those monsters were rolling towards me, grumbling and snorting in their anger.

The wall of rain over took a few of the orange afternoon-lit buildings and they were suddenly studded with diamond raindrops. With the sun at my back, I saw the rain advancing toward me. A rainbow jumped out in front of me and tried to hold back the torrent, but the storm threw a bolt of lightning and shattered it as it’s partners reached the sun disk in the southwest and shrouded it.

I stepped into the capsule of the train as the rain came beating down. Hissing and roaring, the storm lamented my escape. The train started up and we sped off towards the west. With a few raindrops on my shoulders and the leafy smelling wind still in my hair, I turned to gaze wide-eyed out of the train.

Ahead of me, the sky was still a vibrant tangerine color.



SPRING.
I was thinking today, as I passed over the Chicago River on the el, about things I can sink my teeth into. Like rivers. Like Lake Michigan. Like ladder-like pine trees. Like dunes. Like a steep grade and a narrow path, good shoes, and leg muscles. Like fresh air and flowering trees, like raindrops and layers of history exposed on the sides of sandstone cliffs. Like that yellow-gold-green that leaves turn when you are seeing the sun through them. Like dragonflies and those odd bugs that walk on the surface tension of river water. Like crayfish. Like waves. Like the copper-tasting water in the upper peninsula. Like arctic breezes, lost and wayward down here in the Midwest.

In short, I was thinking today about Michigan. I'm going back to Michigan in one week. I can hardly breathe without wishing I were breathing Michigan air. I can hardly cross the street without wishing I were crossing a Michigan street. Through the library windows, I could see Lake Michigan stretching out away from the city, miles of water and fish and seaweed, shipwrecks and sand. On the other side, waters are a clear cerulean. Here, they are an odd perversion of teal that looks sickly.

Around my neighborhood here in Chicago, I feel differently. I will miss little Albany Park when I'm gone, I think. Getting off of the Brown Line at Francisco, I sometimes find myself thinking of Chicago the same way I think of Grand Rapids. It's not quite words, more like a strong inclination. I get the urge to climb trees, explore houses, walk down alleys, roll in the grass, and slip behind bushes into their secret kingdoms.

Today, the sun came out just before sunset to give the world a hallowed kind of look. The flowering trees in front of the apartments across of Sacramento street gave off a wavering scent in the cool breeze. The rain a couple of days ago washed away the thickness of the air, and now it was clear and sharp. Now, you could inhale the fragrance of those tiny white flowers all the way down to the bottom of your lungs without stuffing up your nose, without causing your eyes to redden and tear. The grass was brightly green against the reinvigorated blackness of the soil. In the house on the corner of Sacramento and Leland, someone served dinner in the airy dining room. The streets were clear and dry. I wanted to get out my bike and tool around, or cover the sidewalks in chalked hopscotch boards. I wanted to get into those bushes and create worlds out of their encompassing branches. I wanted, desperately, to be little again, to have the freedom of late afternoons again. I didn't want to think back or ahead, I just wanted to exist in the ocher-golden light of the evening, and play.

~*~

 I don't write like this much anymore, and I wonder where I lost it. But I still feel the sense of wonder at the changing of the seasons whether I am in Michigan, Chicago, or here in silly old Maryland. The earth is beneath me, the sky above, and nature pervades throughout.

“I feel a pull on the rope, let me off at the rainbow…” - Genesis, “Anyway”
“I can see the orange sky in front of me, I can see things you’ll never see...” Days of the
New, “Whimsical”

Festival!

Every year has new artwork.

Last weekend, I got a real treat!

The fates (and the finances) aligned themselves so that Gordon and I got to drive up to Michigan for the weekend, surprise our parents, and go to one of my favorite Grand Rapids summer traditions, Festival.

Festival (follow them on twitter!) is the largest all-volunteer arts festival in the country. The first weekend in June every summer sees downtown Grand Rapids shut down, marquees and stages go up, and hundreds of thousands of people descend to listen to music, people-watch, sunbathe, eat food off sticks, watch performances, create art, and more! It's a tradition to get your first sunburn of the year at festival, and it marks the start of summer in Grand Rapids.

I remember going to Festival when I was little, and it was a wonderland. As a kid, you can ride in a giant tire swing hung from an iron sculpture. You can create masterpieces with wood pieces at the Glue-in. You can paint pictures. You can do swing art, which is when you suspend markers above a large piece of white paper and swing it back and forth and around to create spirally, loopy, helixy patterns. There's a station where princes and princesses can make crowns and hats. There are buckets of sidewalk chalk to mark up the paths.

From the iron sculpture hangs a giant tire swing, the di Suervo Swing.

For adults, there's music at almost every corner, a pavilion where local artists sell paintings, sculptures, jewelery, what have you. Monroe street is lined with booths from local communities offering every kind of food from Mexican to Polish, American, Bosnian, Indian, Vietnamese...Things that don't even look like food, but smell like heaven.

In addition to all of the things out in the newly-summery sun, the art museum is free the whole weekend! If you feel like you're about to get sunstroke out in the street, you can head into the cool of the museum. In the museum, you can see the Art Prize winners from the previous fall.

Click to view full size!

My mom and I only went one day this year, Sunday, the last day. We were in a mood to praise Festival as one of the triumphs of Grand Rapids, after all of this business with Newsweek allowing idiots to post things saying that my pretty city was dying. And as we walked through throngs of people in tank tops, shorts, tshirts, and sundresses, right down the middle of the street, through clouds of wafting smells, hearing snatches of music, I realized that not only is Grand Rapids emphatically NOT dying, it is improving and becoming a better place to live every year.

I only get to go back every few months, so the changes are really apparent to me. I notice how things are getting cleaner and newer. Every time I go home, new buildings are being renovated. Every time I go to an event downtown, it's more successful. Every time I hear about Grand Rapids, it's something positive.

And this year's festival was full of people to reinforce that.

Calder Stage, with Calder's sculpture, La Grande Vitesse. 

There were many stages at Festival: the Calder Stage (right in front of the sculpture by Alexander Calder that is the symbol of the city,) the Fountain Stage (on the corner of Monroe and Fountain streets,) City Stage (on the corner of Monroe and Ottawa streets,) and Circle Stage (a permanent stage in Rosa Parks Circle, which can be seen in the ubiquitous lip dub.) There is no way anyone can see all of the performances throughout the festival, and admittedly, some are better than others. My mom and I had no interest in the mediocre gospel choir, but back at the Clock Tower stage we found a duo we liked and sat in the sun to watch

On the stage were two men, one with a guitar (Bruce Evans) and one with a bass (Gene Brott.) They were playing a popular Matchbox Twenty song we both knew, which is what drew us in, but primarily they play classic rock. They admitted to the audience after the song that they were only two of a complete band, but the soulfulness of Evans's voice and the fullness of the music could have fooled me. They were a part of a cover band called CounterBalance, described in Festival's program as "a 1968 to 1988 classic vocal rock band." After the Matchbox Twenty song, they played a few songs from those years, and then closed with "Freefalling," and it was a perfect summer moment for me. The sun was hot, and there was good, live music in front of me.

Bruce Evans and Gene Brott of CounterBalance

After the duo from CounterBalance finished, we decided to wander off and see what else there was to be seen. At the City Stage, we found the Ardan Academy of Irish Dance  performing. They were young people, from a tiny 7 or 8 year old girl in white-bright blond hair, all the way up to teenagers. The music was energetic and modern, and the dancers matched every beat of the intricate music under the bright sun as if it were effortless. Even the tiny girl hit every mark. When they came out as a group, they were in sync. They were a joy to watch, and there was not a seat to be had in the audience. My mom and I jostled for a good view, and when the dancers finished, we clapped enthusiastically along with the full audience.

Festival this year was hot and crowded, just as it should be. It remains one of my favorite parts of the year, whether I get to go all three days or just one, whether I stay for hours and do everything, or stay only a short time and enjoy the ambiance.

And it reinforces to me the values that are evident in Grand Rapids: Community, innovation, involvement, and enrichment.

Dystopian Detroit

100 Abandoned Houses in Detroit

The last few days have been filled with Detroit sports victories.  Justin Verlander became the second Tiger in history to toss two no-hitters in his career. The Red Wings are on track to make history by coming from behind 3-0 in a series to evade elimination in the playoffs. And the clean, inviting few blocks that make up Hockeytown, Comerica Park and Ford Field are among the only parts of Detroit that ever play host to their creators: people.

I've blogged about Detroit before. But I have to say something again as a disturbing statistic has been reported by several agencies.

Detroit's illiteracy rate is an alarming 47%, reports Huffington Post.

So. Half of the people in Detroit can't read. They can't read the newspaper. They can't fill out job applications. They can't do the work or earn the money needed to attend post-secondary education, although, ironically, many of them have graduated high school. They can't write love letters. They can't read Lord of the Rings. They can't read the directions on a prescription.


The ability to read and write has long been the dividing line between the haves and the have-nots. And the haves have controlled populations this way. If a population can't read, it can't get new ideas. It can't communicate effectively with other members. How do we expect Detroit to pick itself up, rebuild its abandoned houses [click for an awesome photo essay on Detroit's abandoned hosues], and return to the great American city it once was if a person can graduate high school and still be functionally illiterate? How do you climb up when your ladder has no rungs?

The article I linked to at the Huffington Post mentions a statistic that says those who need "help" aren't getting it. But what can you do? You can not force half the people in Detroit to learn how to read. And programs to do it would be expensive. Detroit's citizens must take responsibility. Must take ownership of their city. No one else can do it for them. They need to build themselves up. No government or humanitarian group or charity can force a population to do better for itself. A psychologist may proscribe a pill to help a person to better themselves, but there is no pill that can clarify a city's mind. The soul of a city is its citizens.

I am not from Detroit. But I am from Michigan, and I love it. What happens to your state when your largest city is dangerous, unlettered, and failing? I am not brave enough to try and raise a family in an environment like that, but when everyone in Detroit who can read and knows a dying city when they see it leaves.... We are left with a 47% illiteracy rate, and a population who do not even know how to lift their city up.

I don't have the solutions for Detroit. But I have a lot of hope for it. The city has a lot of history, and a lot of good things going for it. All it needs is the support of its citizens.

Geology, Story, and Finding Something Worth Doing

Hey. I'm a little drunk and I want to talk. I know, I haven't spoken to you in a while. But hey. What the hey. I've said “hey” too much. But hey. What's life for:?!

You know, I miss writing. I miss school. I miss people expecting things from me. Now, if I even go one step out of the way to do something at work, Erin, my sales rep, praises me to no end. “Thank you so much for doing that!” Hey, I say. Just doing my job. Job. Damn. I hate that. I hate that I'm the lowest person in the company. I'm worth more than that, dammit!

And that's why the decision has been made. It was made under my covers, with tears of frustration running down my face. Sobbing. “I want to be a geologist!” And it seemed like the world rolled out a red carpet before me.

It dawned on me. Literally. Like the sun coming up in the east, and flashing in my eyes so I had to squint. Why the hell not? If I could go back to school to teach, why couldn't I go to school to study rocks? School is school! And this time, I wouldn't go just for fun, like I did at Columbia. I would go with an aim to work in the field. If I could work with rocks, with the earth, and write when I got home, and marry the man I love and have children... the world would be a perfect place. I could do two of those things now—I could marry Gordon and write. And kids, I'm sure, would not be far behind. But I have missed geology ever since my class ended. And I love it. I mean, I'm so curious. Science intrigues me like no other. Especially about the earth.

My god! I love the earth! It's a fabulous, fantastic place, with interesting things at every turn! Maybe its because I live in Michigan, and my whole life has been shaped by the geology of the place. The lakes. The dunes. The inherent nature. I live in a mid-sized city that has not dominated the land, but thrived with it. Coming down the East Beltline northward as it turns into Northland Dr., I can see the lay of the land. It grieves me to see Lake Versluis, which is man-made, the evidence of a gravel pit that is now perhaps a quarter mile north. But other than that, I can see the hills! And looking out my front yard, I see a mass of greenery and trees, which hides a hill. I know that if I take Jupiter up to Post and drive up there, I'll be on top of the hill, but I have an urge to walk it. I want to dig into it, see what it's made of, and why it's there. I want to feel the land beneath my feet. One thing I love about geology is that you don't have to a far to experience it. It's at your feet, wherever you are. It is the science of the earth. And it affects you every single day. It tells the story of our tumultuous planet.

Another reason I love geology is because I love creativity. And perhaps I, personally, did not create the earth. But it was created. And I love reading the story of that creation. And all things are affected by the land. Land creates stories. It's a melding of things I love. I have been writing a story for a while now, than in my head I simply call, “Torin's Story.” He is on a quest. He is not a person of any renown. He is in fact, someone like me. He's studying, and working nothing-jobs. It's his friend, Amycus, who leads him to adventure. Torin experiences each of the seven hells, and in consequence, spends his life searching for the seven heavens. It is not like Dante at all, especially since I haven't referenced Dante to see what seven hells would be like. It is my own imagining. But during Torin's quest, he travells across his world. And the geology of his world influences the decisions he makes. It's like the actual shape of the ground beneath him leads to his story and conducts it. It is because Torin was born in a thriving harbor city that the chance to board a ship was available. And other reasons.

I was watching Naked Science today about a 114 degree Farenheit degree cave of enormous gypsum crystals. Perhaps Torin goes to a place like this. Who knows? I am still writing. I have recently read a book written by a cartographer and I learned that I must be careful not to let my love of geology weigh my stories down. The geology should enhance them.

And I should seek my bed.

To bed!Show all

Sweet dreams world. I surrender my waking self to thee. Goodnight!

The Phillies and the Degradation of Detroit

Yeah, don't talk to me.

My poor Rays, after their split game, lost the World Series.

I'm sorry, Rays. I think I may have cursed you. Everyone I root for seems to come SO CLOSE, but never make it. Case in point: 2006 Tigers.

Pah.

But still, I guess it was nice for the Phillies to win in their hometown, and it's always fun to watch teams celebrate no matter who they are. My ultimate fantasy would be to get a baseball team for Grand Rapids, and then celebrate with them as they win the World Series. One day, before Gordon left for basic training, we were going through team names. Here are a few that I can remember, good, bad, ridiculous, plausible, some from Grand Rapids's reputation as a growing medical area, its history as a furniture manufacturing city, and the Grand River that is the namesake:

1. Grand Rapids Gators
2. Grand Rapids Geriatrics
3. Grand Rapids Groovers
4. Grand Rapids Rovers
5. Grand Rapids River Rats
6. The Grand Rapids River
7. Grand Rapids Grands
8. Grand Rapids Glands
9. Grand Rapids Rectum
10. Grand Rapids Rectal Thermometer
11. Grand Rapids Recession
12. Grand Rapids Gamma Rays
13. Grand Rapids Genesis
14. Grand Rapids Radiation

Okay, so I totally googled medical terms, but still.

(Grand Rapids, MI)

Also, it would kind of make me nervous. Grand Rapids is growing, and quickly. Our downtown is being redone block by block, and it's coming out gorgeous. People are flocking here in droves, and very few people who are born here leave. Or if they do, they come back here to have families. If you put a major sports team here, and if our Grand Rapids Genesis or whoever become popular, suddenly the Detroit Tigers lose half (or more) of their fandom, and therefore, their income. The Lions are doing next to nothing (Last Sunday's game was the first game not sold out since Ford Field opened, and was blacked out all the way to Lansing,) the Red Wings are popular as far as hockey itself is popular, and if you take even half the fans of even one sports team out of Detroit, Detroits shaking foundations get downright unstable.

Detroit is not a very successful city. The last time I was there, it was like a ghost town if you got any more than a couple blocks away from Comerica Park. You're not fooling anyone, Detroit. You're standing strong on your sports teams, and that's it. Detroit is dying, and it's sad. It's got a pretty colorful history. And I love Grand Rapids, but I'm sitting over here on the western side of the state, watching the east side of the state stumble about, and I feel bad about it all. Come on Detroit. Get with it. Clean it up. Get back to work. Get back into your city. It could be such a great city. Man, I don't want to be ashamed of a city that is the first thing Canadians see when they come across from Windsor. I swear, Canadians, the rest of the state is much nicer!