Saturday, May 7, 2011

Sunshine and Flowers...

Jeff’s alarm had us up at an hour even I find to be ungodly. While he finished last minute packing I laid there half dreaming, half watching him before getting myself up. A few minutes later we were out the door, kissing goodbye on a street corner and he was off to O’Hare He is flying this morning up to Alaska to visit his family for a week. I am headed home for a moment.
After a short bus ride I’m carefully opening the door to our apartment, noticing Dana is still asleep and Noodle is greeting me with his giant blue-green eyes.
“Hi!” I whisper to him and he runs away from me to jump on the chair in the corner of our living room to continue to stare at me with those giant eyes. I walk by him scratching his head.
I eat some fruit, watching some birds fly around the power lines outside. The sky is gray and I wonder if it’s going to rain. Minutes later I’m up and getting my things together to catch the Grand bus to a new-to-me coffee shop called Sip. My former roommate Kaci told me about it when we lived together but we never went. I passed it a few days ago when heading downtown on the bus to meet a friend for lunch.
Out the door again and walking down my street I notice the park stretched out to my left. My attention then turns to the tiny yellow wildflowers scattered among the grass that is finally green despite my still needing a light jacket and scarf in May. Two squirrels chase each other up a tree making me smile before I cross the street to the bus stop.
Waiting for the Grand bus is like watching paint dry. It doesn’t seem to run as often as the Chicago bus but today I waited for only four minutes. Being that I never ride it my eyes seemed to be opened as wide as they’ll go to take in the scenery around me not wanting to miss one detail, one shop, one restaurant that I may want to visit on some future date.
I almost missed my stop being the bus became crowded and honestly, I wasn’t sure where to get off. I backtracked a little until I was standing at the door and stepping through it. The noise of the espresso machine greeted my ears upon entering. I immediately become overwhelmed with the giant menus hanging on the wall in front of me and all the cute signage surrounding those. Not to mention the cookies, bars, croissants, tarts, and cakes laid out before me.
I ordered my usual Americano and chose a mug with a bird on it to house said drink. I can’t stop looking at every little detail of this place. There seems to be so much to take in. The woman behind me is not as enthralled as I am. I feel at any moment, even though my drink isn’t quite ready yet she might push me out of the way. Dressed in yoga gear and ordering a jasmine tea you think she’d posses a little more patience.
“Thank you.” I say to the woman who made and placed the hot deliciousness in front of me.
“You’re welcome.” she smiles.
I take the drink and head to the back of the place following a narrow hallway, passed a comfy looking couch to an open room full of tables, mismatched chairs and another couch. French doors open up to a gorgeous patio that would be delightful to sit in once warm weather comes our way.
There is a giant cream colored chair at a small table that is calling my name. Immediately I set my things down, take off my jacket and sweater still not believing I’m wearing these garments in May and plop down into the chair as if walking into a hug.
I’ve been reading another book by Julia Cameron called “The Right to Write” and have been so in love with her gentle advice on getting started, and making it happen. I still peck away at the novel I will inevitably write but I feel directionless, confused and unorganized. I think I need to know that I work in a haphazard kind of way and go from there. I write random stories and eventually put them together to make something bigger. I don’t like knowing this is how it is. I’m wanting something more linear but forcing myself into that feels boring and excruciating.
At the end of each chapter there is a writing prompt and a few days ago I came across one that said to write out fifty accomplishments (big and small) and re-read this list over the next week. I got to work and as I wrote, I found myself enjoying going back in my mind thinking about being in school and the various things that were accomplished then like getting straight A’s in third grade, choosing to take A.P English my senior year of high school, running track, being a cheerleader and helping to hold human beings on my hands when stunting at football games and pep rallies. Also scattered among school stuff was moving to Chicago, writing my book of short stories, passing my GA State Board exam, completing two training programs to better my work performance, saying no, saying yes, and doing my best to take care of myself when things got crazy or overwhelming.
I was surprised that this didn’t seem to take very long. I thought I would be thinking longer about it but was pleased with what I came up with. When I looked up from the page I saw that the sun had come out. Suddenly I was dying to be outside deciding to walk back towards home. I have to see Beth later this afternoon.
Walking was wonderful. I enjoyed glancing into all the antique stores. I eventually caught a bus though. Once home again I did some dishes, ate some toast and left to visit the Knockbox to try and work on my novel. I did more staring out the window than writing. I’m doing my absolute best to simply write, to get it down and keep going knowing I can edit it later. Still, I am easily distracted listening to this “Big Important Man” talk on his “Big Important Cell Phone” about “Big Important Things.” Mind you we’re the only two people occupying space in the small shop so there isn’t any need to yell.
After an hour I’m over it and decide to walk all the way to Ashland to catch the bus up to Beth. This takes about forty minutes but I enjoy every one of those minutes. I look up at the tree sprouting tiny white flowers to peer at the sky showing in between the blooms. I hear and see the kids playing at the playground to my left as the birds fly over head and feel more gratitude for spring than I’ve felt before. I took it for granted in Atlanta that the air quickly warmed after winter, that icy temperatures didn’t last long and flowers were blooming everywhere leaving my car covered in yellow dust. Here in Chicago winter simply refuses to die.
On my walk I ask God to help with my overactive critic that seems to have taken a front seat in my mind. It analyzes and shreds anything I put down on paper. It does not however do this when I’m dreaming something up, only when I try to execute it. I try to simply breathe and keep walking. Shortly after I finish my talk with God I see Ashland up ahead and am happy to be stopping soon for a moment. Something on the ground catches my eyes and I see stenciled in purple paint the words “let go” painted on the sidewalk. I smile to myself. “God…I would if I could… tell me how…”
In Beth’s office I relay details of some work stuff I’m anxious about among many other scattered thoughts that I desperately try to reign in so this session will be effective. When I leave I feel refreshed and capable once again to take care of any crazy that might come my way.
I take the Ashland bus south to Webster an begin walking towards Lincoln Park. There is a beautiful café, Flouriole that I fell in love with when my friend Kate and I stumbled upon it one afternoon. I walk in and feel immediately like I’m Europe. The décor is stark and minimal but beautiful. I order some olive oil granola, and a lemon tea. It is served to me in a white bowl, a small white mug resting on a giant white serving tray. I watch the life pass by outside while feeling the breeze float by. It’s all open air today as if the glass walls have been pushed aside somewhere. Dogs and their owners trot by, immaculately dresses children squeal to their foreign nannies, and emaciated well dressed woman push their fancy strollers by. Occasionally a man in a suit will pass by but at this hour, 3pm, it’s mostly women and kids.
I carefully eat the granola, enjoying every single last bite. I could swim in this tea is tastes so good. It kind of resembles a lemon drop. Once I’m done eating, I pull out my journal and write while half listening to these older woman next to me talk with their British accents and I feel myself sink further into the idea that I could be in a café in London or Paris.
After an hour I need a break. A cupcake break for sure. A beautiful little shop is just two doors down. The last time I had cupcakes from there I was still an assistant and a stylist was having a birthday and management ordered two dozen of them.
I walk into Sweet Mandy B’s and take a moment to let my eyes process all the beautiful confections. Cookies, Whoopie Pies, mini cup cakes, larger ones, and giant caramel apples are all calling to me. I decide on an orange creamsicle cupcake being reminded of the ice cream stand in my elementary school cafeteria.
It is perfection in the form of food. The taste of it resembles a Fruit Loop. The texture isn’t too dense but light and fluffy. I sigh finishing the last bite of icing before grabbing my things and heading out.
The sun is still sparkling through the trees and I decide to explore just a little before more before heading back. I pass a small park, some fancy stores, two of which I briefly peek into before turning around and going back to the bus. I cross the bridge I came to earlier, watching the glittering water. Whenever I’m on a bridge, looking down at the water I imagine what it would feel like to dive in.
Bus again. Home again. Dana and I chat a little bit before I decide I’m going to yoga tonight and get changed. I take my time getting there, taking off my shoes, socks, and rolling out a mat on to the dark hardwood floors. I would love to make yoga a regular thing but my excuses get in the way most days. Not tonight though, I’m excited to be here, filled with some kind of uncanny energy despite it being 7:30pm and we’re getting started.
My body follows the instructor, Emily’s voice. It stretches and moves along with my expanding and contracting lungs. I attempt a handstand with her help and accomplish it, giggling before she lets me go. I feel truly grateful for my body when the class is over.
When I walk outside I see that I am missing a bus. I make the decision to walk home and enjoy every minute. When I get to my place I take a shower, make some tea, and read a little before my eyes won’t stay open anymore wondering why every day can’t be this exquisite.

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