Day 2 of going through writing prompts is like the second day of going to the gym in a row. This is something I could easily do each day for the rest of my life. Sketches of Spain playing in the background and me knowing that it is only a matter of time before Pizza Hut and Miller Lite will be partaken of as well. I am all set for an afternoon of writing and research.
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I remember the tablecloth; beige with delicate white embroidery that framed the center. It was a special occasion whenever this came out: Christmas, birthdays and Thanksgiving. I remember the china and the green goblets that we filled with a mixture of cranberry juice and ginger ale, the rolls and the turkey that always came out a little dry. I remember the last family Thanksgiving when I was 9 and after that my brother's moved away and my Mom stopped cooking.
Since then I was on occasion invited over to friend's homes to have Thanksgiving with their families and while I was married we had meals catered. Usually in these instances I would mainly feel like an intrusion and could tell that my hosts felt like they were doing their good deed for the day.
All in all most of my Thanksgivings were spent alone and I grew to like it that way. Whether it would be my opening a bottle or two of wine over a takeout Thanksgiving dinner from Marie Calendars or Boston Market or me going to the bar to watch football, it was my tradition. There is a special comradery amoungst those who have no where to go on the holidays and the best way to experience that is with a stranger over a turkey log and talking smack about the Cowboys.
So I've never had a bad Thanksgiving dish because when I eat turkey log and gravy or my tongue salivates at the mild tang of canned cranberry sauce; I can still feel the soft beige tablecloth beneath my fingertips. No matter how bad or off the Thanksgiving meal is from the ones of my childhood it can still transport me back to a time where things felt safe.
The state capitol building in Madison, WI stands high above a mess of one way streets and a confused industrial neighborhood which has a smattering of hip coffee shops which sell t-shirts telling us to homogenize milk not Madison. The capitol building itself is located on the isthmus of Lake Monona and Lake Mendota. Isthmus, a geographical feature the people of Madtown boast on their alternative newspapers and variety of small businesses.
As a recent transplant to Wisconsin I was very interested in exploring the state capitol building. The only one I had been in previously was in Salt Lake City, Utah where I interviewed for and failed to get a receptionist position for then Gov. Huntsman. The capitol building in Madison did not disappoint. We were able to find street parking. The parking is metered and marked for time limit; either 2 hours or 25 minutes. It cost $3.00 for 2 hours. Any entrance you chose to take seemed to take you right into the rotunda and the 4th largest dome in the world hovers high above you. I was happy to see they offered free tours and that one so just happened to be starting in 15 minutes. The highlight for me would have to be the tour guide, Jim. A cross between my favorite high school history teacher and Mr. Rogers he fills your head with knowledge and takes you on the best adult field trip of your life. Looking at the other tour guides behind the desk after the tour I know that they would probably disappoint.
Free tours are offered daily with the exception of some holidays. I will be back for a visit in the summer months when the museum and observation deck are open.
I was in Barnes and Nobel today perusing books about baseball for research on a project I am developing when I came across a book called 642 Things to Write About. It's a journal that gives you writing prompts. As someone who is just starting to take her writing seriously I thought it would be fun to try and do one a day and post it here and see where these prompts take me.
1 of 642 - What Can Happen in a Second
There are 1 of 2 conditions that must be met when I write. I will drink and I will listen to Miles Davis. I need to do one or the other preferably both. At the moment it's Miles Davis Round About Midnight. It is painful to force yourself to write when you don't have anything that specifically inspired you.
...What can happen in a second? Inspiration, connection, disconnection....
Just one second to feel a connection to you.
You vibrate on the frequency of jazz musicians at 3 in the morning
that second our souls danced
now I try and untangle myself from that beautiful moment
Friday night, hanging out at a partner in a law firm's house in Chicago I realize how much "success" and I don't have in common. It's a mix of Asians and Jews on hardwood floor and forty dollar bottles of wine. I am given a scotch flight and argue with the 23 year old intern regarding gay marriage over the legalization of pot. I am easily dismissed since I lack finesse and an education. How could I possibly know anything? Needless to say I rub them the wrong way. This scene I would have dreamed to be a part of in my early twenties. The baby grand piano when you walk in and then modern styling of an old Chicago brownstone; hanging out with the accomplished. I now feel a complete disconnect and disdain their narrow views and judgement.
I cover up my shyness with being loud. This is a hard thing for people to recognize. The rare few that do have been schooled in the various aspects of my personality for years. My Chicago friends tell me of the person I was when they first met me; how confident I was then, how that girl wouldn't put up with the things I did for so long. My past performances were exceptional and that after 10 years they have no idea who I really am. I am petrified and right now feel more alone than ever.
Now, 2 months into my separation from my husband I long for someone to be able to see all of me. He did but didn't know how to reconcile any of it. There is no going back, but I appreciate the rarity of someone taking the time to see through my pomp and circumstance, seeing the vulnerable side and somewhat giving a shit. My strong personality is what makes relationships a struggle. I walk over those who are too easily molded and those who challenge me are too much like me and 2 self involved people don't usually make a successful relationship.
Later that weekend from a 37th floor balcony off Dearborn and Lake I am still astounded by the city's beauty. I still feel embraced by the buildings that reach towards the sky and soothed by the roar of the El. The city is one of the world's great works; a great symphony, a great sculpture and it still can make by heart sing. I realize my love affair with Chicago is over, it had been for quite some time but like a random encounter with a first love it can still stop you in your tracks. I appreciate this city that formed me into the person I am but for now it will have to embrace the big shoulders of another.
I am an expert runner. 5 middle schools, 4 high schools, 8 states and numerous locations within them; sometimes we get so used to change it is impossible for us to ever develop roots. When I turned 18 and I was in charge of my own relocation(s) I became an expert of removing myself from uncomfortable situations. It usually took a couple tanks of gas and a month to month lease. My constant bouncing from one place to another was encouraged by friends that found this behavior, "daring" and "adventurous" and "brave". I usually developed more of a relationship with the city/state I lived in than with the people in it.
My second stint in Salt Lake, I didn't want to leave but like most habits/addictions you do them anyway even if you want to quit, so I moved to Wisconsin. I grew in Wisconsin. I married a man I met in Wisconsin. I kept my first 12 month lease in Wisconsin. I am getting divorced in Wisconsin. I gave a lot of myself here, Wisconsin changed me.
The first time I ever stepped foot in Wisconsin, I was 17. I was visiting my brother in Chicago and he wanted to drive up to Milwaukee and take photographs. It was March and the mugginess of Chicago did not join us when I opened the door of the car and was hit by a blast of cold air. The streets were relatively empty and the gray sky made the buildings ominously beautiful. There is a loneliness to Milwaukee on a gray day and I felt a kinship with it immediately.
Before we headed back south we drove aimlessly until we found a place to take a pit stop. There was a grocery store on a hill. Almost like a monument. "They call their grocery stores Pick N Save??? That's awesome!!" Stupid things give me a thrill sometimes. They always have. I walked in and they were playing Brahms overhead and I found the Produce section especially well organized. I don't know why but it left an impression. As we drove away, I remember telling my brother that one day I would come back to Wisconsin and buy something from that grocery store, Pick N Save. Little did I know that in less than 10 years my life would take me back there and I would be living within walking distance from that exact store.
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"So what's the plan? Where are you off to next?" Is the question I have been asked the most after hearing about my divorce. I am encouraged to move to any of the numerous places that I've lived previously and still have contact with people there. I can hear the anticipation in some of their voices wanting to live vicariously from any rash decision I may make. I hadn't even considered leaving...seriously anyway. I even got this question from people in Wisconsin. I finally asked why everyone thinks I am wanting to leave. ..."BECAUSE YOU HATE WISCONSIN", was the resounding reply. This bothered me because I didn't think I hated Wisconsin. I didn't want to convey something I didn't even know I felt.
"You don't have to hate Wisconsin just because your life fell apart there." This hit me like a ton of bricks. I realized that I "hated" Wisconsin because I was mad and hurt about my divorce. I "hated" it because it always challenged me out of my comfort zone and made me face my fears and insecurities. I really "hated" it because I didn't necessarily want to leave. I felt betrayed by the place that clipped my wings and didn't give me anything back. I knew that if I was ever going to break my cycle of running I had to take a stand and at least commit to developing a home base. This caused my gypsy soul to scream and thrash in protest and I feel like half of me is disappointed. Wisconsin makes me feel raw. It represents all the wants that I haven't explored and that make me feel vulnerable. Wisconsin says to me, "I will take your sarcasm and your walls but I want every other part of you that you've ignored and pretend like it doesn't exist."
* * * *
"Oconomowoc"
"Menomonee Falls"
"Waukesha"
Laughter erupts from the back of the car as I try to phonetically pronounce the names of the cities we drive past. I am starting a new journey in another location in the United States. I ignore the taunting. I am too mesmerized by the water towers that boast the mysterious names and the new scenery that is full of possibility. The scenery reminded me of a never ending road trip with hundreds of places I wanted to stop just because; exploring and listening to stories of the people who lived in the homes with the manicured lawns.
We pull up to an apartment complex behind a Family Video. This is going to be my home. I saw the pictures online and as I walk up the stairs I realize how large my new home will be and I feel an incredible weight in my stomach. The spaciousness carried with it responsibility. I felt nauseousness that I would be discovered as a fraud, and I wouldn't be able to live up to the expectations that this perfect piece of Americana embodied.
My relationship with Wisconsin started cautiously, I bought travel books, books by the naturalists, guides to hiking and biking trails and set out. On my long commute into Milwaukee from West Bend I was mesmerized by the community storytelling 88.9 FM and knew I wanted to be a part of this community. I remembered the lonely buildings and streets from when I was 17 and wanted to fight for it. To be a part of the grit. I did and I loved it. My friend from out of state came to visit and as we were driving through downtown Milwaukee we turned to each other and said, "Now this is what a city looks like."
I would take walks along the beach in Port Washington and ride my bike up to Eden. I would hike and snowshoe through the Kettle Moraine. Bonfires and fish fry in Washington county, the observatory in Lake Geneva, driving past small farms with red barns; I looked at these with wonder and warmness.
I want that feeling back, but like ex-lovers that are trying to rekindle a romance there is distrust and fear and awkwardness. It's like restoring an antique; through the proper time, care, patience it can be as good as new. My relationships with the places I live can be just as tumultuous and/or pleasurable than the ones I have with the people in it. Anyway, Wisconsin...after all my bumbling verbosity, what I am trying to say is best said by John Cusack from the state that I had an awesome relationship with before you...Here it is...
It is a beautiful thing to be in silence. As I look out my friend's bay window into a setting that would make Robert Frost's heart skip a beat, I feel content to be a spectator of beauty. There is a warm glow coming from a neighbor's window and I gaze into the house which is obviously a home. Wisconsinites don't have fences in their backyards. They see their neighbors to know which walls to build around their hearts. A part of me wants to become a part of it and understood by it, but too often I find myself a few steps behind and moving to a different beat.
The feeling of not belonging is numbed by the instant gratification of social media. I have to share this experience with someone. I need this moment of grace validated. A few likes and a comment later I gaze back out the window and the sun has set. The moment is lost and I can't reconnect.
Later that evening a friend from Milwaukee comes to visit. We both periodically check our phones and check in on all the appropriate social media apps. He checks in the shitty beer he is drinking and let's me know that he has had over 100 different types of beer in the past year.
"How are you feeling?"
"Fine"
"You?"
"Alright."
We're both going through a divorce and decided to commiserate with each other over beers. Both of us look down at our phones again. Houston, I think we have a problem...I look up at the other people at the dimly lit bar immersed in conversation, 10 years ago this would have been a dream to come in here and talk to people, to know their stories and become a richer person for it. Now, I am more concerned about making an impression on the people that aren't even in the room.
I've decided to disconnect. I've been disconnected from the present anyway for far too long. The decision made,
I already feel the rawness. I feel lonely knowing that social validation is now a longer process that just two clicks and a few sentences away. I want to reach out and have beautiful moments and enjoy other's presence and really see them. Real connection is now going to be a learned behavior, one that I hope I can master.
