Skip to main content

Leaving

So, I am almost gone from Chicago. For the upteenth time I'll be departing this city and I honestly still don't know how I feel.
Being here was like being back, but I know that I am in another place and another time in my life, I know that I am slowly easing forward toward something bigger than even this. I know that if I do come back in a year: time, or whenever, nothing will be as it was as everything will be different. We're all moving toward something, and those somethings aren't always in the same direction. There will be no re-capturing the past or re-making old times. There will only be creating the future, one day at a time.
So, the answer isn't in the city, but within me. Where I want to be, what I want to be doing, who I want to be with--those things can't be decided in one weekend. But, they can be thought on, and I can start to wonder--I have to start to wonder, because there is a lot I want to do and my life is always moving forward, every day a day down until the last. It's time to get thinking. And deciding. And doing.
And, making sure I am ready for when things change, because they always change.

Things I will miss about Chicago:
Public transit.
The restaurants.
GrubHub.
Downtown.
My friends.
The Red Eye.
The weather.
Walking--everywhere!

Things I won't miss:
The never-ending construction on the L.
People feeling the need to chat me up on the street.
The random sewer smells and air conditioned parking garages (they smell weird, y'all).
That one Old Navy.

It was really nice to be back. To get to see Chetara and behave like we used to, go to her house and order desert from GrubHub. To get the opportunity to catch up with Nicolette after so many years. To have a wonderful lunch courtesy of the wonderful Michelle. To sit in the parks and to grab tea at Argo or a sandwich from Potbelly. To enjoy a breakfast at Ann Sather again--I LOVE that place. 100% recommended. To get to feel like I was here again, doing this again, and doing well--even if I never did so well to begin with, at least I felt like I was BACK.
And now I have to go back, back to Oklahoma and live there, in moderate comfort, until I make the decision and move. Move where? It's probably going to be up in the air for a little while, but I'll figure it out. And when I do, I'll make a new home, yet again.
:)

Don't Know When I'll be Back Again.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I-5

On a chilly Sunday evening in mid-January, two young women rolled up to the TransAmerica Title Building on the outskirts of Salem, Oregon, just off Interstate 5, to clean the office. It was their usual Sunday job, though today they had gotten a bit of a late start, having to shower and stop for gas, so they didn't arrive to the business complex until after nine p.m. The office had wide, welcoming windows on every wall and, with the bright florescent lights flipped on, the effect was to create a fishbowl-like scene, the women bustling around in their duties like two busy, little fish. They'd left the door unlocked and entertained themselves by chatting to each other, the two of them best friends. They were Shari Hull, twenty-years-old and the daughter of the owner of the housekeeping company with which they were both employed, and Beth Wilmot, also twenty and a fairly recent transplant to Salem from Spokane, Washington. She'd come for work, and along with steady pay, she

By the Barrel of a Silver Gun (I-5 Part Two)

In early February of 1981, authorities from Salem flew down the Interstate 5 corridor and assembled with detectives and law officials from northern California and southern Oregon. Each detective had a crime, or two, in their jurisdiction matching a particular modus operandi , and the list of incidents just kept growing. When they gathered, they had no idea the scope of the mystery they were unraveling or just far it was going to reach. It started with a robbery. On December 9, 1980, in Vancouver, Washington, a gas station was held up at gun point, the female attendant left alone in the store. A man entered wearing a brown coat and a fake beard. He demanded cash and brandished a small, silver gun to prove he was serious. The cashier obliged.  A few days later, in Eugene, Oregon, on December thirteenth, a Baskin-Robbins was robbed by a man holding a silver gun and wearing a fake beard and a band aid across his nose.  In Albany, Oregon, a drive-in was hit on December fou

Wah Mee Massacre

On a chilly February night, five days after the start of the Chinese New Year, 1983, three young men walked into one of the most renowned, high-stakes gambling dens in the heart of Seattle's Chinatown International District and walked away with thousands of dollars of cash in their pockets and fourteen lives hanging in the balance in their wake.  The club was the Wah Mee, a sixty-year-old casino and bar that catered exclusively to Chinese clientele and hosted the highest-stakes illegal gambling in the Pacific Northwest. The men were 22-year-old Kwan Fai "Willie" Mak, 20-year-old Benjamin Ng, and 25-year-old Wai Chiu "Tony" Ng.  Willie Mak was born in Kwangtung Province in mainland China and immigrated to the US with his family in 1975 when he was fifteen. By 22, Willie was a high school drop out, working various jobs in and around Seattle, and had a penchant for gambling. He was well-known in the International District gambling clubs, including the Wah Me