nothing amiss here
Originally uploaded by levi mpls
Wonder why I'm not blogging? Too many nights hanging out I suppose. Living not writing. Although some nights... some nights I miss it. Those are the night I remember writing was how I used to live.
I'll be back. Until then keep an eye on the twitter. It's perfect for my ADD.
Wishing you bean bag wrestling, or the emotional equivalent...
Love love love,
K.
Thomas Street Community Garden in Humboldt Park
Originally uploaded by Metropolitan Planning Council
VOTE FOR ME:
http://www.placemakingchicago.com/places/vote-for-your-favorite-photo-2.asp
Scroll down and click the dot above Thomas Street Community Garden so we can win prizes for our space!
Spread the word and help my place be seen!
Love love love,
K.
I Hope They Find Buster :-(
Originally uploaded by JOE M500
I ran across this after my lovely long walk and errands during lunch today. This car was hit and the dog inside went out the window and now they can't find their pet pit bull Buster. I'm hoping all you Chicagoans can spread the word and keep a look out. Poor puppy. Poor young man wondering about his dog.
Tonight I will hug Penny just a little bit tighter as she jumps in her pen when I unlock the door, shoots out and scampers towards me with her legs bent close to the ground and her tail whipping at painful levels. She'll snort and have no idea how much I would be at a loss without her. Even as I'm noticing small short hairs covering the interior of the car, the couch and our bed. Even when she purposefully doesn't heed my calls to heel - I wouldn't trade her for the world. Ambassador Penny*, my little lovely lady.
Wishing you unconditional love from something warm and furry (if that suits you - fish are nice too)...
Love love love,
K.
*Penny graduated doggy training classes from The Barking Lot on Sunday. She has a wonderful diploma now. Upon saying our goodbyes to the staff, they thanked us for bringing such a wonderful dog to class to show people that Pit bulls aren't what they think they are. She was better behaved than 90% of the yellow labs in there and they called her "an Ambassador for the breed". Now it's official. She's an Ambassador indeed.
Recently I volunteered to write a quick summary of the garden I grow in for a movement called "Placemaking". With only 250 words, it was so hard to convey how happy I was to find this place. It really did add a piece of pie to my pan - as it were. Slowly I am stacking blocks of things I have always wanted in my life.
Often I wonder if it is because I have so much emptiness after leaving my brothers and others back in Minneapolis. But really, I think it is trying to bring some of the normalcy I had there to a new and bigger city. A city that doesn't open itself up easily to new citizens. Like most cities/towns/metros - it takes time to find the secret places that feel like they complete you.
This garden, however much I can't even find time to visit like I want, answers the call I had to have a space that was more than just a wooden back porch. Come visit me and I'll take you there. Call me and I'll get your hands dirty.
You can read my entry below:
Thomas Street Community Garden in Humboldt Park
With tens of thousands of people sharing space in one of the largest cities in the world – it seems impossible that anything so public could also feel personal. And yet a plot of land surrounded by rehabbed apartments offers rare commodities here in the City of Big Shoulders: tranquility & a sense of contribution.
At 2655 Thomas, there lies something more than just an urban respite. Transplants and native Chicagoans who yearn to see something grow, but have no space, can find their cravings fulfilled while fostering a place for all to enjoy. Through the years it has avoided development and instead the protected land has transformed from a scene of broken glass and garbage to a real honest to goodness getaway around the corner.
Carefully planted flowers and loved plants creep and grow under the shade of several trees lining this entire city plot. Walking in (the gate is always open) you pass through a rock and mortar circle that doubles as seating for those with weary feet. Herbs and vegetables grow in hand built raised beds on the sunny south end, cared for by those all too eager to show off various species of edibles scattered about in the soil should you catch them on a workday (usually mid morning on a weekend).
In this Humboldt Park place there really does bloom a sense of creation and care that is certifiably one of a kind in a city where one is a very lonely number.
TRANSIT:
The garden lies less than 2 blocks away from two major CTA bus lines: The 52 (running north/south on California, walk 1.25 blocks east down Thomas), and the 70 (running east/west on Division, walk south down Washtenaw 2 blocks and turn left). Residential Street Parking only. Strollers and bikes are welcome and their owners are asked to respect the surroundings when visiting.
(Photo Credit: Works Magazine)
(Workday in the garden. From left to right: Me, Fred, Robb, & ?)
My fave..
Originally uploaded by pinkzilla
I found this picture today because there's another one of her on this day titled Madonna Arms. Apparently that got two hits via google images search today.
Looking at this photo reminds me of how warm and sunny it was over two years ago. We grabbed coffee at the Mayday Cafe and walked down to Powderhorn Park to sit under a huge tree.
Since then we have both cut our hair, moved (she bought a house in Minneapolis), adopted dogs, and have only seen each other twice. It always feels like I never left when we sit down and catch up. Between her, Cate, and Sarah (and all the others out there I didn't mention) I don't know how I've made it so long on my own.
Thankfully, there are wonderful ladies in Chicago as well. Not to be forgotten by any means. My mind keeps looking ahead, to the time where I will have known them for equally as long. There will come a time I won't want to say goodbye to them either. In fact, come September, one will be moving away. This realization that time has sprinted across this last year is hitting home. Not only did I manage to foster a friendship with Emily, but now I sadden thinking of her leaving.
Now I know how my Minneapolis friends felt when I was called to move out of the city to live and breathe other sights and sounds. It stinks. My apologies to you - and to myself because I miss you. Yes you.
I only wish this country wasn't so big - that the length of land and highways between us were smaller. I wouldn't have to worry about who was going to help me eat the cherry pie I made (pictures tomorrow I promise). But at least I know who will be using our soon to be acquired craigslist sleeper couch and the guest room. I'll keep a light on for you, Minneapolis girls.
Wishing you unexpected nostalgia and long reunions...
Love love love,
K.
Pinkzilla~
Originally uploaded by bluebike
During Tour de Fat I had an opportunity to meet a Chicagoan I only knew via flickr: bluebike. It really was only a matter of time with all the bike culture events here in the city. What's wonderful about this "interwebs meets real life" occasion is she happened to snap a picture of Joel and I literally right before I introduced myself. I happen to love this shot.
This split second in time - where I knew who she was - but she thought I was about to scold her. I never could. She takes beautiful shots of this city. It makes me scold myself when thinking about getting a nice SLR camera now that I have my four essential bikes practically built up:
Winter: Miyata (thanks to Pete)
Fixed Gear: Windsor (thanks to mplsminx)
Heavy Pretty Hauler: Carabela (thanks to badger)
Fast Roadie: Battaglin (the only one never before owned by one of my friends!)
Until I find time to fit that in with the three or four languages, yoga, college credits, financial investing, obsessions that come up - I'll live vicariously through her lens. She captures it leaps and bounds better than I have the attention to.
Wishing you meetings that take you away from the computer screen...
Love love love,
K.
Baby Boom of Endangered Species
Originally uploaded by Smithsonian's National Zoo
After a wonderful bike-packed weekend where I entirely forgot to tweet (OMG what will happen NOW!) or take my camera out of its case during the Tour de Fat Saturday and doggy daycare, farmer's market, bike building of Sunday, I am happy to feel settled once again. And entirely in love with all the postings from the Smithsonian National Zoo.
It's a good day when an endangered species get a cute little diversification of its gene pool.
Wishing you a Monday appreciated after a weekend well spent...
Love love love,
K.
Ah yes. July. Hot hot ... er ... cold, camp July. I would swear it was May or even April if I wasn't obsessively watching the Tour de France (like last year, and the year before, and the year before: http://justacitygirl.blogspot.com/2006/07/le-tour.html). It seems so long ago that I started discussing it with Sarah and rooting for people later banned for doping.
Today one of those who I rooted for on Bastille day 2004 won a stage again. I swear it's like watching a kid grow up and mature and become a better person. I have such a soft spot in my heart for Voekler. I think it was his tiny biker butt, out of the saddle, trying to hold onto his yellow jersey in the mountain stages and just not being a good enough climber.
Fingers crossed he's made his peace with the burn and can rip up those passes now that 5 years have passed.
Wishing you nerdy sporting hopes and prayers...
Love love love,
K.
Clouded Leopard Cubs are 12 weeks old!
Originally uploaded by Smithsonian's National Zoo
Seriously. If you have a Flickr, you should be adding the Smithsonian Zoo as a contact. Best part of the day today so far.
And for the record, today a fully grown up 29 year old, annoyed, heavy legged, wet Kim rode to work. My youth must have slept in. Or it's at home playing with Penny.
It seems fitting that I'm listening to the Beach Boys "I want to go home" right now. Sleep. Sleep would be good.
Wishing you a lovely day even if you're tired. It seems we all are...
Love love love,
K.
It's amazing what just a few or 17 degrees will do to a commute. Life has been so full of lovely timess with friends, the Mulder Family, drives and days with 3.5 year olds who refuse to say thank you and repeat all you say instead (until they really want it and miraculously remember what the "magic word" is), and hours upon hours of dog trainings/walking/feedings, that those 30 minutes early in the morning and right after work have fallen to the wayside of my memory bank. Several weeks ago all I could remember was how cold and wet the mornings were:
On one hand because I am rushing to or fro, I focus less on the annoyances of helmetless, mp3 wearing "squirrels" sharing the bike lanes or the cars that don't want me there and instead press on towards my destination with no time to lose.
Except for a precious few lovely days when Joel has met me and we bike together, joking under the sunshine - that rare rare sunshine as of late.
Or yesterday.
Yesterday the heavens opened up, as the term so aptly states. The city grew loud with cars and sirens and the palpable fear of pedestrians running for cover while sheets of rain came at them from all directions. There must have been something in that energy and in the air surrounding those drops because I lost about 20 years in 20 seconds. Suddenly I reverted to the stormy summer days in Missoula and being yelled at by motorists for playing in intersection puddles (they were the size of lakes I tell you!) In all of those moments, where I saw not one other cyclist once I left downtown, I shared the road nicely with the cars and made my way with renewed memory of why I love biking instead of mass transit or driving.
Out of my mouth came songs about rain, songs by Mariah Carey, songs substituting Penny instead of "Honey" (awwww sugar sugar. You know the one right?) Meanwhile I laughingly sprinted through puddles; covered my shoes and knee high socks with grit and sand. I reminded mother earth (out loud) that she owed me a tailwind from my morning torture down Milwaukee Avenue and finally got in in the last push homeward.
If every day could be that joyful and make me happy to be the crazy lady who talks about the joy of feeling like a kid again - I would never again have a problem with this city and it's snail pace at progressiveness.
For now - I've got my fix. Let's hope it sticks around for a while.
Wishing you all the best whatever your forecast calls for...
Love love love,
K.
Originally uploaded by pinkzilla
I just exhaled a heavy heart-ed sigh thinking about my failure to take a picture for the last week. With all good intentions I will continue the rest of the spring season to capture a new city during my favorite part of the year. I love watching the rain clouds hover over the Chicago skyline and obscure the tallest buildings around only to see a sunshine filled daffodil the next day.
I love even thinking "oh there's another bulb coming up, I've seen those all over". How remarkable it is to look at these living green plants awaking from the soil. So what if the soil is toxic? That's why I have a new community garden to go work in - complete with wonderful new people to meet and a world full of potential meals to make from the spoils. Had you asked me in February if I could possibly imagine having not only a garden, but the fixtures of our apartment repaired and a green light to get a dog in the works, I would have hugged you still doubted. It was quite bleak, my outlook for continued settling into this Midwestern metropolis. So many major aches were unfulfilled. Life was too busy to try and relocate. Worse yet it seemed still no garden would be possible. No roof. No sun. No tomatoes. No dirty fingers from soil (rather than the usual bike grease).
Today the sun is coming out in time to usher in several days of warm spring weather. I find it a fitting metaphor for the peace I'm feeling. A year ago I would tear up thinking about how much I wanted a settled life. My taste buds could image it. My eyes could see it when the lids closed. And yet it seemed so far. That hardship is why I moved in the first place. To once again appreciate the life I can build. This year has sped past me thanks to all those steps I had in my mind to take. And I can't imagine doing it without Joel. Or the new people I have met.
All this waxing nostalgic and appreciative must have come from the gift card I received for Administrative Professionals day. Or possibly it's the giant tree they put on Michigan Avenue - adorned with flaming green ribbons in honor of earth day and the Arboretum. Either way, I can feel it. Ease. Happiness. That old sneaky contentment I looked for around all the corners of debt and jobs and apartments.
Now if only the blossoms would bloom. All cities look better dressed in blossoms. Also, I need to fix the wheels for the new bike. But I swear, after that, I'll relax just a bit. (Once we have a dog, of course.)
Wishing you not only Happy Earth Day, but happy on the earth day. I hope next year's honoring of our air/trees/natural resources we deplete too fast finds you feeling half as good as I am right now.
Love love love,
K.
Yesterday I found myself blinking sometime in the afternoon and opening my eyes to a world filled with annoyances and let downs. I wondered to several of my friends if perhaps it was too much caffeine - maybe a disillusionment of some sort started it out. For the first few moments I gave in - and it consumed me. Despite feeling against the idea, I made myself bike home from work. Typically this revives me - makes me happy to be active and outdoors and not on the train.
Unfortunately my slow and happy summer route (found out of sheer need to avoid the arterial bike lane street that squishes bikers between parking meter spots and one lane of traffic) lead me into a confrontation with a woman who had a large book open and was driving with her interior lights on. I made her roll down her window, consciously maintained my composure and niceties, and wanted to make sure she wasn't driving and reading. She told me I wasn't supposed to be riding in the "industrial corridor" and wrongly assumed I had no lights. Once corrected - she told me my Planet Bike lights should be replaced with "bigger ones".
Things only got worse after I stopped at a local bike shop to pick up a nicer headlight - and was honked at and run out of my lane by a car with a "support cyclists - share the road" bumper sticker. I think the old white car was purchased by some young kid who failed to get rid of the bright yellow signage on the bumper. Joel had the unfortunate displeasure of dealing with me when I stormed home declaring how much I hated Chicago and biking here. My words made no sense but sounded angry and resentful of this city's pace and flow and traffic and selfishness. It took until way after my fingers were bleached and pruney from a very hot shower to calm me down.
But today is a new day. And it is sunny out. And life is short. I read this today (courtesy of the New York Times).
“He loved the street more than anything.”
It helped that he had a voice like a radio announcer’s. “His voice really carried,” Mr. Hughes said. “Joe would say to me, ‘You have to not be afraid to talk to yourself out loud.’ He said that once he started talking out loud, somebody would stop, and once he had one, he’d have a crowd, and once he had a crowd, he’d sell peelers.”
Again I find myself with no clean laundry that doesn't stink all because I was (in order from Friday to current) :
I have a sinking suspicion I won't be blogging from the laundromat this evening.Working off of just the slightest fraction of the smallest bar on my airport card in this laptop I thought I would take as much time as I can until the Internet goes away to describe to you the scene I find myself in almost weekly - my neighborhood Laundromat.
Normally Joel acts as the work mule and carts our pounds and pounds of bike tights, work shirts, wool socks and favorite t-shirts in the rapidly decaying wooden box from Ikea that was once our laundry cart. Since our visit to San Francisco we've resolved to find a metal cart with four wheels and a softer handle. Proving once again that the best way to find out what you really need is to nit pick the thing you obtained thinking it would work. And since finding out there was in fact NO laundry on-site as the rental agent told Joel almost a year ago, this particular cart has been very good to us. But weekly trips over potholes and listening to us curse the illegal activity of drivers never stopping for crosswalks here in Chicago - has caused the little blonde grained planks too lose their ability to go on much further.
I'm looking straight at it - pool of melted snow and anti-freezing chemicals drying on the brick colored tiles that line the entire room. To my left are two vending machines: one terrifically retro with "COLD Drinks" sandwiching mod stripes of blue, purple and pink; the other a plastic ad for Pepsi with a NASCAR guy - Jeff Gordon I just remembered - offering up your "Choice of Victory Lane". Neither one has worked since our second visit here. We shared an orange Crush. It was lovely. I don't think they have been stocked since.
For how laundry mats go - this one has more charm than any other I've frequented. From Montana ones as a kid, through Minneapolis all around Lyndale Avenue and Grand - nothing has such touching attempts at making it look like an extension of one's home. The front window is large and clear with close to 10 large species of tropical plants acting as a living curtain between the washers and the 4 laned California Avenue (a thoroughfare in Chicago running North/South). For sitting spaces, the proprietors have offered benches that look like what one would buy when overhauling their massive garden to a more European theme.
You hear the hum of the machines - feel the floor vibrating during the spin cycles, and hope the next high pitched beep you hear will be yours - calling out to put your clothes in the dryer. Promising you are 1/3 of the way done! Like me. Right now. Excuse me.
Now as the thick tempered glass is steaming up and I watch the two loads of lights and darks try to dry as soon as they can, I can think of one thing that is quintessential "'mat" stereotype. The Argentinean owner and his wife play the same radio station every day here: smooth 70s and 80s and jazz. 95.5 W...something something. Sometimes we get lucky and the songs are the very select few you actually enjoy from that genre. The rest of the time I think of my little brother Jacob who can play the saxophone and who asked for Kenny G CDs on Christmas a few years back. I wasn't thrilled with the assignment. But, I do count my blessings that there is no TV mounted on the wall. Several security cameras (of questionable states of working order) yes, television shows showing only the worst of selections to America: no. You don't even know how happy I am to hear melodious solos of wind instruments rather than watch another Judge themed show, or a repeat of that show with the brothers and the kid - the one that still - STILL is on the air and popular!
Most of the time people disobey the posted signs and leave the premises between loads. And by "people" I include Joel and I. Guilty. We pop next door to our favorite affordable and amazing wine shop and pick out a bottle to have that evening. Usually reds. Tonight I'm having white. But only because I already purchased Joel his six pack of beer from Michigan that he requested. If the man gets beer. I get white. It's an even trade. Sort of like folding our own individual clothes even though we wash them together. Or me using the cold cycle when he's not around because I am determined that it is gentler on the clothes.
It's here towards the front I sit looking at the expanse of this facility - a full restaurant size - while watching a young mother and her daughter helping put the clothes into and out of the dryers along one of the walls. I feel calm here in this quiet. Much calmer than I can say for riding home last night and almost getting flattened sideways by a Suburban. But that's another post of course.
Wishing you quiet calms and soda machines stocked wherever you are...
Love love love,
K.
