ChgoRed, Girl Editor

Sisterpalooza

This is how life works sometimes: One day, just on a hunch, you send an email. 10 weeks later, you are standing in the church you've always meant to visit. Someone opens a manila folder to reveal a photo of your great-grandfather and your heart takes a step back. You've never seen this one before. He's so young that he looks barely like himself. So young, his first wife is in the photo. But still, the face is there. It has been waiting all this time.

His was not the only waiting face. Last week was Sisterpalooza.

They came in from both coasts, and met in my town. And it went...really well. People keep asking me how it was, and I think they're envisioning a reunion like you see on Montel, with lots of over-the-top emotionality and freak-out sobbing. I hate to disappoint everyone, but it wasn't like that. This was more like friends getting together for the weekend.

Mostly, there was talking. A lot of talking. We spent a lot of time winnowing out the differences and the sames between us. There are some of each--her life, with two children and a family business, is very different from either of ours. Yet our approaches to things, likes and dislikes, seemed quite similar at times. I do think there was a lot of surreptitious glancing on everyone’s part—That looks like me…that doesn’t…I think those are mom’s hands… But that’s pretty natural. And it was...nice. And very friendly.

Besides, the big scenes will come next spring, when NewSister will probably go down to meet her/our mother. That will be pretty emotional.  For now, it was nice just to get to know each other and see some of the sights. Hancock Building, Andersonville, Greektown, etc. There were other sights, too—family photos and heirlooms, a review of the family tree. And the church.

3x Thursday Meme: Moving Season Begins!

First, the meme, followed by some Chicago history.

1. How many times have you moved in the past 5 years? Why/why haven't you?
Three: 2002, 2004 and 2005.  2002: My roommate (i.e., dad) was moving away, and the rent was too much for me to handle alone.  2004: I met this boy... 2005: Said boy pointed out that our heating costs and rent were ridiculous and that we could do much better.  I fussed at the time, but he was right.

2. Are you one of those people who thinks moving is therapeutic? (You know, a time to get rid of things you don't need, etc.) Why/why not?
Therapeutic?  Well, if you are really feeling the need to have a big, cleansing fight with your significant other, there's nothing like a move to bring out long-simmering issues.  My husband can tell you all about the morning he woke up to the sound of boxes being taped--riiiiiiiiiiiiiip--at 7 AM.

As for the getting-rid-of-stuff part, perhaps I can show you our storage space.  Just let me work the door open...

3. Do you prefer to move yourself, or do you hire someone to do it for you? Why/why not?
I hire movers.  1) I don't own a car or a driver's license.  2) I'm over 30.  My friends no longer think it's cool to help me move (if they ever did), and asking them to haul our couch up 3 flights of stairs would only be met with laughter.  Bite the bullet; hire professionals.  Yes, it's expensive.  But they have big trucks and dollies, and most of your stuff won't get broken. 

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And now for an odd little bit of history.  In the 1800s and early 1900s, many Chicagoans would move on May 1.  And people would not only move households—some would move entire houses (as in, the building itself).  There were companies that specialized in house-moving.  This worked best for balloon-frame houses, and because the homes had no utilities (i.e., pipes) tying them to the ground.

"The Chicago tradition of moving on the first of May or October can be traced to English and Dutch rural festivals. In parts of England, May 1 was known as "Pack Rag Day," the day on which servants would gather their belongings in a bundle and change their employers at hiring fairs. Michaelmas Day (September 29) or Old Michaelmas Day (October 10) was also a time when farmhands would change employment.

The tradition was also practiced in the Netherlands, where servants would change their employers at the fair at the beginning of May or November. Dutch immigrants brought this tradition to New York as May 1 became a traditional moving day in that city.

Mentions of May 1 as moving day in Chicago can be found as early as the 1840s. In the late nineteenth century as many as one-third of all Chicago households moved annually. It was a very unpopular event, with families facing greedy landlords, exorbitant rates charged by movers (known as expressmen), and the risk of breakage and loss of furniture and belongings. In 1865 moving day was postponed until May 3, as President Lincoln's funeral cortege was passing through the city on the first day of that month.

In 1911, owing to the widespread unpopularity of a fixed moving day, the Chicago and Cook County real-estate boards allowed leases to be made at any time of the year. Despite these efforts, the first of May and October remain popular moving days in Chicago." 

Source: The Encyclopedia of Chicago.

Tourist Season Approaches

So.  I have this friend Teri, right?  From college?  And she'll be here in about 10 days.  She's coming for a bunch of work seminars, plus some extra hang-around time with me and the Rev.  Hooray!

I plan to schlep her around Chicago, but my snow-addled brain is all out of practice on the taking-tourists-around-town thing.  Also, she's been here before.  So all the traditional spots (Hancock, Chinatown, Mag. Mile) are out or have been done.  I need some help.

Chicagoans, I appeal to you:  List five favorite very Chicago but not overdone spots, where you would take someone who is quite a bit like me.

Thanks!

Bus Stop Stories

1) This being winter, I usually take the bus to work in the morning.  My stop is in front of a mini strip mall (African restaurant, gas station, cleaners, Laundromat) and next to a used car lot whose continued existence is some sort of miracle.  There used to be a big green clothing collection bin in the parking lot, right by the stop.  It was notable for being owned by a Dutch organization that may or may not be a cult, and for being the dumping place for many clothing and non-clothing items.  It was removed this summer, and I did not miss the piles of dirty baby clothes, plastic cookie cutters, and other assorteds scattered across the pavement and sidewalk.

I came out to the stop yesterday morning and discovered the loneliest Crock Pot you ever saw. As in, someone had just left it sitting on the sidewalk.  No lid; just a Crock Pot…on the ground.  The best I can figure, its ex-owners planned to drop it off in the bin, only to discover, no bin no more.  It was vaguely unsettling, like finding a wig on your desk.

This morning, it was gone.

2)  Standing at the bus stop in the morning can be a bit bleak.  It’s cold, it’s dark, the cars keep going by.  And then, out of nowhere you hear, “Praise Jesus!”

It’s less welcoming than you would think.  Because you were alone out in the cold; now it’s you and a very exuberant stranger, together in the cold.

When I dared peek over my shoulder after “Merciful Jesus!”  I saw a woman standing in front of the Laundromat, hands outstretched in, uh, laundriful praise.  If you’ve lived in a city for any length of time, you know this is Stop Looking and Pretend You Didn’t See Them moment.  Because if you look too long, they might see you, and 10 minutes later you and Captain Kookoo are having a “conversation”--the kind where they do all the talking while you attempt to generate an invisibility cloak.

I looked back a minute later and she was gone.  Maybe into the Laundromat, but I couldn’t tell.  Maybe Jesus took her.

3) When I finally did get on the bus, it was the return of Crazy Hat Lady!  Yay!

No, it’s not her real name.  I just call her that in my head, on account of her Crazy Hat. Big, black, broad-brimmed, like a witch’s hat almost.  What makes it crazy is the six inch spray of fake silk autumn leaves and roses she stuck on one side.  Today, she had a completely different Crazy Hat: A black velvet newsboy cap, with a rhinestone brooch and a brown silk rose pinned to the front. More subdued, yet still kooky, if not crazy.  Now I’m wondering just how many hats she owns.

Family Dinner

In honor of Father’s Day, I’d like to share one of my Dad’s favorite "Chicago Stories." The things that happen in the big city…

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. All our love.

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This takes place some years ago, when my Dad and I were still sharing an apartment in downtown Chicago. His wish for Father’s Day that year was to be taken for a meal at Gene & Georgetti’s, a rather esteemed old-time chop house in Chicago. Because he’s a practical sort, Dad was happy to settle for lunch rather than dinner to spare my pocketbook.

More Questions than Answers

The death certificate came back yesterday. And, well…

Hmmm.

Did Somebody Say Cemetery?

Wow!  Am so pleased to see all the cemetery buffs who also happen to be my friends.  I had no idea.  In response…

—If I have a favorite, it’s Mount Carmel.  The stones are great.  Many Italian members means many stones in the Italian tradition—photographs, elaborate carvings, etc.  Example—I’ve seen this one and the detail is fabulous.  Plus, it’s aces for history buffs.  Many of Chicago’s gangsters are buried there.  They might have been all Italian-versus-Irish and Northside-versus-Southside while alive, but in death they’re all Catholics.  There aren’t many cemeteries where you can point and say, “This guy killed that guy.  And that one over there, he killed that one…”  In a charming irony, Mount Carmelis also the final resting place of Chicago’s archbishops.

—I have been curious about Waldheim for a while, mainly because Emma Goldman is buried there.  There is apparently a large section of Communists and Socialists buried near the Haymarket Memorial.  Some people jokingly refer to this section as “the Communist plot.”  Roseland sounds interesting, too.

—Also on my list to investigate: Wunders (across the street from Graceland), and the rundown Jewish Graceland cemetery right next to it. I would also like to get to Woodlawn someday and see the Showmen's Rest section.

—If she’s still teaching it, I highly, highly recommend Helen Sclair’s class on the history of Chicago cemeteries.  The classes are held at the Newberry Library, and Mrs. Sclair is a wealth of information.  She’s also a wonderful storyteller.

Once the weather gets nice, I think a cemetery walk is definitely in order.  Let me know if you’d be interested.

ChgoRed and the Mystery of the Old Gravestone

In which I hang out in cemeteries; investigate an old tragedy; and surprise the heck out of my family. Darned curiosity.

If you grow up in a family of history buffs and amateur genealogists like I did, your childhood will feature more than a few trips to cemeteries. Not necessarily to see your own ancestors, mind, but just to see what you can find. Because cemeteries = fun. (Unless you’re my sister, in which case cemetery = three hours of wishing you were back in the car already. Or unless you’re my fiancé, in which case cemeteries = lots of dead people. Can we go already?)

Dibs

December 1: A day of tradition in Chicago, an annual event important enough that it was the lead story on my morning newscast.

It's the start of Winter Parking Season! 

If you live here and own a car, you just sighed ruefully.  If you don't live here, you're wondering how this could be so important. Because 1) You never, ever want to get towed in Chicago; and 2) Dibs.

Perhaps I should explain.

Something a Little Lighter

How totally awesome is our landlord? His family has owned the building since the 1970s; he landscaped the entire backyard himself; I see him around the property nearly every week, making repairs, taking care of the yard and checking on stuff; his tenants stay for years and years; and he actually responds when we tell him something needs fixing.

And if I needed any more proof, there's this batch of stories. My favorite is the cop/landlord who stopped arresting a prostitute so he could remind a tenant to pay his rent. It nearly beats the weirdest Chicago landlord story I ever heard, about two guys who were nearly forced to move out of their new apartment because the landlord declared, "You have to leave. You have too many books. We did not know you were that kind of people." And they didn't have all that many; just too many by the standards of the landlord. Fortunately for them, he let them stay.

The Boyfriend will smile to see ICM Realty mentioned several times. When we were apartment hunting this spring, one immediate and obvious "not this one, thanks," was an apartment with a dinner plate-size hole in the ceiling. According to the tenant (moving out that night), it was due to water damage from the radiator in the apartment above. He had called the landlord four times about fixing it, with no success. As we were leaving, the apartment hunter who was showing us the place mentioned, "Yeah, well, it's ICM. They have a bad reputation." Clearly.