Overheard conversations

When I got on the green line late Wednesday afternoon for the commute home, I found a comfortable spot to stand, holding onto a railing at the end of a row of four seats. As soon as the train moved, the woman sitting in the seat next to where I was standing started shaking her finger at a very nicely dressed older teenager close to the door and said, very loudly, “God knows you have to take care of yourself first!”

  

Now that got not only my attention, but also that of everyone who had gotten on at Ashland. We had obviously joined an ongoing conversation. I glanced around and saw that the commuters at our end of the car were all doing the ‘I-don’t-want-to-get-involved-in-what’s-going-on-around-me-but-isn’t-it-fascinating?’ behavior. We were all looking either straight ahead or down at electronic devices. One man put his sunglasses back on. I lost track of the book I was listening to because the story I had entered was much more interesting.

The young man, who was wearing several pieces of religious jewelry, began to respond to her self-centered tenet with, “Well, now, ma’am,” at which point she interrupted him with, “What do you mean by calling me ‘ma’am? I’m not your mother!”

“I’m just trying to show respect, ma’am,” he said, underscoring that he had, in fact, taken his training to heart. “And I was going to say that I think God wants us to think of our neighbors...” But by then we were at California and as the doors opened the conversation stopped. People exited and some entered the dialogue which resumed with a new declaration from her of, “God is your pimp!”

OK, that one was a conversation stopper. The teen took a step back and somehow, in a train car that was already fairly quiet, things got quieter. I held my breath. “Well, not in the sense you’re thinking about,” she said, but we were now at Kedzie and the doors opened. Several riders escaped and several joined us, ignorant of the stage they were now on.

The doors closed, the train pulled away from the platform, and “God is your pimp” was shouted again. “Yes,” she continued, “He’s out there promoting you, helping you to take care of yourself!”

A woman one seat away from the philosopher, protested, saying “I don’t like hearing God being called a pimp,” but our preacher retained her focus on the young man and asked if he went to church. When he responded in the affirmative, she wanted to know which one. With his answer he turned the question back on her and was quite surprised at her answer, for she named a large popular tabernacle. Again, the young man took a step back. “Really?” he said, “I know several people who are members, and I think they would not agree with what you have said.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she cried, “I know what I know to be true,” she pronounced as the doors opened at Conservatory. The woman who had protested got up to leave and as she passed the young man, she patted his shoulder.

Our ride resumed with an ‘I-know- what-I’m-talking-about-and-you-need-to-pay-attention-to-me’ monologue until the young man departed with a, “now you have a nice day, ma’am” at Cicero. She got off at Pulaski and there was an audible sigh of relief.

Now, many people might say it’s because of such a scenario they avoid the el. Sure, it was tense, but it wasn’t scary. Well, the theology being spewed was certainly bizarre, but nothing was threatening. And it was much more intriguing than the one-sided cellphone conversations one hears while walking down the street or waiting in line at Jewel.  It’s all part of being in a community, diverse in all ways, and, sometimes, going in the same direction.

Marilyn

The Sounds of Silence

Do you remember double features? At the drive-in? That was how I saw The Graduate and A Man and a Woman, so it was a night for music that helped define a generation. “People talking without speaking, people hearing without listening” was evident in student protests and marches.  “When hearts are passing in the night, in the lonely night” spoke to the complications of relationships. “The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls and tenement halls” screamed the inequities that needed attention then and still today remains within the sounds of silence.
 

There were years when the clock radio launched my day with music or news and the click of the remote turned off the TV indicating it was time to go to sleep. In between there was a cacophony. I’ve had relationships where silences were not comfortable so conversations had to continue as long as the relationship did. I’ve learned that some of the most important intimacy we can know comes from silence with those we love, how our connection echoes within the sounds of silence.

Over time I’ve intentionally incorporated more silence into my days. When I was writing my book I used a timer to mark segments of my day. I wrote for 45 minutes, in silence, and then enjoyed 15 minutes of noise and distraction before going back to the 45 minutes of thought and fingers at the keyboard. These days I’m as likely to I put ‘quiet’ on my to-do list as ‘library’ and even may even forget to turn on the music. I live across from the train tracks and the el and freight trains are 24/7. I was surprised at how quickly I adjusted to those sounds. Now hours go by and I haven’t heard them at all but what I have heard are the birds, the wind, the rain.  When I do notice a train, I’m reminded that it is just another part of creation and civilization and glad that they do disturb the sounds of silence.

How do you touch the sounds of silence?

Marilyn

She had to go...

…and I had to let her.” I found this quote from Gail Caldwell’s memoir on the loss of her dog poignant and sweet, and I knew that I would soon be in a similar situation. Millie, my feline companion of 17 years, had to go last Wednesday. And I had to let her. According to the vet’s chart she would have been 19 yesterday, which in people years is nearly 92. She’d had a good, long life.

With my first cat, Spiffy, I learned about feline leukemia during his short life of 5 years. His successor, Kimberly Katt, was diabetic for the last 10 of her 18 years, and required daily insulin. She was quite healthy and active until she had a seizure. Miss Millie had thyroid issues and it was senility and gastric problems that finally brought her down. When it comes to health, the animal world is not so different from our own.

While Spiff was a stalker, hunting for prey in the form of spiders and imaginary enemies, and Kimberly would thunder through the house as we played fetch, Millie was an engineer. Her favorite recreational activity was watching a string pulled under or through something. She could calculate where it would end up, and that’s where she would pounce. Her accuracy was un-catty. When it comes to skills, the animal world is not so different from our own.

All three of my cats have been affectionate and communicative. Spiff was ok as long as some part of him was touching some part of me, Kimberly would spoon next to me at night, but Millie was the most cuddly and verbal. In the morning she was anxious to tell me about her nighttime dreams and when I got home from work she had to inform me about the happenings of the day. Her meow is on my home voice message. When Millie was in need of special attention she would sit with her back paws on my lap and her head under my chin. Last Wednesday, as she told me it was her last day, we had our normal morning routine as she curled up with me on the couch while I meditated. Even in loving, the animal world is not so different from our own.

I picked Spiffy from a litter delivered by a colleagues’ well-loved pet and got him when he was newly weaned. I found Kimberly at a shelter when she was 6 months old, and was introduced to Millie by the staff at the Cat Practice who had taken her in as a young teen mom.  They thought she and I might make a good team. When it comes to creating a family, how we include an animal is not so different from how we add humans.

One blog last October gave tribute to things I have learned from Millie. It began by sharing that even when she miscalculated her jump, she would get right back up and try again. It ended with the fact that she would let me know when she wanted attention, that it is ok to ask to be noticed and acknowledged. I will end this blog with the fact that in our last months together she taught me to keep on living even as you prepare to die, and that we need to pay attention to know when it is time to let go. Even in death, the animal world is not so different from our own.

So, to all of our furry, 4-legged, winged, gilled, scaly, and other animal companions who had to go, thank you for the joy, laughter, love, and trust that you taught and shared. Now go play nice with one another, and Millie, catch Spiffy and Kimberly up on all the news from down here.

Marilyn