Down the aisle

Perhaps you have a memory of being lost as a child. Mine includes an image of the shelf of canned green beans in an aisle in Loblaw's, our local grocery store, and a clear recollection of the momentary panic of being alone unexpectedly. But, after that initial fear, there was a sense of adventure and freedom, probably because it was a familiar place. My time of freedom was short-lived. I don't know if the situation arose because I was bored and wandered off or if my mother left me behind, but the result was the same. At four years old I'd experienced my first independence in the outside world.

We walk down many aisles in our lifetime. Joyful ceremonies, like graduations or weddings include pomp and circumstance. Entertainment and sports events may be in a larger venue but there is a celebratory atmosphere. Solemn gatherings, such as funerals or corporate meetings when things aren't going so well, have many of the same elements but the tone is totally different. These events include some choreography and lots of traditions and bring friend, family and stranger together in a common experience.

When we are the "star" of the show, such as the bride or the pupil called to the front of the class, all eyes are on us, but most of the time, we walk down the aisle unnoticed. We take stock of our surroundings, hoping the person next to us may merely nod. In my experience, long gone are the days of interesting conversations with the stranger next to us on the bus or plane. I have season tickets to the Chicago Sinfonietta and it took several concerts before I introduced myself to the woman who was routinely next to me. We have both since changed our seats, but we still nod or chat about the music out in the rotunda during intermission. Now I sit next to a shy tween who I've learned plays the cello.

This topic came to mind during my recent vacation. My flight to Columbus was nearly full and I was lucky enough to be among the first 50 boarding the plane. You know the scenario. We queued up and then waited in the long walkway into the aircraft. We greeted the attendant stationed at the door, at the beginning of the aisle down the center of the plane. The person in front of me stopped at his selected seat and began to broadly slip off his backpack, forcing me to step back or get hit in the face, starting a slight chain reaction. After settling in my aisle seat I avoided eye contact with those still boarding, hoping no one would sit next to me. Once in the air, the aisle dances began as people got up to move around and drink service started. As soon as the plane docked at the gate, everyone was out of their seat, scrambling for their place in the aisle, but again, only to stand and wait.

From my first independence to this last journey, I've learned that aisles can be orderly or messy, quiet or boisterous, straight or crooked, bordered with flowers or stark and dangerous, smooth or slippery to walk on. I've learned to maneuver alone, with a companion or in a group. I've wandered looking for a spot and been escorted by flashlight. I know which aisles I usually avoid or frequent at stores. This weekend I enjoyed the carefully designed aisles at Garfield Park Conservatory, and by the time you read this, celebrities will have walked the red carpet to the Oscars, that aisle of recognition. 

An aisle is simply a path between or along something that allows us to get from one place to another. Think of how many you walk down on a daily basis and take a minute to appreciate its familiarity or newness, its design or efficiency. Then think about perhaps finding a new one to explore.

Marilyn

Trips

There have been a few times when I realized I was on a trip of a lifetime, a one-time great adventure. But last week, when some friends left for their annual Caribbean cruise, and another was on vacation in New Zealand, I tripped on the sidewalk. From that I can at least report that a skinned knee and bruised hand are slightly less messy under layers of winter clothing. Some people trip over their own feet, as do puppies who have yet to grow into theirs. And, speaking of feet, I envy those agile folks who can trip the light fantastic out on the dance floor.

Those of us of a certain age remember, perhaps from first hand experience, a psychedelic trip or the use of the phrase, "What a trip!" Pay attention to news conferences and you may hear a question designed to trip someone up or a trip of the tongue in response to something asked. Life transitions, such as going away to college, represent life altering trips. Often these musings are a trip down memory lane.

On Saturday, my latest adventure began when the taxi driver texted to say he was here. I looked out and saw he was parked at the wrong address down the street. I called to tell him to turn around and come 3 houses down. He then couldn't get the car started. A kind neighbor drove me to the airport where, being the threat that I am, I was patted down and swiped for explosive residue. But the flight left on time, arrived early and my suitcase came off the conveyor belt.

Artists sometimes have a clear vision of the piece they are creating, but often allow the process to determine where and how the color, the words, the motions lead based on their starting point. This musing started with the juxtaposition of two kinds of trips and led down a path of common uses of that word, be it noun or verb. I was lucky enough this month, when I got antsy to be somewhere else, to have schedules mesh to be able to make a quick trip to visit family. 

As lovely as that is, I think one challenge we all face today is to find meaningful ways of being on this journey of life, of being an engaged traveler, a lifelong learner with companions that make us laugh and make us think. There are too many distractions, too many side trips available that are not helpful. I suggest that we all make a concerted effort this week to recognize one thing that we know trips us up in terms of how we use our time and resources and say, 'been there, done that' and focus on something else. Before too long, something may happen to cut this part of our trip short, and we need to make sure we've made the most of where we are and what we are doing now.

Marilyn

Nothing new under the sun

While the phrase "nothing new under the sun" comes from the book of Ecclesiastes in the Bible, I am currently reading the Psalms. The contents of both of those books can be viewed as poetry, prayer, journals or song lyrics. King David is credited with penning many of the Psalms around 1000 BCE, and his son, Solomon, with Ecclesiastes. After glancing through the headlines one day last week, I settled down for some quiet time and the words of Psalm 140 jumped off the page at me. I saw that another writer had scribed a musing I wanted to share with you. The text below is from a newer translation of the Bible called The Message, by Eugene H. Peterson.

God, get me out of here, away from this evil,

protect me from these vicious people.

All they do is think up new ways to be bad,

they spend their days plotting war games.

They practice the sharp rhetoric of hate and hurt,

speak venomous words that maim and kill.

God, keep me out of the clutch of these wicked ones,

protect me from these vicious people,

Stuffed with self-importance, they plot ways to trip me up,

determined to bring me down.

These crooks invent traps to catch me

and do their best to incriminate me.

I prayed, "God, you're my God!

Listen, God! Mercy!

God, my Lord, Strong Savior,

protect me when the fighting breaks out!

Don't let the wicked have their way, God,

don't give them an inch!"

These troublemakers all around me - 

let them drown in their own verbal poison.

Let God pile hellfire on them,

let him bury them alive in crevasses!

These loudmouths - 

don't let them be taken seriously,

These savages - 

let the Devil hunt them down!

I know that you, God, are on the side of victims,

that you care for the rights of the poor,

And I know that the righteous personally thank you,

that good people are secure in your presence.

It doesn't matter whether you are agnostic or a strong believer in a Higher Power, a searcher or preacher, whether you see these words as divinely inspired or simply a cry from the heart. What does matter, at least to me, is that through the ages, other civilizations, other cultures, other peoples have experienced what our newspapaers and sound bytes scream at us today. They survived. So will we.

Marilyn

Come Saturday Morning

On Saturday mornings my dad would go 10 miles across town to pick up his mother and Jennie, her cousin, so they could spend the rest of the weekend at our house. For two years, when I was four and five, most weeks I accompanied him on those trips. We often stopped at a hardware store on the way because he needed something for one of his chores related to the house or the yard.

Walking into this fascinating foreign space was exciting. The places I went with my mother during the week - the grocery, bakery, beauty or dress shoppes - were female territories. Even the butcher, with the sawdust on the floor, was welcoming to women. But, the minute my dad and I entered the hardware store, I was in a new masculine world. The ceilings seemed taller and the stacked shelves went to the top. The aisles were narrow. The smells were different, rather musty, but not an unpleasant old odor. I would follow in his wake down those mysterious rows, feeling safe. Little girls were greeted at the long wooden counter with a warm, "Now, who do we have here?" 

I look back and realize that I remember those mornings so fondly because I had very little one-on-one time with my father. Such was not the language or parenting style of the time. But in the car, with me kneeling on the front seat leaning forward with my hands on the dashboard so I could see out the windshield, we would talk. Not of anything important, just keeping company. Getting to and seeing grandma was the icing on the cake of my adventurous morning.

All too soon Jennie and grandma died and I discovered Saturday morning cartoons, but I never lost a fascination with hardware stores. Big box chains like Lowe's have not eliminated all of the old fashioned style places. There is one in Forest Park that has a hammer for a front door handle and, just like the small ACE in Berwyn, these places blend the old with the more modern necessities. Besides plumbing and electrical sections, my favorite Menards in Hodgkins has plants, clothing and groceries. Oh, and someone playing the piano to entertain shoppers. At the Home Depot in Cicero you can get a hot dog or churro on your way in or out.

As I headed into the city last Saturday morning to visit a friend, I was thinking of simpler times, of mornings past, and remembered those trips to grandma's house. I continued on my way with a smile on my face. Perhaps, in these difficult uncertain times, you too need to search for something warm and calming.

Marilyn