Kitchen Window

I usually take Dave to work in the morning. Well, that's overstating things. I usually ride in the passenger seat of Dave's car on the way to the Loop while Dave listens to NPR and I wake up with coffee that Dave programmed to brew at o'dark thirty and lovingly poured into a to-go cup for me. He often makes the cup for me, puts it in my hand, and gently guides my arm to get the cup up close to my mouth so that I am able to drink the coffee. With a little coffee and a trip to the bathroom I am usually able to get at least one eye open after I've been standing for five minutes or so. I'm not exactly a morning person.

Riding in the passenger seat affords me time to wake up. Once we get to Dave's office, I climb over to the driver seat, pull the lever to raise it six inches, pull the other lever to bring it forward six inches, adjust the rear view mirrors and both side mirrors, and turn the heat back up to mammal-appropriate levels.

Riding in the passenger seat also allows me time to explore the city in ways that I do not get to when I am driving and have to pay attention to assertive Chicago drivers, crazy Indiana drivers, freaked out we're-in-the-big-city tourist drivers, and bus and cab drivers who just don't care. It's amazing how much you can miss when you are driving and have to pay attention to the road.

My favorite part of the trip is Lake Shore Drive. We actually spend most of the trip on the Drive. It's a great way to get downtown from where we live -- especially since Dave's office is pretty close to the lake. Lake Shore Drive is a long and varied strip. I particularly like looking at the buildings closer to downtown. This could be because the buildings get a little bigger and are a mix of old and new -- this could also be due to the fact that I am not fully conscious until we get that far south.

The closer you get to downtown on the Drive (coming from the north), the closer the Drive gets to the lake and the buildings get to the Drive. This is particularly true when you get to the S-curve at the top of Michigan Avenue when it looks like you are going to drive into the Drake Hotel.

I like looking at the residential buildings as we approach this part of the city -- and all the way to our exit at Randolph. Some of the buildings are gorgeous old buildings dotted with window air conditioners. Others are atrocious "modern" buildings probably built in the 50s and 60s with color-faded facades and balconies in disrepair. Many buildings stretch high into the air. Others are smaller one- or two-family mansions broken up by the occasional foreign consulate. I am fascinated by the diversity of these buildings -- and their inhabitants. Living by the lake is not reserved for the wealthy and trendy alone.

Naturally, whether the building is old or new, the architects who built them and the people who rent/own them planned to take full advantage of the view of the lake. People who live just a few floors up must have spectacular living room window waterscapes. It's obvious that the morning sun shining across the lake might be a nuisance -- some windows have black tarp-looking shades or shades made of reflective or thermal looking material. Nicer apartments have custom-made shutters -- and are probably much deeper allowing the dwellers within to hide from the sun in back rooms.

I first saw Hitchcock's Rear Window when I was in eighth grade. The story was okay -- it didn't scare me too much and I knew from the get-go who had dunnit and what he had done. No, the interesting part of that movie was the concept of gazing into people's private lives and personal moments through their windows. I have always been fascinated by that concept.

It's pretty easy here in the city to look into each other's windows. Our living room windows that face the street prove us some access into the front windows of the two-families across the street. The inhabitants of one house in particular do not have shades or blinds and always illuminate themselves at night with harsh overhead lights. There's also a guy across the street who lives upstairs and likes to step out on his porch and play guitar in the dark.

Our living room porch door allows us to see into the condo across the alley. If we stood on our porch and she opened her kitchen or living room window, we could have an easy conversation.

But we don't even know these people. There is some sort of unspoken rule about ignoring what we see inside each other's homes. You never ever make eye contact with the other person. You mind your own business and discuss only among your own people the fact that across-the-alley has had at least four different men making coffee in her kitchen in the last six months.

But I digress.

I think about this Rear Window idea of having a portal into a complete stranger's life. These portals can be particularly fascinating when there are many of them stacked on top of each other. Lake Shore Drive has a lot of windows to grant you access. Not many people have their shades drawn -- perhaps since there is no neighbor to see into their home, only the lake.

Most buildings offer views into people's homes, but no people -- like some kind of life-sized Barbie Dream House with no dolls. In the morning I can see all kinds of decorating schemes and crimes -- some looking like the first apartment of a new city-dweller and others the refined, professionally planned condo of a wealthy retiree.

I'm always surprised that I don't see more people in the morning. I imagine that if I had a window facing the lake, or even a small balcony, I would be enjoying it with one eye open and coffee in a to-go cup.

Lately, my favorite window has been a kitchen window just before our exit. It's in a building that has been turned into condos and most likely had a previous life in business or light industry. It's in an area that is not very residential -- though several new and super expensive buildings are growing up nearby.

I notice this window every morning as we zip past it. It is a very large kitchen window in the middle of a patchwork of other very large kitchen windows. The ceilings are high and it looks like the interior has exposed brick walls. The cabinetry and appliances look new and fancy. The owners have one of those metal contraptions that hangs from the ceiling as a trapeze for expensive pots and pans free from the stains of use. What's most noticeable about this particular window is the large wooden table that sits against it and the man in a light-blue robe in the same chair every morning with a cup of something and a newspaper. Every morning. The same man in the same robe in the same chair with a cup and a paper. I catch him for just a fleeting moment every weekday morning at about 8:20 am.

I find myself anticipating his window -- will he be there this morning? Will he be sitting on the other side of the table? Maybe he'll be dressed or wearing a different robe. I like that I can count on him being there. I like that he takes advantage of his window on the lake every morning. I like that he confirms for me that people actually live inside those many windows I peek into each morning.

Missing Person Report

What happened to February? How did I miss it with an extra day this year?

To my regular readers, mea culpa. I cannot believe that I have not posted since January 27. I have been aware of my lack of posting, but had no idea that it had gotten this bad. I have started a few blogs on paper over the last couple of weeks, only to abandon them later. With each day it got easier to just not write.

I really have no excuse except to say that I haven't been myself lately.

Have you ever gotten up in the morning and wondered who the hell you were? Have you ever caught yourself in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday wondering why you were doing what you were doing and thinking that you were really supposed to be somewhere else?

I know it sounds juvenile -- and I should point out here that my family has had its share of mental/emotional unhealthiness -- but lately I have found myself missing. I have found myself lacking.

If I had to pick a cause (read, excuse) for this, I would have to say it is my employment situation. I never realized before how much what you do for a living can be self-defining. I have never been more afraid of the common question "what do you do?" I never knew how much I had tied my self-worth and identity to my employment status and situation. I have never felt more frustration than when trying to explain to someone what I wish I were doing.

I am selfish and self-centered enough to still wonder why it is that I can't find a job that would allow me to do the thing that I love most, that I worked so hard for, that people close to me suffered for. Blood, sweat, tears, thousands of miles, years of working, and tens of thousands of dollars went into those degrees -- and that doesn't even match the work, support, and patience of the people around me.

I was arrogant enough to think a few months ago that I could readjust my search and apply for ESL teaching jobs at community colleges and get a job that would get me back in the classroom, get my feet wet again, get a paycheck, get something on the CV (academic resume) again, and perhaps even inspire me and stabilize my schedule enough to allow me to write and get published and therefore be able to get that teaching/research position next year.

I prepared all the application materials and wonderful people who support me year after year wrote letters for me and printed and mailed stuff for me. I updated our voicemail message, I kept my email program open all day, I checked to make sure my suit still fits -- nothing. Not a phone call, not an email, not a form-letter rejection.

Who was I kidding?

I let all of this Sturm und Drang infect all aspects of my life. Nothing could make me happy, nothing could fulfill me, hours were spent feeling sorry for myself and not doing anything about it. I couldn't even find a little joy in writing short blogs about the tchotchke of life such as laundry, vacuums, and hot dogs.

I get, God, I get it. Can we move on now?

God should just send me an email telling me to tone down the pride and realize that not everything comes easily. Sending the message this way really sucks. How about a memo?

TO: Kate
FROM: God
RE: The New Path I Have Chosen For Your Life, And How To Get There

I’m thinking now that maybe my plan, my dream job, my schedule are not what is best for me. It's time to refocus and just do what I love to do -- whether someone hires me to do it or not. I have a massive dissertation that should be streamlined and revitalized into a manuscript for publication. I have tons of ideas for a textbook that friends and colleagues have asked me to do for a few years now. I have opportunities to work with individual learners offering chances for me to refresh my teaching skills and rewrite my materials -- perhaps a case study!

I should note here that most of these ideas are David's. He works all day and then comes home to deal with me. He never shows me anger or frustration -- only support and understanding when most other people would have tossed me out the window by now.

I have never liked the word surrender, but I've been hearing it in the back of my head lately. I remember some time back that some women had written a book and used the term surrender to refer to how women should operate in their marriages and families. It caused quite an uproar -- and this was before the "The Rules" fiasco. I remember hearing the authors try to defend their use of the word surrender. Even though I still thought the premise of the book was crap, I remembering thinking that they could have done a better job explaining their take on the word.

Surrender doesn't have to be giving up or submitting -- I'm thinking now that it can mean yielding or releasing.

That's what I'm doing here. Consider the white flag raised, God. It's time to meet and begin discussing plans for occupation and reconstruction.