October 23, 2005
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Our Way Back Home
© The Author, 2005The night was cold in that blustery, damp, endless Chicago way. Waiting for the crosswalk to turn at the corner of Michigan and Chicago avenues, I was flagged by my husband on my right and my grandparents on my left. We were on our way to the subway to go home from an evening spent at the Museum of Contemporary Art.
Grandma stood prettily—her cheeks perked like little rose buds, her eyes sparkly in the city lights. Grandpa seemed like a bird, chest puffed and eyes inquisitive.
My grandparents have a sleek and dignified British carriage, but the starched and proper ridged-ness is replaced by a happy lightness, a soft tread. Beside them Shaun-san and I looked bulky, clumsy, young and American; a tattered library book spilled and sagged from Shaun’s coat pocket, my giant shoulder bag looked as if it were about to rupture, so full was it was magazines, novels, a sketchbook, a messy journal and leaky pens.
The shocking shiver of autumn bit into and tranquilized my giddiness from our romp at the opening party of the newest exhibition to grace my museum, Tropicalia: A Revolution in Brazilian Culture. Grandpa surveyed the surrounding buildings, the pristine brilliance of the Magnificent Mile.
“When you leave this place, you’re really gonna miss it.”
“I know. Especially if we move to Iowa.”
He chuckles, “That’s right.”
My eyes lingered over the city gallery at the Historic Water Tower.I remembered the first time I had traveled to Chicago as a high school senior on a field trip with my school choir. My mom chaperoned the trip and while the other girls were ecstatic over the prospect of a three story Gap store, my mom and I couldn’t wait to check out “that little castle place” that was the city gallery. I don’t remember what show was there, but I remember loving that it was a free little castle with art in it. I was thankful that my mom was as excited as I was to venture into this little castle, this sparking gem; it felt good to have her get me. We were the same in our different-ness and nothing has ever been as soothing to me, nothing makes me feel safer.
The rhythm of the city was punctuated by a street drummer pounding on a bucket to the south of us and a saxophone player droned “When the Saints Go Marching Through”—the only song he knows—to the west.
“The cost of living in Iowa should be lower at least,” I offered.
I looked at the taxi’s streaming past, their “vacant” lights welcoming and pretty.
“…But we’ll probably need a car there. I guess that will add up.”I looked at Shaun for confirmation and made a mental note to stop looking at him for that because it makes me look weak and un-confident and unsure and pathetically female. I looked away.
“…But it will be worth it if that is where we choose to go. The writers program at the University of Iowa is amazing. Shaun says that Vonnegut taught there. Can you imagine?”
The weekend prior, when Shaun and I took the Amtrak to meet my grandparents in Michigan, where they were visiting my mom and brothers on the first stop of their midwestern vacation, I learned that my grandpa hates reading books.
“They always remind me too much of school and school spoiled books,” he told me as we shucked the shells from a pile of warm shrimp for the Peruvian dish my grandma was preparing.
I never knew that my grandpa hated reading.
In my grandparents house there is a tall bookcase in the guest bedroom brimming with musty hard cover books that I have always loved thumbing through. Its weird how easy it is to assume that someone loves something as much as you do.
The light at the crosswalk changed and we moved quickly across the street, the crisp wind fresh off the lake licking at our heels.
“Besides,” I tried to justify, “in a college town there is always something interesting going on. It’s like a little bubble of a universe.”
“Well yeah—you’ll have plenty going on,” my grandma chimed.
I wasn’t convincing anyone.
Over the course of three days my grandparents, my husband and I enjoyed one another’s company while stuffing ourselves at my favorite Thi food restaurant, reveling at a brilliant new exhibition of art and ephemera from Brazil, and delighting in an amazing production authored by one of my all time favorite Japanese fiction writers at the Steppenwolf. The global perspective and the cultural smorgasbord that Chicago pulsates with are not the driving forces of Iowa City, I’m sure.
Besides that, Iowacitygirl24 really doesn’t have the same ring to it.
It’s not like University of Iowa is the only place that Shaun is applying to pursue his master’s degree at. Emerson, Oxford, University of Glasgow, and University of British Columbia in Vancouver are all likely places for us to become indebted to next fall.
But I suggested Iowa.
So many times had the writers program at University of Iowa been endorsed to me, that I am convinced that it’s a great school, one deserving of Shaun’s talents.
And it won’t be forever.
This morning I woke up chilly with our fat cat purring noisily in my ear. I snuggled close to Shaun and I whispered warmly, “I can’t wait to move to Iowa with you.”
And it’s hard to tell if that’s a lie or not.
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With the whole globe to choose from, how did you find your home?
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Random Tangent
Everyone has at least one iconic image that he or she identifies with. This can be a character, a place, or a symbol—anything that represents your ego.My icons are the cowgirl, the tribal chief, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
Shaun’s is the Shaman.
What are yours?
Comments (10)
My iconic images are the Brahman, because my dad was raised Hindu, the snake from Genesis because I value knowledge and logicality, numbers & equations because I like physics, and Wallachia (even though it’s a place) because my mom is a Romanian.
You should put down why those are your images, it would give a lot of insight into who you are.
You’re a great writer.
-Hilary
I don’t think that “IowaArtGirl” would make as good a nickname. IMHO. I’d leave your name in Chicago.
Our family has camps on Lake Ontario and my summer weekends growing up involved working at the nearby Sterling Renaissance Festival, so Oswego wasn’t exactly new to me. But it was bigger and better than the village of Weedsport (pop.: approx. 2,000), so after I graduated and while my brother attended school here, it seemed as good a move as any. I had a scriptwriting job in North Syracuse at the time, but that assignment petered out when my boss couldn’t earn enough clients.So why did I stay? That’s the question. I spent the better part of six months unemployed and living on Ramen and mac&cheese. But since then I’ve had a series of good jobs in the city. They could sometimes be frustrating or not pay enough, but they were fulfilling on some level. I’d interviewed for or been pitched for (by headhunters) jobs elsewhere, but never found anything to make me leave.Now, I have a day job I enjoy, really like teaching a course at night, made many friends, have a decent network, bought a house. The place is now very special.
As an English major at the University of Nowhere, the writing program at Iowa was always touted to me as the glowing mecca of talent — only the most confident and accomplished in my class went on to apply there later. I’ve never personally checked out their program, but I understand why you suggested it. And perhaps you, too, could continue your writing seminars and clubs and groups there… in a microcosm of society brimming with those who share your passion. While it may lack some of the culture you’ve become accustomed to, it will fullfil you, I suspect, in other ways.
It takes a brave person to set aside preconceptions and embrace what is – really – the unknown.
Regarding how I ended up here….well, it was my gypsy nature I suppose. I started out in a small town in Virginia, made my way west to Texas for a few years (the college years), and continued my Manifest Destiny west within a week of graduation. Now I reside just miles from the western edge of the continent, but I still feel pulled westward (towards the Island life) occasionally. Family ties balanced with the need to be free from family ties has always been a strong deciding factor in my many moves. Now that I’m a little older and a little more settled with a career and a soulmate, I suspect there will be less moving and more nesting.
Love for my sister caused me to move here. Need for roots and sense of community has kept me here. My iconic symbols would be a mother hawk (circling, feeding, protecting) , and ani difranco on stage (powerful yet small, all words chosen have meaning). I think Iowa could be wonderful for you. Perhaps it is the hidden gem for you and Shaun. Although I don’t know you well I would hazard a guess and say that you will find the best in any place you land.
It sounds to me like you’re trying to convince yourself just as much as you are everyone else. But I guess no matter where the destination may be, the move will be adventure enough—setting up shop, finding work, meeting friends, locating the nearest wi-fi latte-wielding hotspot—and that excitement could actually be a whole lot of fun, even if Iowa City is no Chicago.
i had naively applied to uic back in 98, and thankfully for paperwork mishaps it didn’t happen. years later i gained an awareness for chicago’s progressive action in being a ‘green’ city and moved here with “the girl”. we both are attracted to the environmental aspect as well as the education opportunities. it’s also close to both of our families. she’d rather be on the east coast and i on the west coast, go figure.there is a kanji that defines “to be” after drawing it for months i realized it essentialy is built with letters from my name joe b. that and rabbits and water bearers for global astrology.you do so much traveling, even if your in iowa i don’t think you’ll “miss” chicago.
wanted to let you know that I’ve caught up on your blog. I left a comment on the story below this one, too, and I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t miss it.
Icon: Bastet, the Egyptian cat goddess. Of course. Favorite place in the world: Florence, ItalyThe University of Iowa is superb. I spent four years at Grinnell College, so I can tell you that living in Iowa is dull, although the people are nice and surprisingly open-minded. We used to go to Iowa City for fun, so imagine… But I did go to the University of Iowa summer programs two years in a row and it was good. I hear good and bad things about the MFA writing program there. 1) that it can be very vicious with people tearing up your stories. 2) a wonderfully nuturing place for writers. I don’t know what to believe, but I experienced both things at the summer sessions. I’m not big on the vicious critiques, however, especially when they come from someone less experienced than you are!Ah, but you will miss Chicago. Badly. I know I did. RYC: Oh, the agent thing is such a mess. I did just get a positive answer from someone who asked for a few chapters and promised to be swift. So, the movie thing is a good lure. Do you really know how to write a treament? I’d so dearly love to actually see one, so I know what I’m doing. Right now it’s a piece of shit. I don’t dare show it to anyone. If you have any tips on treatment writing, please send them my way. E-mail is fine.Lynn
In my story, I picture myself in two ways really. One, as S.D.G., the curious wanderer, full of questions and excitement for where this new world will take him next. What is life but a strange new world that we explore anew each day. Secondly, with the land of Arcaenia itself; vast, diverse in its landscapes and attractions, and widely undiscovered.
As far as how I found my home; much like S.D.G. I find myself wherever each day places me. Currently it is in Lansing, at school. Previously it was the middle of nowhere, hoping for someplace bigger and better. Who knows where it will be tomorrow. I have done some world-travel and plan to do more. But I am of the persuasion that where I call “home” is not ultimately of consequence. It’s what I do and who I am where I am now that matters. But I ramble…
I enjoyed your writing very much.