A long blog for the long slog
It's been a lifetime since I last blogged. We're finally in Chicago and we have been moving at lightspeed since I wrote my last entry. I don't know what day it is, and I can hardly remember what has happened this past week. I'm completely disoriented.
Our send off couldn't have been more poignant, heart-wrenching, or bittersweet. A big crowd came out to the synagogue to say their goodbyes. I couldn't believe how many friends, real, wonderful, beautiful friends, we had made in the past seven years. And they were all there to say goodbye. I was so warmed by the outpouring of love and kindness I felt; like I would be missed every bit us much as I'd be missing everyone. I made it through the kiddush luncheon without the floodgates opening, but during the evening services the dam burst, and I couldn't hold the surge back. It was so final, so darned sad. I was Chava/Eve being exiled from the Garden of Eden. I've left so many temporary homes - a year in Israel, college, grad school, grad school again, but this was different. Sholom Place became my home in the deepest sense of the word. It became my small ancestral village, and my sanguinal and adopted family. I was never more content than in my shtetl. It was so hard to leave.
The plan was simple. After Shabbat we would finish packing up and head out at 8 the next morning. By 3 am it was clear that this was fanciful, so we collapsed into bed and put the rest off until the next morning. I woke up in time to let the housekeeper in to work her magic, and we kept at packing, wrapping, boxing, and hauling. We finally finished by 11:30 am, and We strapped in the kids, locked up the U-Haul, and with the help of a friend, started the voyage north.
Twenty minutes out of town I got a call from my Mom: you left you purse at the house, we're on our way! A truly auspicious beginning! We drove and drove until we hit Ardmore, Oklahoma, where we stopped for the night. We were up bright and early, and ready to go by 7:30 am, only to discover the U-Haul had a flat. Was someone trying to tell us something?
A couple of hours later, we were back on the road, and we drove and we drove and we drove, until we arrived in Springfield, Illinois. We stopped there for the night. We woke up bright and early, and were ready to leave, when...nothing exciting happened! Whew! So we, drove and we drove and we finally arrived at our destination!
Chicago: the windy city, the second city, the city of the big shoulders.
We took the scenic route into the city. We headed down I-55 all the way to Lake Shore Drive for the most dramatic effect. The kids were in shock. My son gaped out the window saying, "oh my word!" over and over again. I'm not sure where he picked up that expression, but Chicago did herself proud that day.
We arrived at our apartment. It was nicer than I remembered it, and a hell of a lot hotter. This was the hottest day of the year. The air was thicker and soupier than San Antonio, but of course, there was no air conditioning. We unloaded the stuff from the minivan and went to lunch at a kosher pizza joint.
Nirvana!
I dropped off my husband and our friend back at the sauna, and I dropped the kids off at their aunt's home where my mother-in-law was waiting, and I did what any good wife would do in this situation - I went shopping - for air conditioning units.
Three hours later, I brought the kids, the A/C's and myself back to what can only be described as the most horrific scene I could imagine. The apartment was hot like a Turkish bath in August. There were boxes strewn chaotically about. It was 8:30 pm, and I had three tired, shell-shocked kids to get to bed - but where was I going to put them?
My son lucked out. He got the back room in the corner with two walls of windows. We cleared out some space there, opened all the windows. We put a box fan in one window, turned it on full blast, threw the mattresses on the floor, put up the portable crib, and put the kids to bed.
I then turned my attention (and fury) into putting the rest of the apartment into some semblance of order. All I could think was: I left my little corner of Jerusalem for this!? We got one of the A/C units jerry-rigged into our bedroom, the mattresses laid out, and we called it a night.
The next day, we emptied out more boxes, cleared out more space, tripped over each other, snapped at each other, and finally decided to go out and buy furniture, so we loaded up the kids in the minivan, my husband drove the U-Haul, and we went to Ikea. 5 hours, three hungry and grumpy kids, and several thousand dollars later, we had purchased enough furniture to fill up our apartment, but of course, nothing was to go smoothly on this trip. We discovered that my husband had left the U-Haul key back at the apartment, 30 miles away.
And it was an hour from the beginning of Tisha B'Av, a fast day commemorating the destruction of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. How appropos.
I piled the kids back into the minivan, and we sped off for the apartment to get the key, and of course ran straight into Chicago rush hour traffic.
Would the comedy of errors never cease?
In the end, My husband found a gas station with a bolt cutter, and got the U-Haul opened and the furniture loaded. He dined on a candy bar to start off his fast, and we collapses in our nice, cool, airconditioned apartment. Aaah, the kindly landlord is a saint!
My husband and I unloaded the U-Haul, as the hot weather broke into a spectacular rainstorm, and we finished by 10 pm, ready to collapse in bed again. In the morning we readied ourselves to tackle to sofa bed still snoozing in the U-Haul. Of course, after struggling to load the beast onto the dolly, and guide its wobbly mass down the ramp, we discovered that it was the wrong couch! I kid you not.
We loaded the @#!$%& wrong couch back onto the U-Haul, and my husband took it back to Ikea, where they reluctantly agreed to deliver the right couch the following week.
I don't know what day any of this stuff happened. All I know is that Shabbat suddenly snuck up on us. The beauty of living in a big city like Chicago is - kosher take-out! We had a feast! Rotisserie chicken, couscous salad, ratatouille, sushi, and three different kinds of Challah. My husband, the three kids, my mother-in-law, and I sat down for a nice meal, and a much needed breather.
On Saturday, we walked the six or seven blocks to synagogue, and I got lost in the crowd. I never felt more homesick, or missed my friends more than sitting in this big, unfamiliar synagogue surrounded by strangers. My husband introduced me to the rabbi after services. He was lovely, and pulled random people in to meet me. Everyone seemed so nice, but my head was in a whirl. After a comforting lunch of my homecooked cholent and a nice nap, we took the kids to a playground filled with orthodox men in black suits and hats pushing little kids on swings and talking. My husband put the baby on a swing, and started chatting with another dad.
On the other side of the playground was a large Mexican family setting up for a birthday fiesta, cooking fajitas on the grill, and hanging a giant Dora pinata. Aah, the sounds, smells, and sites of home. My daughter the Dora look-alike immediately made friends with a 5-year old Mexican girl, and I found another newcomer mom to commiserate with. After an hour, I was invited to a woman's house for a woman's Seudat Shlishit (the third Shabbat meal), and I was introduced around to lots of new faces.
It was a wonderful welcome to a new community. Friendly women, yummy food, and warmth and kindness. But it made me more homesick than ever. I walked my kids home, put them to bed, and waited for my husband to come back from synagogue. We put together some more furniture, and continued to chip away at the chaos to create a home.
Today we've assembled more furniture and we've gradually put things into order. It will be a long process, but we're definitely making progress. I manage to keep myself busy enough that I don't dwell on my sense of loss, but during the quiet moments, it comes back to me. I miss my friends and my family, and this city life scares the bejeezus out of me. So many people around - Indians, Russians, Mexicans, Orthodox Jews. In an earlier life the energy and diversity of this life would have thrilled me, but I'm a different person today. I cling to my kids in fear and pray that everything will be okay.
Our send off couldn't have been more poignant, heart-wrenching, or bittersweet. A big crowd came out to the synagogue to say their goodbyes. I couldn't believe how many friends, real, wonderful, beautiful friends, we had made in the past seven years. And they were all there to say goodbye. I was so warmed by the outpouring of love and kindness I felt; like I would be missed every bit us much as I'd be missing everyone. I made it through the kiddush luncheon without the floodgates opening, but during the evening services the dam burst, and I couldn't hold the surge back. It was so final, so darned sad. I was Chava/Eve being exiled from the Garden of Eden. I've left so many temporary homes - a year in Israel, college, grad school, grad school again, but this was different. Sholom Place became my home in the deepest sense of the word. It became my small ancestral village, and my sanguinal and adopted family. I was never more content than in my shtetl. It was so hard to leave.
The plan was simple. After Shabbat we would finish packing up and head out at 8 the next morning. By 3 am it was clear that this was fanciful, so we collapsed into bed and put the rest off until the next morning. I woke up in time to let the housekeeper in to work her magic, and we kept at packing, wrapping, boxing, and hauling. We finally finished by 11:30 am, and We strapped in the kids, locked up the U-Haul, and with the help of a friend, started the voyage north.
Twenty minutes out of town I got a call from my Mom: you left you purse at the house, we're on our way! A truly auspicious beginning! We drove and drove until we hit Ardmore, Oklahoma, where we stopped for the night. We were up bright and early, and ready to go by 7:30 am, only to discover the U-Haul had a flat. Was someone trying to tell us something?
A couple of hours later, we were back on the road, and we drove and we drove and we drove, until we arrived in Springfield, Illinois. We stopped there for the night. We woke up bright and early, and were ready to leave, when...nothing exciting happened! Whew! So we, drove and we drove and we finally arrived at our destination!
Chicago: the windy city, the second city, the city of the big shoulders.
We took the scenic route into the city. We headed down I-55 all the way to Lake Shore Drive for the most dramatic effect. The kids were in shock. My son gaped out the window saying, "oh my word!" over and over again. I'm not sure where he picked up that expression, but Chicago did herself proud that day.
We arrived at our apartment. It was nicer than I remembered it, and a hell of a lot hotter. This was the hottest day of the year. The air was thicker and soupier than San Antonio, but of course, there was no air conditioning. We unloaded the stuff from the minivan and went to lunch at a kosher pizza joint.
Nirvana!
I dropped off my husband and our friend back at the sauna, and I dropped the kids off at their aunt's home where my mother-in-law was waiting, and I did what any good wife would do in this situation - I went shopping - for air conditioning units.
Three hours later, I brought the kids, the A/C's and myself back to what can only be described as the most horrific scene I could imagine. The apartment was hot like a Turkish bath in August. There were boxes strewn chaotically about. It was 8:30 pm, and I had three tired, shell-shocked kids to get to bed - but where was I going to put them?
My son lucked out. He got the back room in the corner with two walls of windows. We cleared out some space there, opened all the windows. We put a box fan in one window, turned it on full blast, threw the mattresses on the floor, put up the portable crib, and put the kids to bed.
I then turned my attention (and fury) into putting the rest of the apartment into some semblance of order. All I could think was: I left my little corner of Jerusalem for this!? We got one of the A/C units jerry-rigged into our bedroom, the mattresses laid out, and we called it a night.
The next day, we emptied out more boxes, cleared out more space, tripped over each other, snapped at each other, and finally decided to go out and buy furniture, so we loaded up the kids in the minivan, my husband drove the U-Haul, and we went to Ikea. 5 hours, three hungry and grumpy kids, and several thousand dollars later, we had purchased enough furniture to fill up our apartment, but of course, nothing was to go smoothly on this trip. We discovered that my husband had left the U-Haul key back at the apartment, 30 miles away.
And it was an hour from the beginning of Tisha B'Av, a fast day commemorating the destruction of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. How appropos.
I piled the kids back into the minivan, and we sped off for the apartment to get the key, and of course ran straight into Chicago rush hour traffic.
Would the comedy of errors never cease?
In the end, My husband found a gas station with a bolt cutter, and got the U-Haul opened and the furniture loaded. He dined on a candy bar to start off his fast, and we collapses in our nice, cool, airconditioned apartment. Aaah, the kindly landlord is a saint!
My husband and I unloaded the U-Haul, as the hot weather broke into a spectacular rainstorm, and we finished by 10 pm, ready to collapse in bed again. In the morning we readied ourselves to tackle to sofa bed still snoozing in the U-Haul. Of course, after struggling to load the beast onto the dolly, and guide its wobbly mass down the ramp, we discovered that it was the wrong couch! I kid you not.
We loaded the @#!$%& wrong couch back onto the U-Haul, and my husband took it back to Ikea, where they reluctantly agreed to deliver the right couch the following week.
I don't know what day any of this stuff happened. All I know is that Shabbat suddenly snuck up on us. The beauty of living in a big city like Chicago is - kosher take-out! We had a feast! Rotisserie chicken, couscous salad, ratatouille, sushi, and three different kinds of Challah. My husband, the three kids, my mother-in-law, and I sat down for a nice meal, and a much needed breather.
On Saturday, we walked the six or seven blocks to synagogue, and I got lost in the crowd. I never felt more homesick, or missed my friends more than sitting in this big, unfamiliar synagogue surrounded by strangers. My husband introduced me to the rabbi after services. He was lovely, and pulled random people in to meet me. Everyone seemed so nice, but my head was in a whirl. After a comforting lunch of my homecooked cholent and a nice nap, we took the kids to a playground filled with orthodox men in black suits and hats pushing little kids on swings and talking. My husband put the baby on a swing, and started chatting with another dad.
On the other side of the playground was a large Mexican family setting up for a birthday fiesta, cooking fajitas on the grill, and hanging a giant Dora pinata. Aah, the sounds, smells, and sites of home. My daughter the Dora look-alike immediately made friends with a 5-year old Mexican girl, and I found another newcomer mom to commiserate with. After an hour, I was invited to a woman's house for a woman's Seudat Shlishit (the third Shabbat meal), and I was introduced around to lots of new faces.
It was a wonderful welcome to a new community. Friendly women, yummy food, and warmth and kindness. But it made me more homesick than ever. I walked my kids home, put them to bed, and waited for my husband to come back from synagogue. We put together some more furniture, and continued to chip away at the chaos to create a home.
Today we've assembled more furniture and we've gradually put things into order. It will be a long process, but we're definitely making progress. I manage to keep myself busy enough that I don't dwell on my sense of loss, but during the quiet moments, it comes back to me. I miss my friends and my family, and this city life scares the bejeezus out of me. So many people around - Indians, Russians, Mexicans, Orthodox Jews. In an earlier life the energy and diversity of this life would have thrilled me, but I'm a different person today. I cling to my kids in fear and pray that everything will be okay.
posted by law school widow at 2:13 PM
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