Blog entries for cheesebabe74

Active Citizenry

cheesebabe74 — Tue, 21 Oct 2008 14:09:52 GMT

I have been paying close attention to Milwaukee's Common Council and the legislation at stake each month through committee meetings and the regular Council sessions.

Recently, a local group called Common Ground has been attending Common Council meetings. They are, (according to an event post about them here in Onmilwaukee.com), a group of people working together to address critical social issues like health care, jobs, and crime. Its members come from all races, religions and political backgrounds, but we share a common mission: To replace despair with hope in our community

I can't imagine a better mission, the group's goals sound great.

The group is also very visual--they have matching t-shirts, posters and logos and make themselves present in Common Council meetings and events... they often crowd the hallways at City Hall prior to a meeting and sit as one in the chambers. This collective presence is outstanding and makes a strong point.

The problem is, the point wears off when, after the one piece of legislation they are attending for is heard, they all file out of the chambers as though nothing else on the city's legislative agenda is worthwhile. If they are working toward a better Milwaukee, shouldn't all Milwaukee issues garner their attention? One piece of jobs legislation or one piece of funding legislation isn't all it takes, but it seems that's all they support or care to be present for.

Last night, the group assembled for the public budget hearing. A large number of people attended, each taking a turn at the microphone to speak to the mayor and the Common Council about their budget concerns.

Common Ground members took turns at the microphone and those members in the audience stood each time one of their own offered their commentary to the elected officials. It was a great show of solidarity.

After all their members had had their turn, however, the group filed out of the chambers. Many other residents were still speaking--on libraries, school funding, job cuts, and a whole host of firefighters spoke on potential fire department cuts--but the impression Common Ground left was that these issues didn't matter.

They were only present for their own discussion, then once finished, other relevant, community issues went unheard by the group, and sadly, by many of us in the audience because in their large numbers, their premature departure from the council chambers was noisy and distracting and frankly rude to other community members.

I applaude the firefighters who came early to the public hearing and stayed until the last name was called. They heard every issue, from squirrel abatement to policing. The firefighters made it clear they knew Milwaukee wasn't just about their particular issue--but rather, all issues affecting all residents.

Common Ground may need to practice some common courtesy. And maybe some common sense. If they want to inspire hope, perhaps a more attentive position on city government is necessary because as it turns out, all legislation is related, all concerns are community concerns.

I hope Common Ground comes to realize their visual presence can have an impact, but only when it is present for an entire council meeting or engaged in all the politics of Milwaukee, not just select issues. They will soon be recognized not for their solidarity or their visual presence, but rather for their abrupt and rude departures.

Lowering Expectations

cheesebabe74 — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 16:44:43 GMT

I, like many others, tuned in to watch the debate between two national politicians as they rallied to demonstrate they were worthy of being voted second in command of the United States.

Though entertaining, there wasn't much to learn. It is thrilling to finally have a case for media hype, however, as the constant attention to this debate gave the kind of play to informative politics that rarely happens. Yet, one of the rare times even "Joe Six-Pack" is tuning into to a political discussion of issues affecting our country, there wasn't much discussion.

We are often fed our ideas or told what they key issues are and in busy, reduced-to-headlines lives, we often leave it at that.

I was expecting the debate to actually expose some of the intricacies of what these two candidates are dealing with, what the next four years may look like and to actually learn more details on the issues.

But instead, as is expected and coached, they merely touted their candidate and gave soundbites of information. If you missed "energy independence" you weren't listening.

I had higher expectations for political debate--I thought issues would be negotiated, discussed, unpacked. Rather, catch phrases were uttered over and over and post-debate analysis covered the lack of gaffes.

To hear one debater praised for an ability to "debate well" and by "debate well" they meant "was able to dodge tough questions" was sad. I don't want my candidates dodging tough questions as a means of keeping from being fodder for Jon Stewart.

It appears I have to lower my expectations of information delivery yet again and continute to rely on my own ability to research and learn.

In the Presence of Greatness

cheesebabe74 — Fri, 26 Sep 2008 15:46:17 GMT

I am relatively new to Milwaukee and am always thrilled each time a friend or co-worker initiates me into a long-standing area tradition or introduces me to someone "you must know!" to be a legitimate Milwaukeean.

Yesterday, I was granted the phenomenal opportunity to meet Will Allen, founder and director of Growing Power on the north side of town. The only functioning farm in Milwaukee, Growing Power is to Urban Agriculture what Brett Farve was to the Packers.

Inspiring, inventive, ingenious and instrumental as a force of change not only for Milwaukee but also for the world, Growing Power and Mr. Allen have just been awarded one of 25 national grants. Named a fellow by the John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation (that tag line you hear on NPR all the time), Allen will receive a "genius grant" of $500,000, no strings attached, to continue to pursue the world changing, world sustaining work he does at Growing Power.

As if that's not enough, there is something to be said of the man himself. I was told just a few days ago when the news broke of the genius grant (the only one in the Milwaukee area...ever) and we were discussing Growing Power and Allen that "if you ever get a chance to shake that man's hand, you must. It will blow you away."

His history includes international basketball and an athlete's life, but also an understanding of farming, sustenance and hard work. But it's his presence and his present that make him important.

Allen explains his work, his farm and its enterprise in the simplest of terms. He is a stunning teacher. There is so much science behind the very simple innovations deployed at Growing Power that it would make even my former biology teachers' heads spin, yet he describes it all in such a way, anyone ignorant to science could become an Einstein in Allen's presence.

In fact, it's his rational, simple explanations that are what breaks up the hegemonic games we've become mired in. Thinking we "need" certain foods, certain habits, certain ways of doing things is what Allen's tale blows apart. Just listening to how simple change can be, how a little hard work and creative energy can shake up the largest of ideas becomes inspiring.

So much of the tour of Growing Power comes with phrases like "first in the country," "only ones trying this," "no one else but us has figured this out," "we're the model," and more. It inspires pride that this hands on, earth-bound innovation is right here in Milwaukee. Of course Allen won the genius grant, of course!

He's friendly, articulate and driven, but his style is comforting, rational and patient. He made a point to meet and know each person there with us, what our investment was there and how he could help. His vision for the farm is huge, but calculated. His group is the living, breathing example of the synergy of volunteerism, entrepreneurialism, funding, grants, profit and sense.

Allen is a character unlike any other. No one else could do the work he does. To witness up close what it's like to see a perfect fit, perfect harmony in work, place, character and spirit is really not that common. Many of us have jobs, we don't embody our work. We have things we are good at, but we weren't called to do them.

It was a truly amazing experience to share in Allen's tale of Growing Power and watch him in his element. Milwaukee should be proud that we are host to such an example of truly living a purposeful life and sharing that meaning with others.

Allen tells us all while we stand there hearing of yet another innovation in smart fertilizer, that soil has spiritual properties.

Digging your hands in the dirt is healing. I know many a gardener who would say they knew that all along. But as I watch each member of our tour stick their hands in a pot of revolutionary dirt and let it trickle over their fingers, waiting for some sign that it has healed them, calmed them, cured them... I see it. Allen, the soil, the project, the farm, even Milwaukee--we're all tethered by dirt and dirt is the way of the future.

Negotiating Age

cheesebabe74 — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 13:45:23 GMT

I have become of the age to be a "Friend." I grew up watching the show through college (and then some, as it seemed to run forever, just like its syndication) and though we all complained that we had the transient, coffee-shop-waitress kinds of jobs Rachel did, but couldn't afford an apartment like hers, we still loved the show.

I'm in that mid-30s age bracket now where professional life is moving ahead as scheduled and social life has become richer, less, er...party-centered.

I run with a well-connected crowd--blackberries, phone texting, emails, internet networking, even e-cards for birthdays and events. Digital pictures distributed through friends, snapfish, or MySpace and mp3 players and downloaded songs shared among all. We all talk of whether we TiVo'd those new episodes and email links to great images on YouTube. We communicate with one another not only through these technologies, but also with the language of these technologies.

For most of my friends and I, our professional work life has gone electronic as well, rarely do we even fax anymore--primarily, work scanned into a pdf is sent via email attachment. Even my academic friends are publishing in online journals, rather than the stodgy, old bound paper kind.

This past week, however, I have learned one important consideration workers of my generation must attend to: we aren't the only generation working and not everyone has developed the techno habits we have. We must have the skills to negotiate how we negotiate with those of a different generation.

Though the work place is changing dramatically, not all workers are. Just last week, I had the opportunity to connect with the president of an organization I'm coordinating with. I noticed I frequently got calls from her and the programming director on my cell phone while I was at work. It befuddled me because though I had given them this private number (like many, I do not have a land line), I couldn't understand why anyone was calling it--just email me during work hours!

True to my contemporary habits, I scanned the call. I let the unknown number ring and waited for the voicemail. I realized it was the women of the organization calling and couldn't return the call until the work day had ended. By then, however, each had emailed, though it was clear they didn't want to. Both emails had instructions for me to call, not respond via email.

Later in the week, coordinating information with a retired man working with the VFW, I casually asked if he could email me the information I was looking for and he laughed. "I don't do all that, I'm an old guy... I can fax, I think." And fax he did. When I tried calling back to thank him, I waited and waited for the phone voicemail to pick up and when it didn't after many rings, I was quickly reminded I was probably calling a land line, not a cell phone.

When I tried to call back the women in the group, I got a busy signal and thought something must be wrong with the phone. I tried again and again, suddenly reliving the frustration of my teen years where call waiting was waiting to be invented.

Surely age or past professional habits alone are not the only factor that divides us technologically. We often talk of the digital divide when it comes to folks with less economic advantage in technology than many. But we spend less time referencing generational habits as an impediment to great technological communication.

As we speed ahead, networking, enhancing professional skills, bringing groups, ideas and projects together, it is very important to remember that though we have grown up digital and adapted quite quickly to the habits of an e-life, many of the former professionals who paved our way have not and to accommodate them, we must remember home phones, faxes, and good ol' face to face communication or we will lose much of the genius they have to share with our generation.

On Being Neighborly

cheesebabe74 — Mon, 11 Aug 2008 17:58:42 GMT

I rent. I am happy about that. Ideally, I should be buying as the market plummets, but I am happy in my lower level of a two unit duplex on the west side and my one flat monthly fee.

My upstairs neighbor and his girlfriend have lived there five years already--the house has an appeal, obviously.

Recently, with the announcement from Joseph Zilber that his organization would donate 50 million dollars to spur both a conversation and a change in inner city living, the discussion was opened up to the public in Eugene Kane's Journal Sentinel column. Anyone with ideas on how to spend the funds was asked to contribute.

Kane reported that many of the suggestions included homework help, neighborhood improvements and housing purchase options.

I would like to add, renters matter too. If we are looking to develop neighborhoods that are strong, healthy and vibrant, all residents of the neighborhood matter.

This spring, after we finally started to come out from under the massive piles of snow, a neighbor across the alley, one who had never introduced herself (I am a new tenant in the area, still meeting people) charged over to my car one morning as I left my home. She pounded on my window and motioned for me to roll it down. Her first words were "Hi, we are paying for the plowing, it was $700 this year, can you help?"

She barely smiled, let alone feigned politeness in her request. I'm nice, I instantly tried to say I would, I began with "Well, I rent, I'll ask my landlord to try and cover that, he's the homeowner," She balked and made a face, shooing me with her hand, "Well, they NEVER pay."

She rudely continued, "Just write a check to [plower's name here] and put it in my mailbox, we're the brown house on the corner." Then she quickly walked away... not even "have a good day" heralded her exit.

I mulled it over all day. I asked my upstairs neighbor, the one who's been there five years and is out playing basketball frequently with the neighbor kids. He's the one who is in and out of the house far more often than I am--easier to catch outside. Had she asked him? Nope, not a peep.

I wondered briefly if race had anything to do with it. I am white, my upstairs neighbor is black. Was she afraid to ask him? It is true young black men get a bad rap and this middle-aged white woman may have been watching her fair share of sensational news reporting. Or, was it that she automatically assumed I had the cash as a white woman in professional dress? Assumptions are all you have, however, until you meet someone, get to know them and learn more.

As I thought longer about the issue, I realized, she hadn't even introduced herself. She was a terrible saleswoman, really. Asking for a fairly large sum of money for alley plowing without giving me rhyme or reason to empathize with her. She barely said hello and she most certainly didn't say "I'm Jane Doe, I noticed you're new in our neighborhood." She had no interest in me as a neighbor or a resident, only as a source of revenue.

Surely rental tenants in many neighorhoods turn over fairly frequently. Nonetheless, imagine the strength of just a one or two block square area where renters and homeowners actually introduce themselves?

Maybe she could have said "hello" to my upstairs neighbor when he was out playing basketball? Maybe he would have asked her, "Hey, can I help the alley folks pay for the plowing?"

Maybe she could have spoken to me any one of the 800 times I was out shoveling our driveway, the one that frequently got blocked in by their hired snow plow?

Before we make everyone a homeowner, before we build community centers in neighborhoods, before we spend all of Zilber's 50 million dollars, maybe we should start smaller.

A little common courtesy, kindness, and a vested interest in the folks who live next door to you can go a long way toward fostering pride in the neighborhood, crime prevention, improved race relations and area improvements. Pride in your living space is contagious, not exclusionary.

My fellow duplex resident and I take great pride in this space that we only rent. He mows and trims the lawn, I garden and keep it trash free. We decorate on holidays and turn the porch light on for trick or treaters. We both notice when kids are tearing up someone's garbage or playing where they shouldn't and give a watchful holler.

We both are aware of strange cars in and around our homes or strange activities. We are great crime-watchers.

I chatted another neighbor all winter as we shoveled together. I give a friendly wave to folks on the porch across the way each time I enter the house. A wide array of neighborhood kids play basketball on the hoop in our yard...I cheer at them and say hello each time I pass. One day, two young girls even offered to help carry my groceries in. It was nice to see two 14 year olds with more courtesy than the plow fees woman.

Renters have gotten a bad wrap, and surely because there are bad renters. Homeowners should look to the renter residents of their neighborhood and give us the benefit of the doubt, however.

We have the same investment in a safe, warm, pleasant home as you do. Include us in your neighborhood and maybe we'd be willing to negotiate the snow plowing. Heck, we may even loan you a cup of sugar.

Protesting Protest

cheesebabe74 — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 18:56:25 GMT

This weekend the Brady Street Festival brought out a huge crowd and in gorgeous weather, it was great to walk among them.

Our main event was the drag show on Saturday night. Friends of friends were top performers and I was dismayed to learn that what we thought was "early enough" turned out to be "just in time for standing way in the back" for seating.

I was thrilled it drew such a crowd though, and the performances were great--young and old in the audience danced and sang along.

What I liked most, however, was WHO many people danced and sang with.

Prior to the opening act, protestors emerged within the crowd, carrying signs proclaiming their beliefs and opinions. Of course, we were all eager to read the signs and jokes went up throughout the crowd "Oh! According to this, we're gonna burn in hell!" The crowd was pleasant enough--annoyed at the protestors, but in general, their quips back to them were fairly innocuous.

Then, we noticed two other protestors among them--protesting the protestors. One held a large pole with blue fabric draped across it and it served as a shade that covered the sign that condemned us all to hell. The other carried a typical mat board protest sign--with nothing written on it.

The two men used their empty protest vessels to walk silently near those with the boisterious condemning comments and covered their signs so their message wasn't seen as easily.

It was a clever intervention and well within the rights everyone screams about exercising in such circumstances.

Then, when Diana Ross' mirror image took the stage and performed well-known tunes, the crowd meandered to the back and began singing and dancing around the protestors. Smiling, laughing, enjoying themselves, not touching anyone, not harming a soul... they responded to the "opinions" they disliked so much by simply having fun. Sharing the best part of the show--the music and dancing--in a harmless way.

Eventually, the steam of having protestors there wore off and their megaphone bullying was squelched by police.

Contemporary language theorist Judith Butler argues about hate speech that we often work to quiet it, when in fact, more speech may be the answer. Opening the floor to everyone having the chance to reason, to argue, to present information floods the field with options.

Sure, carry your protest sign that condemns me to hell for dancing, admiring beautiful men in women's clothing and enjoying it all, beer in hand.

But recognize that I'll carry my sign in the same space, in the same manner and thoughtfully positioned over yours in response. My rights are the same as yours. I liked that Saturday's crowd, without angry yelling or bullying tactics very handily made it known, two can play at that game.

Milwaukee honoring its own

cheesebabe74 — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 15:58:55 GMT

I'm fairly new to our fair city, and so many parts of the area excite me, but I have to say I'm more than a little amped at the upcoming week of events to honor those who work downtown. Sorry, I guess that's Downtown.

I have enjoyed working and walking Downtown, we eat at the Waterfront Deli regularly and even stop for happy hour just up the street. But I have also learned Downtown has needed some inspiration in past years, thus the week long celebration of working in the area.

A friend of mine revealed her 15 minutes of fame came a few years ago with a video shot of local workers proclaiming "I work Downtown" as part of the campaign to remind people Downtown Milwaukee is as fruitful and worthwhile as the east side, as the lakefront or as Miller Park.

Downtown Employee Appreciation Week is certainly a nice way to honor some of us worker bees, suited up and squeezed into high heels every week, but it should be noted that we should recognize this employee appreciation with an eye to a bigger picture.

Employment is of chief concern, not only to Milwaukee, but to the nation. So many don't have fruitful, family supporting jobs and so many struggle to hold their family supporting job that we should be cautious celebrating workers before we all have the same, equal and obtainable opportunity to be one.

It's also just a tad bourgeois to honor the bankers, brokers, office workers and more that fill our Downtown businesses. Let's not forget that all work should be honored, including the ditch digging, road building, brick laying, garbage collecting and sewer maintaining that must also be sustained for us to flourish.

I'm excited to be offered free lunches, contests and daily events because I work Downtown, but I also hope we can keep perspective, the real celebration these days is to be able to work, period.

The Beauty of the Bus

cheesebabe74 — Thu, 24 Jul 2008 17:16:07 GMT

I used to ride my 12-speed bike to school... to the pool in the summer... to my friends' houses.

When I turned 16, my mother made a point to tell me I would not be allowed to have a car "You'll spend all your time working to make the payments, your grades will go down and you'll lose track of what's important... I'll drive you." (I have an older brother, by the way, who led by the aforementioned example).

I carpooled to school with friends. My mom carpooled to work, so did my dad. We were in a very small river town in northern Illinois and were perhaps not driven by environmental savvy as much as practicality.

I went to college in a town where we walked a mile and a half to the local grocery to grab the week's worth of ramen and we talked and laughed the entire way--never thinking twice about the trouble of being pedestrian (our transportation mode, not our insights).

I went to graduate school in a community with three separate public transportation entities, all linked together. My car died and I spent five weeks with nothing but the bus to get me where I needed to go--and it was the holiday season. I struggled with large bags of gifts and two transfers to get to the mall and back via bus and I lived to tell about it. Hell, I even loved the freedom the ability to handle public transportation AND shopping at a mall in the same day granted me.

Recently, I've lived in a large southern community with no public transportation. I watched as cars of people would travel from the one industrial hub to the most populated suburb--nearly all turning from the same work parking space into the same driveways--each car with only one passenger. One day, for fun, we counted. We got up to fifty cars with only one passenger --in a row--before we finally saw a vehicle carrying more than one body.

I am an advocate of public transportation because it's easy, makes sense, is environmentally savvy and cheap. But lately, I'm an advocate because it really makes my day. I ride the bus to and from work and it's only about 15 minutes each way, but it always promises a positive and thoughtful experience.

I have watched more people come together in unity on a bus than anywhere else.

Yesterday, a three-year-old was admiring a young high school man's hand-held game device. The young man was forced to sit near the child and his mother because the bus was crowded and the child took an active interest in the device.

This young, obviously very cool boy engaged the child in a friendly way and even laughed and smiled at the child's determination to try and take the game from the older boy. Smiles were all around, including from the folks seated near the activity. Everyone had had a long day at work, yet, we all relaxed a little together and learned a lesson in determination and youthfulness as we watched these two kids interact. Looking around, I saw all seated near were grinning at the child and his determined attempts to not only be really really cute, but to secure the video game.

People came together on the bus just yesterday (wow, a lot of positive things to notice in just 15 minutes, that's the beauty of the bus) when a young mother and her children got on the crowded vessel and she had to fit her stroller through the aisle. People from front to back hollered to one another to help the mother, seemingly uncomfortable at putting people out, find her way to a safe seat near her children. The teamwork involved in seating this one family was great to watch.

And that was at the END of the day.

Mornings are just as enlightening on the bus. I sat next to an older woman one day and we watched as a group of high school students took up the seats in the front reserved for the elderly and those with physical needs. When an older man with a cane boarded, a young boy stood to release his seat and instead of simply moving out of the way, he helped the gentleman to the seat, stabilizing him on the bumpy ride.

The older woman next to me, like me, was beaming with pride for this young man who she didn't even know. She couldn't contain herself and turned to me, a total stranger, patted my knee and said "well, now, that was nice." I agreed. She struck up conversation about her granddaughter and manners and we shared a simple few words before our busy days began. I was grateful for the stranger who looked at me, my demeanor and my expression and knew I was friendly enough to speak to, to share the moment with.

It's nice to have human contact every now and then. It's nice to speak to, see, WITNESS people you might not normally seek out. When the news of the shootings and beatings on local busses reached my friends in Chicago, they called, knowing I was an advocate of public busing. I said I was fine, it wasn't my route and it wouldn't keep me from the bus. They were proud.

Another friend of mine said he was amazed I take the bus. I live in what some in town may consider a "rough" neighborhood and I am a minority when I board my bus. He said "I can't ride my bus! I am a white guy who wears expensive suits and watches! I'll get mugged!" I was ashamed of his comment and retorted "I'm a white woman in expensive suits and watches and I ride the bus and sometimes even get compliments on my shoes while I'm there!" It's important to note, he lives in a fairly prestigious place in town where many of the bus riders are also white guys in fancy suits.

When bus routes, which are many people's primary mode of transportation, are being cut so frequently and opportunities for this sometimes silent, sometimes touch-on-the-knee community building are being squelched, it's important to remember, we can all learn something on the bus, we are all able to be a part of that community.

Riding the bus is the best part of my day. It's how I explore the city--from the inside. Who gets on, who they're with, how they share their space with others, what they're reading, if they smile and say hello... these are all indicative of the character and culture of the parts of town I'm riding in.

I'm very proud of my route--we're a friendly group, we'll stand to give you a seat and we'll help you and your family get to yours. We will laugh with your child and share a few moments together, that's the beauty of the bus. It's the best $2.00 community you can ever build.

Making a Quick Study of Milwaukee

cheesebabe74 — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 16:17:46 GMT

I grew up all over the Midwest, but met my best friend three weeks into my stay at Millikin University in Decatur, Il.

She returned to Decatur after making her world tour of jobs and experiences and is tending her beautiful family there. Recently, they launched an annual family vacation experience and she chose Chicago as the destination.

As we are both native to Illinois, we both know Chicago well and have plenty of friends and acquaintances in the area and have tossed out multiple promises for dinner, drinks and get togethers "when we're in town" with those very Chicagoites. So, I did understand her attempts to reunite with persons in the city and vacation in one fell swoop. She's always been practical.

When said friend calls and mentions she's taking the train to Chicago, however, I am confused and hurt. I asked her "Why didn't you guys choose Milwaukee? There's so much here and you could have seen me!"

She shot back a quick text message "Uh, lots of reasons, lake, Shedd Aquarium, Field Museum, Gino's East Pizza"

Now, I am new to Milwaukee, I've only been in town 8 months, so I was impressed with the speed my little fingers could fondle the keys on my qwerty pad as I shot back "Uh, same lakefront, Discovery World/Pier Wisconsin, Miller Park (in my backyard), monstrous zoo (in my backyard), incredible art museum (on said lake) and Pizza Man"

(I do love Pizza Man and yes, I have eaten at Gino's East.)

Despite the fact that she didn't suddenly change an entire week's plans with two small children in tow, I was pretty excited.

I haven't lived here long, but when put to the test, I have learned a great deal about what makes Milwaukee Milwaukee. Aside from tourist-like notable attractions, I could still show you some little pockets of town worth seeing--not all of them, mind you, I'm still new--but I claimed the city as my own and the city's self-promotion has stuck.

When faced with battling out Chicago for fun, I'd say Milwaukee could be a hands down winner. Course, the friends and family in Chicago will always pull me there, but here's hoping my adoption-- hook, line and sinker--of Milwaukee's self-promotion and my persuasive abilities will also pull them just an extra 80 miles to Brew City.

A Gem of Journey on the Emerald Isle

cheesebabe74 — Sat, 10 May 2008 00:46:10 GMT

A long lost relative had reemerged via a strange form letter sent to all members of my family. Phones were a buzz when aunts and uncles exchanged calls all wondering who this Francis was and what did he want with my family?

Turns out, the geneology bug doesn't just bite Americans looking for roots, but sometimes your roots come looking for you. Francis was a long lost Irish relative on my father's side of the family...the mutt side. I was thrilled because I could trace, very directly, my mother's family to county Cork, making me a very legitimate entry in a bar on the infamous March holiday. In fact, our story is so overproduced and traditional (great grandma came over on a boat during the famine, worked as a domestic in Boston for an older lady and married a railroader (three, actually) and made her way across the country to the Midwest) that it's comforting in some ways to have the traditional immigrant experience under your belt. You feel connected to a story told many times over and feel safe in calling it your own.

But now, Francis enters the picture and another link to County Cork comes calling and it turns out I can live the ultimate punchline: Both sides of my family are from the same county in Ireland. I rock.

So, it's the perfect excuse to make my first non-border town international excursion and with a good friend in tow, we hit Chicago's airport for my first over -ocean flight to meet up with Francis and his two beautiful daughters. We circled the country, toured it top to bottom, but perhaps our time spent with his daughters was most revealing.

The girls stared at us, afraid of what to say, constantly nudged forward by their mother, my cousin Lucia. Finally, the impass in international relations broke down when after dinner, the 8 year old and 6 year old showed us their rooms and breached the divide with the one question they must have been churning with all afternoon. "Do you know Britney Spears?" Never in my life have I been so saddened that I had to answer "no." They had such hope in their eyes that they could return to school the next week and report that their link to America was indeed, TRULY linked to all that is America. Their own sets of myths and fantasies insisted that all Americans knew one another and all women sang and danced and met with youthful success as Britney did.

Our travels were stunning and all wonderful, from pub to ancient cathedral, the trains, the people, even the fish were fantastic.

The best of the journey, however, was our chance to live a myth in real time. It was St. Patrick's Day eve and we ventured to a small suburban town outside of Dublin with a new friend and traveling companion. We crammed ourselves into his friend's subcompact and braving potholed, unpaved roads to the Stoop Your Head pub (aptly named because a large beam in the center of the aged building loomed low and everyone cracked their head on it after a few pints...causing the locals to holler out "Stoop your head!" Really, the frankness of the Irish people is refreshing.).

We sat in a traditional Irish pub, in Ireland on the eve of the over celebrated (in America, anyway) holiday. We drank pints of Irish beer (that truly does taste better when consumed on the Isle) and as it came time for the clocks to turn their dates over to the 17th, the bar amped its energy. Drunken men and women with ruddy faces and dopey grins sloshed pints and smacked heads and sang. A small set of musicians playing traditional Irish instruments and fare grew bawdier and stunningly, instruments started to appear--whistles, drums, even more mandolins and crowd regulars joined in. A rousing rendition of all songs Irish suddenly became a enhanced by a chorale of all pub goers, sloshing and singing as one.

And then, it was St. Patrick's day. We were high on Guiness. We were singing and had strangely, in a matter of a few hours, picked up the charming accent, and my friend and I turned to one another, toasted our glasses high in the air and shouted "We're in an Irish pub, in Ireland, on St. Patrick's Day and it looks just like a movie!"

It did, it was. The image is crystalized in my mind and I'm ever thankful for that. I still know how to mumble through the too-fast pace of a drunken Mary Mac and how to hold my pint high to honor The Night Paddy Murphy died, but mostly I will remember, whether you Stoop Your Head or not, some images and traditions of culture are pleasant, flattering and bejeweled in the accuracy of how wonderful a moment of unity with a roomful of people you desperately want to be connected to can feel. Slainte!

Amarillo by Morning

cheesebabe74 — Wed, 07 May 2008 20:19:08 GMT

I never went to Panama City for spring break as an undergraduate. I was in college too many years and yet, still never participated in that ritual until graduate school. Once started, however, I became insatiable. A best friend and I have adventured all over the country, but our most memorable, far reaching spring break travel was the trip that took us all around the country, traveling the historic Route 66.

First, it is worth noting that no one should undertake such a far-reaching, winding, unpredictable journey as this unless you have a friend like Kate. She's the ultimate traveling companion because she'll listen to--and sing with you--anything playing on the radio. It's essential to know this about your companions before setting out because throughout this country, there is plenty of country, Christian, and gospel stations out there, along with a stunning number of classic rock digits on the dial, so if you're not with someone who can be a fan of any notes coming out of your dashboard speakers, be prepared to launch into some seriously long conversations. We took this trip, by the way, au naturale... no ipods, no satellite radio. It was us, an FM tuner, and the open road. Hands down, that's how it should be done. The pavement on Route 66 and its fate was sealed long before the advent of MP3s, you should pay proper homage to this fact.

It wasn't just the radio afficianado quality that made Kate great to spend hours on end in a motor vehicle with, however. We both seemed to need to pee at the same time and both had the same strange photographic needs. On one lonely highway somewhere in Texas, we drove past a rural house with a giant front yard. There, in all its glory, was a giant, amusement park-sized chicken. It was not inflatable like the giant Packer footballs that adorn Wisconsin yards in the fall, nor was it cheesy like the garden gnomes or wooden cutouts of farmers with their imaginary hands touching their wives' bottoms. No, it was indeed exactly what comes to mind when I say "giant, looming, plaster chicken." It easily overpowered the front porch and cast an equally large shadow onto the lawn.

Neither of us was rattled, yet, Kate, who was driving, just turned to me and said "Oh...chicken" and without question or discussion, we pulled over and both photographed it. When you're traveling in Texas with a best friend, windows down, Route 66 beneath your wheels, photographing a giant chicken is the way of the road. Expect such possiblities.

As our trip wore on, we saw much of Illinois, Arkansas, Mississippi, Louisiana, Texas, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Kansas, Missouri and our home state at the time, Iowa. We were flexible; we'd arrive in one city and allow for detours to others, regardless of their connection to the original Route 66 plan. We saw oceans and rivers, ate barbeque in Memphis and stood in line for Graceland behind a man quietly wearing blue suede shoes (also photographed, of course). We talked, laughed, rode quietly. We ate, I'm pleased to say, much of the local fare, but we were not too high and mighty to sample the local McDonalds either.

We grew tired and testy during our week long journey, and changed its purpose daily. Near the end, we were driving country songs... not "to" country songs, but enacting their lyrics. We made "Amarillo by Morning" (four in the morning, actually) saw Sante Fe sunsets, and screamed "Kansas City here we come!" We united with other drivers on the highway, we took backroads, we stayed in cheap motels and we camped. What we really did though, was solidfy a friendship, make our own adventure without counting on travel agents, expensive packages, hotel service fees. Instead, we counted on the treasures of the continental U.S. and our love for Americana to make our own excitement.

We experienced all sorts of people, saw all kinds of architecture, ate all kinds of foods and we were our own tour guides. We could never duplicate the trip if we tried, even though the historic highway, a living legend, still stretches to the same lengths across this country. We are older and more accomplished now; we'd probably bring an Ipod and order more salad than wings. The car we'd take is much bigger and offers a smoother ride than the bare bones Civic that carried us the first time, but the sense of adventure that comes with driving on the open road would still motivate us, and isn't that what matters?

An escape is still an escape, and a great friend is still a great friend, no matter what car you're in when you spot the giant chicken.