All I Want for Christmas

I never had the pleasure of knowing my great-grandmother, Berthamae Howard, but if Gammy (my paternal grandmother) is to be believed, she was a very special lady. When Gam passed away last year, my dad came into possession of a book concerning our family history that was compiled by my Grandmother Howard, and it contains many anecdotes typed on this Smith Corona Electra 110. It's a big, dusty old thing, and it doesn't much please the eye, but it types beautifully in cursive.

It was purchased in the 1970s from a store that no longer exists--the Hannibal Typewriter Service at 277 Broadway. It didn't become mine until a few years ago, and I've been lugging it around ever since. The poor thing has endured all manner of dents and dings, but the motor still purrs like a sewing machine when you turn it on. That's not to say, however, that it couldn't use some love and attention. The space bar only works when it wants to, and the "u" hammer sticks, among other things...

After doing a little research, I found a handful of typewriter repair shops in the Chicago area, but typewriter repairmen seem to be a dying breed. It's important to me that we spend the money to get it fixed because the time is fast approaching when no one will know what to do with a vintage typewriter, and I'd hate for it to fall by the wayside (as these things often do). I can only hope the repairs will be affordable. The sentimental value far surpasses its monetary worth, so it will be difficult to decide how much is too much.

...I'm a bit of a romantic, if you haven't noticed. I can't imagine anything better than sitting in the window and typing letters to my friends and family on the very same typewriter my great-grandmother used to record what is now her legacy. I think the day will come, too, when it is my turn to do the same for my children and grandchildren. By then, though, my little Vaio laptop will likely be the relic...

Red, White & Blue

Dear Kirste,

11:46 a.m.

If you're reading this, it's likely 2016 already. I'm watching the news right now, much as it drives me crazy, and history is unfolding without us. President Obama is holed up in a shoebox of his own somewhere in the city, and he's awaiting the results of the election, just like me. He voted early, on October 25--and you, Kirste--YOU could have gone out and invalidated the President's vote had you registered in time. But you didn't, and shame on you for that...

I mean, you moved to Chicago way back in July! You had plenty of time to get registered. You even had time to send for an absentee ballot in Missouri, but you waited too long. You didn't realize you had to register 28 days before the election, or that you could only apply for an absentee ballot through a tedious process of snail mail communications with the Old Country...

Your first impression of Chicago politics was probably made when the Teacher's Union went on strike in September. You got a chuckle out of the circular firing squad formed by Mayor Emmanuel and the Union leaders, but it wasn't really funny. Earlier in the summer, you walked past picketers outside the Hyatt, too. You even read a proposed amendment to the Illinois constitution...but your voice wasn't heard, not this year. Sure, it's blue Chicago, and your red vote probably wouldn't have amounted to much, but that's not the point. You had Principles to uphold, and you failed to uphold them! Dead folks all over Illinois took the time to go out and vote today, and you--a living, breathing citizen of the United States of America--couldn't be bothered.

1:00 p.m.

"THOUSANDS OF VOTING CONTROVERSIES REPORTED NATIONWIDE ON ELECTION DAY," the news is telling me. Big surprise. You'll have to let me know whether the headlines have changed by 2016.

2:10 p.m.

"OHIO VOTE COULD BE PIVOTAL," they're telling me. Remember that? I bet it's true every election.

Meanwhile, in other states...

"EPA approves measure allowing biofuel providers to divert supplies to New Jersey to alleviate shortages caused by monster storm Sandy...barge bearing 17.6 million gallons of fuel is expected to arrive in New Jersey by Thursday...New Jersey senators Frank Lautenberg (D) and Robert Menendez (D) requested the move."

"Gay Marriage and marijuana legalization on the ballot in some states...Maine, Maryland, and Washington are voting on whether to legalize same-sex marriage, while Minnesota is voting on whether to ban gay marriage...Washington, Colorado, and Oregon could become the first states to legalize recreational use of marijuana."

As a staunch fiscal conservative, this is the first election I've felt I have an actual stake in. Same-sex marriage and the legalization of marijuana were things I had strong opinions about when I was a teenager, but in recent years, those subjects have found their way onto the back-burner. I'm still pretty moderate where social issues are concerned. Live and let live, that sort of thing. It'll be interesting to see if any Firsts occur today, though.

6:50 p.m.

Polls are closing from east to west. There are only ten minutes left to vote in Chicago. I've been checking the news intermittently, and it looks as though the electoral votes are 3 for Obama and 49 for Romney. Only 270 are needed to win, but I am not so naive as to get my hopes up. There's a long way to go yet. It's almost like a sporting event...

7:15 p.m.

Just 25 minutes later, the electoral votes are 78 for Obama and 82 for Romney. It looks like it's going to be a close race. Do you remember how exciting it all was?

8:31 p.m.

The candidates are tied up on electoral votes (153 each), and that's including Texas. You'll have to excuse my pessimism, but all hope just dried up. On a brighter note, I crocheted an infinity scarf and started a new painting while watching the news. So pat yourself on the back, Kirste. You did something productive today, after all.

I think I'll go ahead and accept the inevitable: Obama is going to be re-elected. It's not a terrible tragedy, but I can't help feeling a little disappointed. I certainly don't hate the man; in fact, I kind of like him. He's wily and charismatic. I just think he's wrong for my country.

Wherever you are when you read this, I hope you registered to vote already. Don't forget to write back.

Sincerely,

A younger, dumber self

P.S. Tell Phil he sucks too. For all the same reasons. :)

Once Upon a Time

As the holidays draw near, I can't help but be reminded of my great-grandmother--Mildred Harrison. She passed away shortly after I moved to South Carolina in 2010. I knew when I went to visit her at the nursing home the day of my departure that it might be the last time I saw her. Just before I left, she asked me to write her while I was away, and I promised I would...

Grandmother and Granddad, pictured on the right.

My sister, Tiffany, and I spent a lot of time at our Grandmother and Granddad's when we were little. They lived in a big house with a big yard, and it came with a few peculiarities that I remember well--particularly a rock wall in the back. The landscaper had placed several large geodes alongside it as he found them in the yard, but the idea that someone may have discovered them before Tiffany and me was inconceivable. I don't know how large they actually were, but I do recall having a great deal of trouble lugging the largest up the back-steps and into the kitchen where I could show Grandmother what I found. Fortunately for a five-year-old's fragile ego, she was kind enough to act surprised.

The house itself was chock-full of rooms, and each had a name of its own. There was the Victorian room, filled with antique furniture, oil lamps, and glass figurines; the Safari room, so named for its excessive use of cheetah and zebra prints; Elizabeth's room, adorned with family heirlooms and flowered wallpaper that was fuzzy to the touch; and then there was JuJu's room, with it's bright red carpet and our family's over-sized wedding photos mounted along the walls. I usually wanted to sleep with my sister in the Safari room, which was hers by tradition, but my room was JuJu's. I slept in it every night we stayed there, and before me, my father did the same.

Grandmother, Tiffany, and I spent most of our time together in the Victorian room. This was where we toasted marshmallows and threw tea parties. It was imperative that there be a tea-party every time we went to Grandmother's house. It would sometimes take us half the afternoon to prepare all the little snacks and dishes, my favorites being the sandwich squares and strawberries dipped in sugar. When the time came, Tiffany and I would wrap up in feather boas and put elbow-length gloves on, all the while cooling ourselves (whatever the temperature) with a couple of sequined folding fans she bought for us.

Occasionally, Grandmother would pile us into her long, white Cadillac and take us down to the riverfront. She always enjoyed the shops down there, and each time we went, she allowed my sister and I to pick out an item we wanted to take home with us. On one such occasion, she bought Tiffany and I each a little porcelain tea-set. I still have mine (and the folding fan) today.

After dinner most nights, Granddad would take the three of us out to Grandview Cemetery to see where their son, Leo Jr., was buried. This was a daily ritual that I didn't understand until I was much older, but I enjoyed collecting the fragments of plastic flowers that littered the cemetery lawn. From there, we would return home, where the rest of our evening would be spent with Grandmother in the master bedroom. Tiff and I would get comfortable on the day bed and watch I Love Lucy while Grandmother tended to whatever business was necessary, oftentimes bringing in clothes hung to dry from the roof of their screened-in porch. (It could be accessed through a door in their bedroom, and I was always considered too little to venture onto the roof, so it was only when I could steal a minute alone that I would even dare.)

Should Grandmother ever require any alone time, my sister and I would watch television or entertain ourselves at the saloon-style bar in the basement. It was such a fascinating old house. Grandmother always had an affinity for cowboys and Indians, so we would take turns waving around an iron pistol or running amok in a full-sized Indian headdress...

...but Grandmother's house wasn't the only venue in which she entertained us. We would often hang around her desk at Harrison Motor Company, too. It was "the shop" to us, but "the place of business" according to Grandmother. Four generations of Harrison men, beginning with my great-great-grandfather, all worked in the shop at one time or another, and to this day, what Grandmother did there is still unclear to me. But there she was just the same, and I could always rely on her to save me a cake doughnut with white icing. Those were her favorite, and mine too, coincidentally. Whenever I exhausted myself roller-skating up and down the showroom floor, my doughnut was waiting for me at Grandmother's desk.

As I got older, so did Grandmother. By the time I left for South Carolina, she was no longer the person I've described and she hadn't been for many years. I wrote her a letter as promised, and it was delivered the day she went to the hospital. In the melee, Granddad was unable to check the mail, and she passed away before getting to read it. I was devastated by this, as was Granddad, but he photocopied the letter and we placed the original with her in the casket. I like to pretend it wasn't too late.

I Heart October

There's a beautiful day outside my door.

I don't think there is any place that's ugly in October. I spent the first twenty-two years of my life in three places that have played a large part in making me who I am: small-town Missouri, rural Georgia, and upstate South Carolina. For these three reasons, I moved to Chicago with a pair of indignant, country-loving lenses on. I didn't anticipate the different kind of lovely I would find in the city, but October has amazed me again this year.

The sky is blue, the air is crisp, and the leaves are turning. After walking the dog this morning, I trekked downstairs with The Book Thief in hand and spent a few hours on the River Walk. I don't know why I was surprised, but I found a person on every bench with exactly the same thing in mind...

That's what October does to people. Not only is it gorgeous, but it brings with it a number of things we forget to look forward to after the excitement of more notorious holidays at year's end. Everyone forgets about pumpkin lattes, wheat beer, corn mazes, apple cider, and scary movies until they sneak back up on us. It's an entire month made up of the Small Things that make our lives imperceptibly richer.

...and my birthday happens to be in October. I like to think this hasn't swayed my opinion at all, but I have my suspicions. I don't suppose it really matters in the grand scheme of things. Besides, is there another time of year when the city of Chicago dyes its fountains orange? I think not.

So maybe there aren't any of Missouri's rolling hills, and you won't come in with Carolina clay on your heels after a day outdoors,  but you can experience all manner of amazing things here. Even if city-lights have replaced the stars and the riverbanks are poured concrete, I still say it's lovely in its own right, and I'm sticking to my story. :)