Taste of Elmwood Park
A smoky haze hung in the air as I headed towards my car at the end of the evening. Burnt bits of paper and plastic lay scattered on lawns and sidewalks like dead leaves in autumn. An occasional crackle and a rogue boom could still be heard but most of the ruckus had died down. It was the Fourth of July in Elmwood Park, my suburban, Midwest hometown.
Earlier, an unfortunately timed cloudburst caused the village to postpone its fireworks display until the next day. The rain, however, didn’t last and soon the neighborhood became a cacophony of explosions in an attempt to ‘celebrate’ the nation’s independence. I’m not sure when air and noise pollution, accompanied with scattered litter, became patriotic, but then again I’m not Republican so I guess I wouldn’t understand. Sitting on the back deck of a friend’s house, ashes snowed down upon us and we had to cover our bottles of beer and glasses of wine to keep the debris out. Come to think of it, I was drinking Jamaican beer as opposed to Bud, Miller or some other watered down American brew on our most patriotic holiday – I really am a liberal Democrat!
Fireworks
were going off from several backyards in the neighborhood. Some were pretty
impressive, especially considering these were just people’s personal displays.
A neighbor across the alley put on an extended show that went on for hours. Regrettably
his choice of explosives did little to inspire a sense of pride in our nation.
He opted for quantity instead of quality and so we sat through a seemingly
endless barrage of whistles, pops, and kabooms with minimal sparkle. I’d have
called the police, fireworks are illegal after all, if I thought it’d do any
good but the reality is that they tend to look the other way during the weeks
that surround the holiday. Someday, someone’s garage will catch fire and then…
actually, that still wouldn’t make any difference.
Along
with the fireworks, the rain cut short the Taste of Elmwood Park that day. The
Taste is an annual event modeled after the Taste of Chicago. Local restaurants
set up tents and sell their specialties. There are rides and activities for the
kids and entertainment throughout the fest. I haven’t been in years though I
suspect it’s still as big as ever. My friends and I had planned on attending
and at first I was a bit disappointed we didn’t get a chance to go. After
further contemplation, I concluded that it was probably for the best. There is
always the possibility that one would run into an old classmate or neighbor and
get a chance to catch up, which might be nice, or would it? Chances are they
are married with kids and still live in the area. I’m single, childless, left
town twenty-five years ago and never looked back. What would we have in common?
As happy as I am with my life, I think a soccer mom or baseball-coach dad
probably wouldn’t get it. And I’d have no desire to try and explain it to them.
There
are some people from my past, however, that I do enjoy keeping up with and that
is what brought me to Illinois that weekend. There was a core group friends I
had in high school and this was the first time in twenty-odd years that we were
all together. We met at the childhood home of one of these friends. It was kind
of amazing that three of the five of us still had parents living in the same
houses they’d been in for thirty, forty, even fifty years. I don’t miss Elmwood
Park and I doubt I’d be very happy had I chosen to live out my years there.
What I do miss, sometimes, is that sense of home; I’m 48 and renting a room in
someone else’s abode. I have a
recurring dream in which I start heading home at the end of the evening only to
realize I don’t have a home and I don’t know where to go. I often end up back
at the family house in Elmwood Park, but I know I can’t go inside because it’s
someone else’s home now. Throughout the years, I’ve invested a great deal of
time and energy to other people’s property, either as a roommate or a renter,
and it’s starting to occur to me that doesn’t leave me much to show for all my
efforts. The trade off is a sense of freedom from certain responsibilities and
feeling tied down. Perhaps it’s time I start rethinking that approach to life…
or not.
The
trip proved to be an interesting contrast between my past and present. On one
hand, it was nice to see and catch up with old friends. These are the people
that made high school, and the years immediately after, enjoyable for me. We
have a lot of great memories and it was fun to relive some of them. On the
other hand, it was getting difficult to schedule our time together. I had flown
in just for this reunion, whereas for them it was as much about spending time
with family. I found myself getting a little frustrated. The first night we got
together, the dynamics were not quite what I was expecting. When I get together
with my family, we immediately start getting silly – teasing each other, my
brother and sister pound each other, and we have a grand old time, in our weird
twisted way. It is a true ‘reunion’. It was different with my friends.
Certainly, we talked about the old times, but it was hard to find that
connection that we once had. I wouldn’t go as far as to say I was disappointed;
it just wasn’t what I expected.
The
second evening together went much better. Again, we had originally planned on
spending the whole day together, at the Taste of Elmwood Park and fireworks,
but our plans took a back seat to family obligations and we didn’t congregate
until the evening. By that time, however, I was over my frustration with trying
to coordinate schedules; I decided to use the extra time as a chance to relax,
read, go for a walk… The conversation that evening took a different twist. We
continued our reminiscing but we also talked about what’s going on now, and
plans for the future. We were making new connections, not just reliving the old
times. I went in with different expectations, or more specifically no
expectations, and just let the visit happen. As a result, I enjoyed myself and
felt good about getting together.
That
weekend was one chapter in the story of my summer. This is not the summer I had
envisioned for myself. I had planned to keep things pretty open so I could
hike, read, write, and all the other things I never seemed to have time for
during the school year. Little by little, my two months off was inundated with
different activities. First there were the teacher workshops. Then I was asked
to consider teaching summer school so I could try out a new math program. It’s
only sixteen half days, not so bad. In addition, I started planning trips and
visits. The trip to Chicago to see old friends, a visit to California to see
the gang there with a day trip to Arizona built in to check in on my sister, an
escape to Canada with some of my local friends. Plus the weekends at ‘second
home’ in Greene, a visit from a Californian friend and possibly from another
sister and her family. All these activities seemed to consume my summer.
My
frustration was rising and then I realized I needed an attitude adjustment.
None of the ‘interruptions’ to my serene summer plans was that big of an
imposition and they were things I enjoy and normally look forward to doing,
with the possible exception of summer school of course. The problem was that I
was letting the planning stages consume me; I was becoming a slave to these
activities as opposed to a participant. I had to make sure that everything came
together just right, to wait for everyone to respond before setting an agenda,
to consider everyone else’s needs before considering my own. In Chicago, I
spent way too much time fretting about the reunion before hand. Two beers into
that Saturday evening, I was having a great time and left feeling glad about
making the trip and looking forward to future gatherings with these friends.
But I also left with realization that I did quite a bit to make that weekend
happen; now it’s up to them to keep the lines of communication open. I’ll do my
share and nothing more. And that is something I need to work on in all aspects
of my life.
My
trip to Elmwood Park was significant in more ways than I fully understand at
this point. It brought me back to a time when I had a home, though sitting
through the fireworks reinforced what I already knew – that Illinois would
never be home again. However, it also made me realize that I’ve been drifting
for a long time now and maybe I need to consider settling once again. I’ve also
come a long way in understanding why that’s been so difficult for me. Somehow,
I became a slave to the old family house and have spent the last few decades
avoiding that feeling by running every time I felt sucked into a situation. I
thought I might have found a home in California, but that turned out to be more
of the same. I tried to make someone else’s home my own, instead I completely
lost myself in his life, a story for another time.
I have a new opportunity in Maine. My first year here, I had a sense of freedom from many of those old feelings. I was working without feeling like I had to devote my life to my job. I was meeting new people and making sure the friendships developed on mutual terms, not just theirs. And I was starting to come to grips with some of my limitations, the anxiety in particular, and learning how manage them instead of letting them manage me. Now, I’m settling into a more realistic or practical, whatever you want to call it, reality. I have a good job that will allow me some financial peace of mind. I like what I do; I just have to make sure it doesn’t become too much. Teaching tends to leave me drained and I’m battling to make sure it doesn’t overwhelm me. The temptation is to move on to something less demanding, but I’ve made a commitment to try and make this work. On the home front, I’ve begun thinking about what would make the ideal home. I have some ideas that I’m beginning to explore. I know I’m not ready commit to a course of action yet, and that’s ok. I’m not going to rush into anything. As for the rest of the summer, I think I’ve had enough fireworks; now I’m ready to relax and enjoy the final weeks of semi-freedom from teaching.