Tasting Glen Ellyn

I currently have the windows cracked open. The noises directly below from the Glen Ellyn craft fair are sneaking in. As I walked into my apartment this morning wearing pajamas and carrying dirty laundry I witnessed all the magic first hand. Overweight Glen Ellyn Grandmas selling windchimes and American flags, yard ornaments and tie dye t-shirts. It's nice being right above it. I feel very American, in a comforting sort of way. There are times when living in America seems like a land of Walmarts and K-Marts; everywhere too big and empty- and often times when things aren't empty they're full of crap made by exploited and underpaid people. But today feels nice- like home. Sometimes I think I'd like to live in a small community, where people know your name and craft fairs happen more often than not. Most of all i just like it when people take the time to slow down, get out of their cars for a minute, breathe some fresh air, and actually talk to people- not on their cell phones.

Yesterday some friends of mine, Rachel and Adam, moved into a new home down the street. We walked through the house, spent some time jumping on the trampoline, and I could see the excitement in Rachel's eyes- a home. Somewhere to begin again. To make her own. As we talked about her plans for the home I saw an older man next door tending to his garden. The lawn and landscaping were spotless-perfect. Rachel walked over to introduce herself and we slowly followed her. I really don't remember anything he said, well, 1 thing I guess. He had lived there for 45 years with his wife. He congratulated Rachel kindly and returned to his garden. For some reason I began to wonder about him- how many people he had seen move in and move out over the years - how many eyes he had looked into and seen the hope of a new family and life. I actually became envious of him; envious of his peace and wisdom. Although he didn't say or do anything to demonstrate these qualities, they seemed innate. What must it be like to live in the same place for 45 years, watching the world slowly change and evolve? What advice could he give me? What does he know? I've got 23 years under my belt, with each day bringing me a constant flow of heartbreak and joy. What must his heart look like?

I just realized that the past two paragraphs don't really seem to have any sort of coherence, but somehow, to me, they relate to eachother in a way that is very important to me. The Glen Ellyn Craft fair and this older man somehow reassure me that America is not completely void of meaning and heritage- culture and heart. Walmart hasn't won yet. And by the way, I haven't shopped there in months. I can't bring myself to do it anymore.

I think I'm going to go down now in my pajamas and walk around for a while.

headlines

I went to starbucks today intending on reading my new book by Anne Lamott and doing today's crossword puzzle. I usually peruse the paper briefly reading headlines and some of the stories that seem interesting. Today I spent all my time reading. As i get older i find that my desire to know about the world outside of my exact location becomes stronger and stronger. What i read today literally brought me to tears. It wasn't one story in particular, but all of them combined. They told of sadness and rage, suicide bombings, and the horrors that occurred at Abu Graihb prison. I felt instantly helpless and utterly chaotic because i was sitting at starbucks drinking a vanilla soy latte reading about human beings, people like me, born into lives of terror and hopelessness. One photo captured a bloodied young man, head in hands, mourning the loss of a loved one after one of the most deadly suicide bombings in months. On the next page was a short blurb from the United Nations:

REPORT: 12 MILLION PEOPLE IN BONDAGE
~At least 12.3 million people worldwide work as slaves or in other forms of forced labor, the International Labor Organization said in a report on Wednesday.
In the first estimates of overall forced labor ever made by an international organization, the report said 2.5 million people were in forced labor from crossborder trafficking, with 1.2 million of them in the sex trade.
The report, "A Global Alliance Against Forced Labor," estimated that profits from trafficked forced labor totaled $32 billion a year, or almost $13,000 per trafficked worker. Profits from sexual exploitation totaled $27.8 billion annually, or $23,000 per worker, said the labor arm of the UN.

I'm sick. In fact, we're all sick. Jerry Hobbs is sick; he killed his 8-year-old daughter over mother's day weekend. how can i help? what in the world can i do? is there a solution to so much pain that seems to eat up the world? Why am i so blessed? And why do i worry so much about me when all i have to do is buy a paper to find out that "me" doesn't really matter right now? How can there be so much beauty amidst such incredible pain and destruction? I'm full of questions.

I had an English professor in college, John Parks, who ended each semester's class with his "closing postscript," basically his advice to college students trying to come to terms with this life. I took several of his classes because i loved his wisdom, his dry humor, and his inner knowing that seemed to come out during class. A lot of people thought he was boring, but i loved him. Anyway, he always ended the semester with the same words. He said that we must not seek always to find the answers to our questions, but to find a peace in the questions themselves. I like that. On a similar note Ben Folds in his song "Bastard" writes, "You get smaller as the world gets big, the more you know you know you don't know shit." I relate to that sometimes.

Bob

Sometimes i have these days when everything just seems to mean something. Perhaps it doesn't and i've spent too much time searching for meaning in novels throughout college, but today was a day i felt faced with a lot in this world. Perhaps it was God speaking to me, or perhaps it was just a day when the brokenness of the world seemed to reveal itself to me. I wasn't even seeking it out. We don't even have to try. I am constantly faced with my mortality and imperfection simply by looking around and listening to those who speak to me. In these people I often see a reflection of myself, another human being trying to make it, trying to find meaning in it all- often coming up severely short, yet trying nevertheless.

Last year at this time I would have been sharing meals with my best friends. We'd laugh together about what happened to us during the day, whether or not we were going out for a few that night, or simply chat about the light or heavy things that were on all our minds- basically a hodgepodge of romance updates and an occasional debate over religion and politics.

Tonight i shared my dinner with Bob, the homeless guy who frequents Starbucks. Now don't go thinking we started our conversation because i wanted to; i'm not that bold or kind sometimes. I sat down in one of the big comfy chairs and started to eat my packed lunch, feeling pretty proud of myself that i had actually packed one and not gone to potbellys. Then Bob sat down next to me. It was a little uncomfortable but nothing new. I often see him and sit near him, but words are never exchanged. I was going to continue the pattern, but fate took me elsewhere. In the course of fifteen minutes I learned that Bob owns 6 cemetery plots in LaGrange but can't afford to take out an add in the paper to sell them. I learned that he doesn't believe in God or heaven, but when he dies he'd like his ashes to be spread beneath a big shade tree. I learned that he hates it when people in Wheaton try to convert him to Christianity. He talked about one guy in particular who makes it a point to try to "convert" him every time they meet. He said this man often manipulates conversation to direct it toward Christianity, that he should become a Christian. Bob said that maybe 25 years ago he would have taken him up on it, but these days all he wants is for people to leave him alone. I also learned that he thinks any man who orders a frappucino is a wuss and should go home. (i happen to agree on that one). But most of all I learned that Bob is just trying to make it in a really tough world. I wanted to hug him and tell him he's loved. I also wanted to tell him that I don't want to convert him, i just want to love him and for him to feel loved. The best love I know is Jesus. That's all. But I didn't tell him anything. I laughed and listened to him, because somehow I think to love him best at that moment was just to listen. The sad part about Bob, or should i say the sad part about humans like me, is that we don't see Bob's humanity. He's just another bum we give a quarter to or buy a coffee. I feel lucky that I saw Bob today, his humanity that is. Beneath the dirty jokes and cynicism and gaps in his teeth i saw something real, something hurting, something beautiful.