Chance/Fate … and Richard Linklater

Erika has always been slightly amazed that I was able to quit smoking so quickly. I did it almost as an afterthought when I moved back to Chicagoland 10 years ago.

We were musing about this Wednesday night, at least feeling good we were both tobacco free. But then she asked me a heavy question — not the heaviest she’s ever uttered, but it was up there. Something historically counterintuitive (in the Niall Ferguson sense). I had to pause.

Those of you hip to the Woundup franchise already know I’m “celebrating” a decade of residence here in northeastern Illinois. I use those quote marks because I was not in a celebrating mood when I showed up at my parents’ house in Orland Park in April 2002.  I was on the skids and needed a place to crash. I eventually regained my footing, got my confidence back and found a way once again to life as a self-sufficient young adult in a big city.

My parents were only in OP for a year before they headed back to Buffalo, continuing a string of 10 years in that area — really just a stopover. So Erika asked me this the other night: If my parents had lived in Buffalo the whole time and had never moved to Orland, would I have gone Upstate and simply formulated a plan to quickly move back to New York City once I was ready.

I frowned. I furrowed my brow. I knew the answer. 

Of course. All my friends lived in New York. I loved New York more than any place I’d ever lived. I would’ve gone back in a half-second, living in Buffalo. I told her, with much guilt, that not in my wildest dreams did I ever have any intention for the rest of my life of returning within a hundred miles of Chicagoland, the place of large, awkward parts of my early days. Never. 

I said this as my own children played at my feet. I looked at them, so beautiful, so electrically alive. Unless Erika somehow came to New York and we somehow met, say at Enid's, and she was somehow single and was somehow into me (and I wasn't wearing that fishing hat), these beautiful children would very much not be. Not without my dad — life's eternal job searcher — sending his resume to Moraine Valley Community College in beautiful Palos Hills, Ill.

Enid's? Christ, how did that get in there, I wondered. Those are long damn odds. I felt terrible to even contemplate it.

…………………………………………..

I don’t believe in alternate universes. The movie “Slacker” really impacted my thoughts on this subject. The film begins with the director, Richard Linklater, playing the part of some poor schmuck business traveler who gets in a cab and strikes up a conversation with the driver about a beautiful woman he saw at the airport just minutes earlier. I forget if she talked to him or merely looked his way, but Linklater regrets he didn’t approach her and, maybe, get in a cab with her going somewhere else. He seems to find consolation by saying that there exists an alternate universe in which some other version of himself did go with the woman to her hotel room. In some other dimension he was dashing and not a coward.

At the time I was probably 19 years old and thought it was a pretty cool concept. But as I’ve grown older, I’ve since dismissed the whole alternate dimension thing on the grounds that A.) to truly accept it would make my head explode and B.) nothing in the reality we live in right now has ever lead me to believe there is another reality somewhere else. We’ll just leave it at that.

Of course, your Philosophy 201 Epistemology professor would tell you that there is no absolute truth that springs forth from human lips. So, yes, there might in fact be alternate realities. I just have faith — a particular kind of faith — that there are none. I really have no proof either way. It’s just what I believe. So, no sad sack Mark working on a Barium concern in Utah in some other dimension because he forgot to get Erika flowers on July 13, 2003. Sorry. Not real.

Okay, you say. But do you believe in Fate? I don’t. Okay. Then are you telling me that the circumstances that lead you back to Chicago and lead you to meet your wife, get married, have kids and be so happy are merely, what. Random? Are you telling me you’ve created a narration out of nothing, out of chaos, to make yourself feel better and give meaning to the disjointed circumstances of your life?

I really can't explain it, but that answer to that is also "No." It's in between. When I'm feeling truly romantic, I like to think some kind of powerful magnetism brought me here. When I'm feeling, I don't know, like wearing my "Existentialists Do It on the Left Bank" T-shirt, I think that … well …

I think that I believe in the former. But. BUT. That somehow my own free agency, as an individual being, was needed to make it all happen. Yeah, but isn't that still Fate, smart guy? No. Fate Lite? No. Predestination? Please, don't use the P Word. Well, what is it?

What it is, is making my head hurt. Listen, there are huge elements of chance that have led all of us to sit where we're sitting at this very second. (Thanks for reading, btw.) Nevermind the resume to MVCC: If my dad never wrote my mom that letter after they were matched up by the computer dating service in 1974, I wouldn't be sitting anywhere. 

Chance, sure. But chance without purpose? No. I have no explanation for it beyond this term I just coined. My life has been chance with purpose.

…………………………………………..

After all this crap flitted through my head Wednesday night, I snapped out of it and looked at my kids again.

I couldn't imagine them not being here. They are so willful, so very much in the present, so very much a fact. Ella is three and a half and Archer will be two July 21. They are the central focus of our lives. They are what I dreamed about going back maybe six years. I would lie on the couch at our Walton Street apartment and think about holding a baby in my arms. Our baby, yet to be realized.

All the anti-anxiety therapy I've had over the years has tried hard to teach me to ignore the great What If questions, such a well-spring of human angst. You could also use the same strategy for considering the choices you've made in your own life to get you where you're at right now. And that's what I did Wednesday night — my way to not feel like a monster.

There is no What If, only Is. My kids Are. My actions were the primary reason they Are. I decisively made choices and the outcome was final. I survived. I even smile.

There is no What If. What If never happened. 

And there's no version of me hanging out with Richard Linklater at Enid's, as fun as that kind of sounds ... ... ... Well, maybe I'll permit that one.

Welcome, Ella

It's over — the pregnancy, that is. Erika gave birth last Wednesday, February 4, at 9:40 p.m. to our daughter, Ella Rose. She was 7 lbs. 6 oz. and 20.5" at birth. We stayed a couple of nights at the hospital then came home Friday afternoon.

I took a week off work and have to go back Thursday. I'm dreading it, not because of any waiting backlog, but because I won't be able to be around Ella all day. These last three days have been fantastic. The birth was fantastic, too. I'm just going to enjoy this remaining time and remember that I'll get to see her in the evenings and all weekend. I am also going to look into work-from-home options. Even one day a week would be great.

It was a little hard to believe Erika wasn't pregnant anymore the first couple of days after Ella's birth. We first found out June 1, 2008, and we've been through a lot together in that long time, about 10 months. I feel it brought us even closer, and I will always look back on it very fondly. Of course, I'm glad Erika doesn't have to tote that weight anymore, doesn't have heartburn, doesn't have to pee a million times a night …

So what's next? An adjustment for ol' Woundup. Don't worry. You can check back here for baby updates as well as all the laffs you've come to love. Ella might even provide some new material. She's got a lot of personality.

Man, an imperfect animal

Christ, I'm bored today. The last issue of the year went out last week. I have some Web site duties, but between that and my commute (detailed yesterday), there's little to pass the time. I've amused myself with Internet games, sent out some more submissions and even written in a journal to my unborn child.

At least I'm not anxious. Wait, who said that bit about anxiety and boredom? The two states of humankind. I think it was Pascal, but I'm not going to rely on the Internet to provide the answer. Well, man also is a bit of an asshole. Erika was nice enough to take me to work this morning, and I criticized her driving. This situation, I've found, moves me to criticize her driving skills more readily than any other, and I always forget this fact before going into it again. Now I'm thrashing about with guilt.

I did finish up another draft of my new play yesterday, and I've sent it to the Feedback Processing Factory. I'm confident I can wrap this whole thing up by March, April at the latest. My goal is to do it in fewer drafts than the last two, which I hope spells an improvement in my skills (and a break for my sanity).

But none of this is helping my boredom. I can't even listen to the song "Boredom" because my Sprial Scratch 7" is in Detroit. I think it's time to sleep under my desk.

(More than a few) Moments of peace

Navigating the rough waters of backed-up work: the price to pay for a three-day weekend of fun. But I've managed to keep my ship afloat and relatively dry since 9 a.m.

It's a price I'll always be willing to pay. Erika and I had a really nice time in Three Oaks. The weather was absolutely beautiful, with bright sun glinting off the area's many multicolored trees. Our little hideaway was cozy, as always, and we stocked it well with food and drink. I admit I watched a little more DirecTV than I should've (MLB playoffs, college and pro football), but Erika managed to get me out of the house for a couple of bike rides, including a 14-miler, numerous walks downtown and an evening visit to New Buffalo, where we sipped our beverages by the small harbor facing west (back toward Chicago) before adjourning to a microbar indoors to keep the friendly young bartender (a local actor and musician) company. Later, Erika stopped with her well-buzzed husband at legendary Redamak's for some cheese fries (mine) and a veggie flat-bread sandwich (hers), enjoyed greatly back at the house.

Three Oaks thrives on seasonal tourism, and it was still in full effect this past weekend, perhaps because of those beautiful leaves. We saw lots of Illinois license plates on Audis and Lexuses, as foursomes of gray-haired flatlanders cruised the farm fields, stopping at overpriced antique stores. I don't know if that will be us someday, but we do want to bring our child(ren) to this wonderful place. When the grind of dark, dreary Chicago starts getting to us, we can remind ourselves of this other world only an hour and a half away: the warm house on a quiet street and the feeling that the city isn't everything.

Birthday Bash Blammo!!!

Happy birthday, Erika! And happy birthday, me (tomorrow)! It was meant to be — our birthdays, back to back. But I am happy Old Baby will join us in a different month, for some variety.

Tonight we're hosting a dinner party. Beforehand, as a good Catholic, I will be paying my penance for horrible car passenger behavior this morning by doing hot and painful yard work. Erika was nice enough to drive me downtown, and all I could do was bitch about cars, trucks, bikers and her party-planning skills. Woundup, you're such an asshole!

What else ... Fantasy draft. I'll be pulling my best Alvy Singer and sneaking away from the Dissent/Commentary discussion tonight for a few moments.

What was that: You want a continuous "Jeeves and Wooster" tape loop on a TV in the bathroom? You got it! Now it's really a party!

Blurf

I think that subject line says it all. I haven't slept well the last couple of nights. I suppose I'm getting used to the work schedule again after being off for a week and a half. I suppose there could be some stress thrown in there, expecting the baby, etc.

Speaking of which: Erika heard the baby's heartbeat for the first time at the doctor's today. (I was stuck at work.) The doc said it sounded particularly healthy and that the baby had started to move around, which is unusual at this point. I told Erika the baby must take after her.

There's nothing I'd like more than to go to sleep right now. Or, barring that, go home after work and coast right into bed. However, I have to run to Oak Park tonight, with writing after that. Then, THEN, I can cease my tasks — I'd say I can shut down activity in about ... eight hours. I'm already looking forward to it.

Turning a page in the blue book

Today is Erika's last day at Wells Community Academy High School. She's worked there since the fall of 2005, when she started as a student teacher. From there she became a permanent sub then a full-time English teacher for two years.

I've come to view the happenings at Wells as a significant part of our life together, from hearing Erika's first reports about the school after work on our back porch on Walton, to meeting Erika and her teacher friends for drinks, to helping her chaperone school dances. Wells caused Erika a lot of headaches and nearly ground her down at times, but she always persevered. She also made some great friends there, with whom she'll keep in close contact.

When I was on the night shift in late 2006, I walked down to Wells nearly every weekday to pick up the car for various uses before returning it by 2 p.m. to catch the bus into the Loop. I'm going to leave work today in half an hour, and when I get to the Wells parking lot, I'll be closing a chapter of sorts.

Ah, but I shouldn't be so melancholy. I have a feeling we'll be meeting Rita in that same parking lot some time in the fall after school or after a dance. With all the contemplations of endings lately, it's time to refocus on the here and now and beginnings: a new life and a new school for Erika, which sounds light years ahead of Wells.

I'm a bit more sentimental than my wife, so I'm sure she'll chuckle at my dampening eyes (though not maliciously) when I stare "one last time" at the old place. Who knows, she might join me in some tears this time — she's going to especially miss her students. But she'll always have memories of the many kids she's helped, and we'll always have the back porch at Walton, the skyline in the distance at night, Erika's cigarette smoke wafting around us, the stories of the strange school filling the air.

Confessions of a lazy man pt. 356

Over the years, I've heard different people expound on what the "real" value of college is. I once had a co-worker who believed that the ancillary responsibilities of college — signing up for courses, writing checks to the bursar, showing up for class, etc. — were more important than what actually went on in the classroom. They taught you, so he said, how to pay your bills, follow a schedule and generally keep up on the operational aspects of life — important skills, certainly. (Cue Woody Allen quote.)

In the classroom, I often lamented how the usual mixed load of 15 credit hours per semester lent a hurried feeling to learning, forcing students to juggle multiple tasks under pressure and time constraints and, alas, not allow them to truly sink into a subject and get the full experience. Just try to remember your college classes (if you went to college) and the books you had to read. I took a senior-level course on the Metaphysical Poets, and I only have (had) a cursory knowledge of them. To learn more, I would have to do it on my own. (Cue Frank Zappa quote.)

I've come to a point in my life where I either wish I had more time in the day to devote to things or I wish I could clone myself to do a more thorough job of the many tasks pulling at me. I don't know if this feeling is associated with a particular time in/part of a person's life, as if on a schedule itself, so I'll refrain from making blanket statements in that vein. But I will say this feeling markedly increased when Erika, Suzi and I bought the house.

If Erika is reading this, she's probably laughing right now, as I opted to lie on the couch and read Monday night instead of helping to install the pot and pan rack like we planned. (See, this is where the clones would come in.)

There's that old quote — forget it, I've tried searching — about people being able to only have one true "passion" in life, at least as far as occupations/hobbies go. That might mean you only have so much time and energy to go whole-hog on one task. A part of me really wants to be a compost mixing expert, or a plaster wall expert, or an insulation expert, or a gardening expert and especially a child expert, as a father. But you also need time to rest, relax, reconnoiture with loved ones and generally listen to your breathing, as the Buddhists say.

(Pause.)

Now that Erika has caught her breath from laughing, I believe I've found the answer: (Mark,) make a to-do list week-to-week and (echoes of my old co-worker) stick to it. It begs that eternal question, "Could you have been doing something more productive during that hour of Frasier last night?"

One of those expecting fatherhood books I bought said that there are second chances in fatherhood (as well as third, fourth, fifth, sixth, etc. chances). So, too, I believe are there second chances in home repair, gardening, house painting, compost mixing, tree branch sawing, basement insulating, exhaust tube caulking ... Okay, take a breath. ... I won't (and can't) be an expert at all of these things, but the fact that I'm doing them at least opens my experience up a little further and makes our house and our life together better.

That's more than I can say for 100-level statistics.

The ACPP never sleeps

Lately, I've been doing some of my best work at Target. Another Pre-Raphaelite Erika.

Gettin' results

Erika's writing success keeps rolling! One of her poems will be published in Quarter After Eight in the spring. The journal is affiliated with Ohio University. It doesn't look like they have readable e-versions of their issues, so you'll have to take my word that it's a fantastic prose poem. It's Erika, so that goes without saying!

Role reversin'

My folks are in town right now. They've got a busier social life than we do! They were out late last night partying by a lake in Hinsdale, and they're doing a Southwest Suburbs tour today that will go well into the evening with drinks and dinner. What about me? Well, I'm looking forward to paying the bills later and reading up about our insurance coverage for baby. I'll be lounging on the recliner with my slippered feet on the ottoman, newspaper in hand, pipe in mouth, when those two whipper-snappers get home at 11. They're going to have a lot of explaining to do.

But in all honesty, I'm looking forward to spending the rest of the day with Erika, as I did on Monday -- nice bookends to the week. In that regard, this summer has been very nice. I feel the work and avocation stresses that constricted us in the spring have loosened. What we do today will be anyone's guess, but at least we'll be together.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Well, a preliminary test has shown that Erika is amused by "Jeeves and Wooster." We finished up the "Pearls" episode last night before bed. I enjoyed it as well, but that's only natural. I don't know if we'll watch any more together any time soon, but it's nice to know they're there. We were really getting into "The Tudors" a couple weeks ago and should have more on the way from Netflix.

We've certainly had our homebody nights, as habits of the long winter and Erika's stressful second semester (where she often had hours of work to bring home) have carried over into the warm months. Sometimes you just want to plop in front of the tube, zone out and relax. Don't worry, though, we have been more active lately, going out to dinner and such. And we're getting our bikes fixed as I write this. Should have them late today or tomorrow.

In truth, there are some big changes coming up for us. Most of you who read this already know, but if you don't: Erika is pregnant. We found out in early June. We couldn't be happier; it was something we were thinking about for awhile. Naturally, your narrator is a Nervous Norvous, and must work to keep his irrational anxieties in check during this experience and just enjoy it. But that's not the story by a long shot. The story is that we saw the baby's heartbeat for the first time this past Friday. What an amazing, unexpected surprise. Erika is nine weeks along, and I wasn't sure we'd be able to spot it.

So, you can look forward to more reports in the family way vein. I'll spare you the gory details, but I'm very happy to relate the many joys it will bring us in the coming months/years. It's going to be a change, but one I think will pay off in ways I can't begin to imagine. Wish us luck!

Telegram for you, sir

Your intrepid narrator is now home alone for the weekend. Why am I alone, you ask? Well, Erika advised me to stay here and not accompany her to Las Vegas for a friend's wedding. She believed it would be too boring and irritating for me, and we'd be better off saving the money. Nice of her, don't you think?

Now some of you may already be taking the "under" on me starving to death by Sunday, but I assure you, I'm eating a Trader Joe's frozen pizza, freshly cooked, and enjoying a cold O'Doul's as I write this. And if I need more provisions, I have the car.

Indeed, if anything will be my foe this weekend, it will be idleness and solitude. In anticipation of that, I've created a to-do list for the next three days that mixes house chores, exercise and outside errands to keep things interesting. And when I inevitably end up on the couch, I'll have books, comics, sports radio, Netflix selections, PBS, WCIU and MeTV to keep me company. Oh, I almost forgot. Before he moved to NYC last weekend, Jonathan lent me a full complement of "Jeeves and Wooster." I've watched one now, and I'm hooked.

So don't worry about me, dear reader. If things get really desperate, I might -- hey -- call some real human beings. What a novel idea.

Das Glute

If you're interested in getting some new vegan-/vegetarian-friendly recipes or just curious about new brands of faux-meat on the market, stop on by the South Loop Whole Foods this Saturday at 1 p.m. to watch Erika give a cooking demonstration with Upton's Naturals seitan. Upton's gave her a load of the stuff, and she's got some fantastic ideas in store.

It keeps calling me

I'm starting to jones for a Three Oaks visit.

Last year, Erika and I took a weekend getaway to southwestern Michigan, which, as some of you may know, is a popular regional vacation spot for Chicagoans. Erika, being the queen of Internet research -- seriously, if she wanted one of those hot-shot news librarian jobs at the Trib, she could get it -- did an exhaustive search of rental properties in the area. We're not made of money, so we wanted something cheaper, and she found a wonderful little rental house in the wonderful little town of Three Oaks, just over the Indiana border and a few miles East from more expensive, tourist-trappy New Buffalo.

We first went in March, when it was chilly and raining, and again in August around our birthdays, which included a great side-trip to Kalamazoo and the Bell's Brewery. But that was 10 months ago, and the itch needs scratching.

You might look at Three Oaks and call it a tourist trap, too. I won't go that far because, despite the pricey antique, furniture and preserves stores, it has a Left-Wing, artistic undercurrent, as well as a micro-sized downtown area, that lends it definite charm. Three Oaks boasts its own community radio station, health food store, art-house cinema, used book store and newly reopened vegan-friendly restaurant. It also has two great bars -- one where the bartender cooks greasy food right there for you a few steps down from the taps.

You also can rent bikes for trips through the green farm fields surrounding the town, and you certainly can ride over to New Buffalo and go up the tourist corridor through Union Pier, Harbert and Sawyer. You'll find more antiques, another bookstore, a great corner store, a Swedish bakery and some awesome Middle Eastern food. There also are some wineries (not as fun as you'd imagine and go with white) and the beach (water is cold year-round, but still good for sunning).

I like to think Erika and I will move to this area someday. Maybe one of us will make a splash with our writing; maybe one of us will be able to work from home; or maybe, after opening our vegan restaurant in Chicago, we'll open a bed and breakfast in Three Oaks. Whatever the route, I want to make it part of our 10-year plan. See you in Three Oaks!

Time together

Today is our third wedding anniversary. Later, we're going to the Chicago Diner to celebrate. Three years. June 2005 was a different time. For example:

- Erika just finished up her junior year of college and was preparing for her first student teaching assignment.
- Mark logged year three at his dead-end news job, with no end in sight. (But he did have a 20-minute commute on one bus.)
- Erika was working as the Friday night (and Sunday morning) bartender at Tuman's.
- Mark had yet to begin work on his first full-length play.
- Erika smoked.
- Mark ate meat -- particularly the grilled ham and cheese from Big Herm's.
- Erika and Mark did not go to the gym.
- Erika and Mark had no nieces or nephews and had never attended the wedding of a friend or family member together.
- Erika and Mark lived on Noble Street in Noble Square in an apartment with avocado green walls in the living room and a space heater -- and loved it.

Here's to another three wonderful years. A lot more is definitely going to happen.

To Read

Erika's poem -- the one I mentioned a month or so ago -- has just been posted at Double Room. Please take a look. I'm very proud of her.

The Luckiest Man in the World

I think I should just use this space to talk about my wife. You don't really need to know anything else about me that hasn't already been said.

Erika, besides being a gifted writer, is a gifted vegan chef. Her food helped me smoothly transition into vegetarianism. Last night, Erika ascended the heavenly, gastronomical steps. She marinated seitan in barbecue sauce and orange juice, coupled it with shell macaraoni and vegan cheese, and completed the menu with steamed broccoli. Every meal she makes is delicious, but this one... wow. And I'm eating the leftovers right now. Incredible.

I had it yesterday with a bottle of Chimay Grand Reserve while watching the Bears beat the Giants. There's no better Sunday night!

Congratulations

Please wish Erika congratulations next time you speak to her. One of her poems is going to be published in Double Room -- a prose poetry journal. It is very unusual for them to accept work from an unpublished writer like Erika, so this is a great achievement.

Since I first met her, Erika has won two college poetry awards and used her writing to win her weight in beer, which helped supply our wedding. I am very lucky to know this wonderful writer.

Rising Action

Erika had a good day. She just got her new laptop computer, and she doesn't have to work tomorrow. This would, in the normal Woundup order of things, necessitate a visit by us, the loving couple, to The New Watering Hole (Cleo's). But alas, your host may have been struck by a bug. Longtime Woundup readers will remember other pronouncements of sickness that fizzled quickly. I'm beginning to think the ol' Cracker Factory has something to do with it. Sick Building Syndrome wasn't just a great Rhode Island hardcore band, it's a very real, very modern affliction that might be afflicting me as I write this. I think.

Enough hypochondria... please enjoy the above picture from the loving couple's last visit to The New Watering Hole (Cleo's), which occaisoned an improvisiational dance from the above-mentioned wife.