A little more than two years ago, Cody and I lived together in downtown Lafayette. Our one bedroom apartment overlooked beautiful buildings from the fourth floor of a historic complex in which President Grant had stayed when it was used as a hotel. Despite its slanting floor, persistent issues with temperature regulation, and occasional lapses in hot water, that apartment was home because Cody and I were together.
During the spring of 2010, Cody and I had taken classes at St. John's Episcopal Church to better understand the denomination and ready ourselves for confirmation into the church. As the time drew near for the ceremony, our priest handed us paperwork asking for personal information. One question stood out to me as unanswerable: "permanent address".
At this point in my life, my parents were in the process of selling my childhood home--the home in which we had lived for the past nineteen years. I was within months of graduating college and had no idea where I would be able to find a teaching position or a full-time job outside of my field that provided health benefits. Cody had not yet received his acceptance into his Master's program. A "permanent address" seemed like an impossible dream, and I realized for the first time how transient life could be. Cody and I took our papers back to the apartment, and I cried over those two words.
The next day I filled in the pesky, strife-creating blank with my home address--the address I had used from the time I was able to understand the concept of a house having a numerical designation. I found myself wishing away the next couple of months so I would know where on earth I was going to move, where my parents would end up living, and if I would be able to continue cohabitating with my fiancée.
Of course, readers, you know part of the conclusion to that chapter of my life. I began working at my small, rural school in west central Indiana while Cody began attending a small, private university in northwest Indiana. I live with my parents, still in my childhood home due to a snafu with my dad's old company. As I type this, I am looking around at the bedroom in which I have slept since I was four years old; the walls are a different color, the décor has changed, and my bed is on the side of the room that housed my sister's crib once upon a time, but I can see all of its (and my) transformations as clear as day.
Two years after having that initial existential crisis, I find myself thrown back into the lesson that there is no such thing as permanence. Life is fleeting, so why should living arrangements follow a different rule? There is a "for sale" sign in front of the house again, along with a lock box on the side door to the garage that pinches my fingers every time I close it--a nasty reminder that my house will no longer be my own. Cody is eagerly and anxiously awaiting news about being accepted into a Ph.D. program for neuroscience. Everyone seems to be spinning around me at warp speed while I must be reactive. If the house sells and closes before the school year ends, I have to get an apartment. If Cody does not get into the Ph.D. program, I must move to northwest Indiana to avoid a third year apart from my husband--something neither of our mental faculties could survive. The job market for teaching is still difficult; if I have to leave my job, do I leave teaching altogether? Do I embark on a new career? Do I take a job beneath my education level and free up some time for me to write?
Regardless of the outcome of the next few months, I know that my second bout with transience is less frightening than the first. With certainty, I can say that I will be living with my husband after this school year, which makes me ecstatic. I can say that I will either be living in northwest Indiana or southwest Indiana. I can say that I will have health insurance, either on my current policy or added onto Cody's. I will work at my current place of employment or be in the process of interviewing within a smaller area of Indiana. If I keep all of the things I know conclusively in the forefront of my thoughts, the unknowns seem far more bearable--and this time, I'm adult enough to handle the changes with just a teensy flicker of excitement.
(Now I just need to become a famous author so I can buy this house back and turn it into my childhood museum.) ;)
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Reflections on Three Trips to Ground Zero
On September 11, 2001, I was taking my eighth grade standardized test--the ISTEP exam. I remember standing third in line for the water fountain outside our classroom when a boy ran up to us and blurted, "A plane crashed into the World Trade Center in New York!"
I rolled my eyes. I assumed that the boy--a trouble-maker--was making up a terrible lie to delay our test. As I walked into the classroom, however, I noticed that the television had been turned on. We were told that in light of this national emergency, the school was halting the test. We would spend the day watching the news coverage. I swear I did not blink. Smoke was billowing from both towers. I watched each of them collapse, and part of my innocence and sense of security fell with them. My incompletely developed, adolescent brain could only stare in horror and think, "This looks like a scene from a movie. This can't be real." I could only process the buildings falling. The men and women seen jumping were beyond my comprehension.
During my high school band's trip to New York in March of 2003, I saw Ground Zero for the first time. A cross of fused I-beams from the towers stood above a pit of dirt, dump trucks, and intricate ramps. Its perfect proportions draped with a shroud-like sheet of steel was awe-inspiring. I had to believe that God was in this place, that it had not been abandoned as it would be so easy to believe. Looking into the pit, I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness; there were people whose remains had yet to be uncovered, identified, and returned to their families lying broken and unrecognizable in the debris. Amid the towering Manhattan skyline, this depression sent such a deluge of emotion coursing through my body that I could not fathom how those directly affected could bear to look into its lack of substance.
The image of Ground Zero was haunting, and it mingled with the footage of 9/11 that will forever be burned into my brain. When I took the opportunity to return to Manhattan six years later, I was curious as to how much the site had changed. I knew that post-9/11 sentiment, both good and bad, was still very much alive--patriotism, yes, but also Islamaphobia. I wondered if Ground Zero had undergone as little change as had happened in the minds of Americans. After journeying from my lodgings on 189th St. all the way down to the site, my friend and I were disappointed to find barricades covering Ground Zero from view. Cranes loomed overhead, but even when we looked from the highest point on the St. Paul's Chapel grounds nearby, we could not see what was happening inside the fence. I thought that perhaps, while the construction of the memorial was taking place, the site should remain covered, allowing the memorial to rise from my last memory of Ground Zero like a phoenix.
A little less than a month ago, my husband took me to New York as my Christmas present. He had never been, and I was ecstatic to be able to share the city with him, accompanied by a college friend with whom we would stay. As we traveled to the South Street Seaport on our first day, I had few thoughts of the World Trade Center memorial. To be honest, I forgot how close the two were. As my husband, friend, and I exited the subway station on Fulton Street, I turned to my right. Standing out in the skyline, incomplete but already possessing a sort of reverence, One World Tower rose from the ashes.
I rolled my eyes. I assumed that the boy--a trouble-maker--was making up a terrible lie to delay our test. As I walked into the classroom, however, I noticed that the television had been turned on. We were told that in light of this national emergency, the school was halting the test. We would spend the day watching the news coverage. I swear I did not blink. Smoke was billowing from both towers. I watched each of them collapse, and part of my innocence and sense of security fell with them. My incompletely developed, adolescent brain could only stare in horror and think, "This looks like a scene from a movie. This can't be real." I could only process the buildings falling. The men and women seen jumping were beyond my comprehension.
During my high school band's trip to New York in March of 2003, I saw Ground Zero for the first time. A cross of fused I-beams from the towers stood above a pit of dirt, dump trucks, and intricate ramps. Its perfect proportions draped with a shroud-like sheet of steel was awe-inspiring. I had to believe that God was in this place, that it had not been abandoned as it would be so easy to believe. Looking into the pit, I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness; there were people whose remains had yet to be uncovered, identified, and returned to their families lying broken and unrecognizable in the debris. Amid the towering Manhattan skyline, this depression sent such a deluge of emotion coursing through my body that I could not fathom how those directly affected could bear to look into its lack of substance.
The image of Ground Zero was haunting, and it mingled with the footage of 9/11 that will forever be burned into my brain. When I took the opportunity to return to Manhattan six years later, I was curious as to how much the site had changed. I knew that post-9/11 sentiment, both good and bad, was still very much alive--patriotism, yes, but also Islamaphobia. I wondered if Ground Zero had undergone as little change as had happened in the minds of Americans. After journeying from my lodgings on 189th St. all the way down to the site, my friend and I were disappointed to find barricades covering Ground Zero from view. Cranes loomed overhead, but even when we looked from the highest point on the St. Paul's Chapel grounds nearby, we could not see what was happening inside the fence. I thought that perhaps, while the construction of the memorial was taking place, the site should remain covered, allowing the memorial to rise from my last memory of Ground Zero like a phoenix.
A little less than a month ago, my husband took me to New York as my Christmas present. He had never been, and I was ecstatic to be able to share the city with him, accompanied by a college friend with whom we would stay. As we traveled to the South Street Seaport on our first day, I had few thoughts of the World Trade Center memorial. To be honest, I forgot how close the two were. As my husband, friend, and I exited the subway station on Fulton Street, I turned to my right. Standing out in the skyline, incomplete but already possessing a sort of reverence, One World Tower rose from the ashes.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
R&R in NYC
For those of you who did not read my last post, Cody and I recently went on our first actual vacation. Yes, we once went to Little Nashville for a weekend, and our honeymoon was just six short months ago, but this was the first instance of Cody and I making sure we had everything we needed in two carry-on bags, going to the airport, and flying somewhere fabulous. This is less of a post about the problems associated with living apart five days out of the week and more about the sweet respite of being with each other with no work, school, or social obligations.
First, I absolutely loved getting to go to Manhattan with Cody. New York City is my other love, and being able to share this beautiful location with Cody was magical. Seeing him get excited over seeing the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building as we were landing, watching the awe on his face over the architecture and sheer massiveness of the city, and being able to impress him with my never-present-in-Indiana navigation skills are things that I will always cherish.
Cody and I left Crawfordsville at 3:00am on December 28 after getting about two hours of sleep. My sister, Kelsey, was kind enough to take us to the airport. I had not yet flown out of the new Indianapolis airport, and aside from the having, "An alarm has sounded. Please move to an adjacent area until the situation has been investigated," resounding over the loudspeakers for the first ten minutes we were waiting in line to print boarding passes, I was thoroughly impressed by the architecture, organization, and amenities. Cody and I then enjoyed a coffee and breakfast before entering the security checkpoint. During this time I encountered what is quite possibly the most white trash tattoo ever--mudflap ladies tattooed on a man's calves.
The flight was uneventful; I tried my best to sleep but was unsuccessful. Once we got close to Newark, Cody and I watched for his first glimpse of the Manhattan skyline. We both looked forward to getting a small nap before taking the train into the city--but that was not to be the case. We visited with our friend and his girlfriend until she had to be taken to the airport to fly back to Indiana. We then made ourselves look less like sleep-deprived Hoosiers and were off into the city. I remember thinking during my two-week stay in New York in 2009 that Manhattan was the only city in the world that made me feel short, overweight, and underdressed. Remembering this, I spent my first day in New York in a beautiful black sweater dress, cable-knit tights, and black booties.
After arriving in Penn Station, Cody, our friend, and I took the 6-line to the South Street Seaport in order to see Bodies: the Exhibit. We nearly froze in line, but my neck was rescued by a kiosk selling five dollar scarves. (I am now in possession of a "fauxberry" scarf whose plaid pattern is pretty convincing. The "100% Cashmere" sticker is not.) Once we entered the exhibit, all three of us were amazed by the preservation process and how intricately everything was dissected. There was even a complete circulatory system! The preserving polymer had been injected into the vessels and the rest of the body was eroded with a mild detergent. This visit was especially poignant for me for a couple of reasons. For those readers who do not know, I have a cavernous angioma--a vascular malformation in my brain. Being able to see the cross sections of a brain that had hemorrhaged was an awesome and sobering experience. Being able to hold a human brain at the end of the exhibit was a dream come true.
We finished the day by walking near the National September 11 Memorial (see subsequent post coming soon!) and through Wall Street. The police presence was astonishing due to the OWS movement. We were treated by our friend to chocolate from La Maison du Chocolat and treated him to sushi that night back in Summit, New Jersey.
Our second day, we drove into the city in order to stay at the Sheraton New York Hotel, which was also housing the Iowa State football team for the Pinstripe Bowl. I expected a run-of-the-mill chain hotel, but it was beautiful and still decorated for Christmas. We walked through Central Park to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, ate lunch at a lovely Irish pub, and traveled downtown with a dear friend of mine who was kind enough to take the subway from 181st St. to the southern end of Manhattan to meander through the streets searching for good pubs. We finally stopped at Swift's, piquing our mutual literary interest. Upon returning to the hotel at around 3am, I had the brilliant idea to walk the five or so blocks to see the Rockefeller Center tree lit up at night and the boys were willing to accommodate my childhood desire. The tree, unfortunately, was blocked off for New Year's Eve preparations, according to one of New York's finest.
The next morning, Cody and I left our friend to sleep in the hotel since he had been awake for a solid twenty-four hours by the time we were all ready for bed. We walked to Times Square in order to see the preparations underway for the New Year's Eve party and to allow Cody to take in what is in my opinion the dirtiest, most crowded, seizure-inducing area in Manhattan. After walking through Times Square, Cody and I found Rockefeller Center and its beautiful tree, with which I have a love-hate relationship. Its size and beauty are breathtaking, but I hate that the city has a 90-something year old tree cut every year for the sole purpose of decoration.
As we walked away, I thought of all of the things that I still wanted to show Cody and still wanted to experience myself. At this point in our last day in the city, I had come to the sad acceptance that I would not get to see the Diego Rivera murals in the MOMA (a mere two blocks away from our hotel) or indulge in the deliciousness of a red velvet cupcake from Magnolia Bakery. Manhattan, however, never lets me down. I had forgotten that Magnolia Bakery has a location near Rockefeller Center. I walked past the store window, happened to turn, and very nearly shrieked with excitement. I pulled Cody into the bakery to order three red velvet cupcakes. He devoured his, of course, but I savored every bite as we sat at the edge of a fountain decorated with huge, red and silver Christmas ball ornaments. We also stopped at a cart for a hot dog. Then my wonderful husband asked me if I would like him to go back to the hotel, pack our things, and check out of the hotel so I could see the Rivera murals. I have never felt unsafe in New York (unlike in Los Angeles...), so I nearly skipped to the museum, waited a meager twenty minutes in line, and allowed the depth and honesty of Rivera's murals to envelop me.
Upon our return to New Jersey, we ate lunch at an amazing Indian restaurant. This was only my second time to eat Indian food, and it was much less intimidating with our very knowledgeable Indian friend telling me exactly what to try. I fell in love with sojji, a semolina-based dessert with cashews and golden raisins. After we got back to our friend's house, our worn-out, sleep-deprived selves lounged and watched Captain America with some delicious pizza for dinner. We were too tired to go to a restaurant.
We fell asleep about nine and woke up at four to go to the airport. We talked over parfaits, muffins, and coffee in the terminal about possibly moving near the city after we both have doctorates and our mixed feelings about leaving--happy to be home in our comfy queen bed instead of mattresses on the floor, but sad to leave the city. Cody might just be having a love affair with New York as well.
First, I absolutely loved getting to go to Manhattan with Cody. New York City is my other love, and being able to share this beautiful location with Cody was magical. Seeing him get excited over seeing the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building as we were landing, watching the awe on his face over the architecture and sheer massiveness of the city, and being able to impress him with my never-present-in-Indiana navigation skills are things that I will always cherish.
Cody and I left Crawfordsville at 3:00am on December 28 after getting about two hours of sleep. My sister, Kelsey, was kind enough to take us to the airport. I had not yet flown out of the new Indianapolis airport, and aside from the having, "An alarm has sounded. Please move to an adjacent area until the situation has been investigated," resounding over the loudspeakers for the first ten minutes we were waiting in line to print boarding passes, I was thoroughly impressed by the architecture, organization, and amenities. Cody and I then enjoyed a coffee and breakfast before entering the security checkpoint. During this time I encountered what is quite possibly the most white trash tattoo ever--mudflap ladies tattooed on a man's calves.
The flight was uneventful; I tried my best to sleep but was unsuccessful. Once we got close to Newark, Cody and I watched for his first glimpse of the Manhattan skyline. We both looked forward to getting a small nap before taking the train into the city--but that was not to be the case. We visited with our friend and his girlfriend until she had to be taken to the airport to fly back to Indiana. We then made ourselves look less like sleep-deprived Hoosiers and were off into the city. I remember thinking during my two-week stay in New York in 2009 that Manhattan was the only city in the world that made me feel short, overweight, and underdressed. Remembering this, I spent my first day in New York in a beautiful black sweater dress, cable-knit tights, and black booties.
After arriving in Penn Station, Cody, our friend, and I took the 6-line to the South Street Seaport in order to see Bodies: the Exhibit. We nearly froze in line, but my neck was rescued by a kiosk selling five dollar scarves. (I am now in possession of a "fauxberry" scarf whose plaid pattern is pretty convincing. The "100% Cashmere" sticker is not.) Once we entered the exhibit, all three of us were amazed by the preservation process and how intricately everything was dissected. There was even a complete circulatory system! The preserving polymer had been injected into the vessels and the rest of the body was eroded with a mild detergent. This visit was especially poignant for me for a couple of reasons. For those readers who do not know, I have a cavernous angioma--a vascular malformation in my brain. Being able to see the cross sections of a brain that had hemorrhaged was an awesome and sobering experience. Being able to hold a human brain at the end of the exhibit was a dream come true.
We finished the day by walking near the National September 11 Memorial (see subsequent post coming soon!) and through Wall Street. The police presence was astonishing due to the OWS movement. We were treated by our friend to chocolate from La Maison du Chocolat and treated him to sushi that night back in Summit, New Jersey.
Our second day, we drove into the city in order to stay at the Sheraton New York Hotel, which was also housing the Iowa State football team for the Pinstripe Bowl. I expected a run-of-the-mill chain hotel, but it was beautiful and still decorated for Christmas. We walked through Central Park to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, ate lunch at a lovely Irish pub, and traveled downtown with a dear friend of mine who was kind enough to take the subway from 181st St. to the southern end of Manhattan to meander through the streets searching for good pubs. We finally stopped at Swift's, piquing our mutual literary interest. Upon returning to the hotel at around 3am, I had the brilliant idea to walk the five or so blocks to see the Rockefeller Center tree lit up at night and the boys were willing to accommodate my childhood desire. The tree, unfortunately, was blocked off for New Year's Eve preparations, according to one of New York's finest.
The next morning, Cody and I left our friend to sleep in the hotel since he had been awake for a solid twenty-four hours by the time we were all ready for bed. We walked to Times Square in order to see the preparations underway for the New Year's Eve party and to allow Cody to take in what is in my opinion the dirtiest, most crowded, seizure-inducing area in Manhattan. After walking through Times Square, Cody and I found Rockefeller Center and its beautiful tree, with which I have a love-hate relationship. Its size and beauty are breathtaking, but I hate that the city has a 90-something year old tree cut every year for the sole purpose of decoration.
As we walked away, I thought of all of the things that I still wanted to show Cody and still wanted to experience myself. At this point in our last day in the city, I had come to the sad acceptance that I would not get to see the Diego Rivera murals in the MOMA (a mere two blocks away from our hotel) or indulge in the deliciousness of a red velvet cupcake from Magnolia Bakery. Manhattan, however, never lets me down. I had forgotten that Magnolia Bakery has a location near Rockefeller Center. I walked past the store window, happened to turn, and very nearly shrieked with excitement. I pulled Cody into the bakery to order three red velvet cupcakes. He devoured his, of course, but I savored every bite as we sat at the edge of a fountain decorated with huge, red and silver Christmas ball ornaments. We also stopped at a cart for a hot dog. Then my wonderful husband asked me if I would like him to go back to the hotel, pack our things, and check out of the hotel so I could see the Rivera murals. I have never felt unsafe in New York (unlike in Los Angeles...), so I nearly skipped to the museum, waited a meager twenty minutes in line, and allowed the depth and honesty of Rivera's murals to envelop me.
Upon our return to New Jersey, we ate lunch at an amazing Indian restaurant. This was only my second time to eat Indian food, and it was much less intimidating with our very knowledgeable Indian friend telling me exactly what to try. I fell in love with sojji, a semolina-based dessert with cashews and golden raisins. After we got back to our friend's house, our worn-out, sleep-deprived selves lounged and watched Captain America with some delicious pizza for dinner. We were too tired to go to a restaurant.
We fell asleep about nine and woke up at four to go to the airport. We talked over parfaits, muffins, and coffee in the terminal about possibly moving near the city after we both have doctorates and our mixed feelings about leaving--happy to be home in our comfy queen bed instead of mattresses on the floor, but sad to leave the city. Cody might just be having a love affair with New York as well.
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