Friday, October 03, 2008
Let It Rain . . . (Listen)
You’ve heard that the road to hell is paved with good intentions? Well, I’m here to tell you that this is wrong, wrong, wrong. It’s paved in buckets of water. Let me explain.
A month or so ago some family members called me up and said they’d be coming to Chicago. Would we want to spend the weekend hanging out with them? The idea seemed fun, pretty harmless in fact. Stay in a hotel, eat a couple of nice meals, see some sights, catch up on family gossip and angst, what could go wrong? Well, plenty, in fact, and all of it involved the weather.
As our bad luck would have it, we descended upon the Windy City when it decided to audition for the next Noah’s Ark thing. After living in Seattle for a year I considered myself something of a rain professional, but this weekend in Chicago was in a whole different league. By the time we made it from the train station to our hotel, our clothing was already drenched. Yes, we brought reinforcements, but every time we dared to go outdoors these socks and shirts would become sopping wet within a minute or two. For the first time in my life I seriously considered getting into a cab to go one block because the umbrellas we were all clutching were worthless against this hell-laden tsunami.
And so we spent much of the weekend camped out in various hotel rooms strategizing what to do next. If that’s not fun then call me a wet noodle. More often than not this involved mad dashes to restaurants and museums. Anyway, Sunday morning came and we bid our adieus and headed to the train station. And then the nightmare really began.
We wandered to the train depot only to learn that the train had just then been cancelled. In fact all South Bend trains that day were cancelled. Friendly officials gathered the hundred or so poor souls who were about to get on the train and said that they had no idea how to help us. Amtrak was booked solid, they were dubious that we could make it to the airports and get one of the buses back, and on and on and on. But they said it with a smile and concern, and that’s what matters. After a bit of worry, I walked outside, got soaked for the millionth time, and tried to rent a car. After a sweet hour I learned that there were no cars to rent in downtown Chicago, but one--that’s right, one--car still existed at O’Hare. And so my little wet family bundled into a cab to go to O’Hare and get this one beeping car. After another hour of waiting in lines we got into this little car and begin our journey back to Michiana.
And then the fun really began. We proceeded to get stuck in one of the greatest traffic jams of all time. It reminded me of the opening scene in Jean-Luc Godard’s “Weekend” where the traffic jam ends in cannibalism. Here I got to experience the five stages of grief, and all in one day! First came the denial that one could be in such a horrible situation, and with wet feet no less; then there was the anger at the situation and at being in a horrible Chevy; next came bargaining with anyone to get me out of this situation. I must have been pretty far gone because I wondered if I promised to vote for that moose-hunting barracuda Sarah Palin would the sun appear and the highways open. Finally, there was the depression compounded by extreme sogginess. The next stage is supposed to be acceptance, but I never reached this one because as I was approaching this Zen-like moment I witnessed a car explode in front of me and then hordes of policeman screaming at everyone to get off the road. This landed us into a part of Indiana that was a mystery to me. I stopped at a McDonald’s where a kindly policeman working security gave me directions out of this aquatic nightmare. We finally reached home in the wee hours of the next day. I am still waiting for that acceptance stage, though the Beatles’ song “Rain,” firmly stuck in my head after hour four our journey, helped a bit. Lennon said that he wrote the song because he was sick of hearing “about people moaning about the weather all the time.” How true.
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A random selection from more than 300 Michiana Chronicles -- refresh the browser to see another set:
Joe Chaney -- More essays by Joe
Louise Collins -- More essays by Louise
April Lidinsky -- More essays by April
Jonathan Nashel -- Let It Rain / More essays by Jonathan
Jeff Nixa -- More essays by Jeff
Ken Smith -- More essays by Ken
Jeanette Saddler Taylor -- More essays by Jeanette
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About the series
Michiana Chronicles is a series of radio essays by Jonathan Nashel, Louise Collins, Joe Chaney, Jeanette Saddler Taylor, Jeff Nixa, April Lidinsky, and Ken Smith.
Michiana is the region of north-central Indiana and southern Michigan roughly centered on South Bend, Indiana.
Michiana Chronicles airs on Fridays at 7:35 a.m. and 12:30 p.m. on WVPE (88.1 FM), the home of public radio in Elkhart / South Bend, Indiana.
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Recent pieces
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Facing Facebook (Listen) -- Hey, everybody … uhh – just give me a sec-ond here [sound: typing]. There. I just had to update my status on my Facebook page to “April is Facebooking while talking about Facebook.” And maybe you are, too? We’re at a clear tipping point, and suddenly loads of people my age have been sucked into the Facebook zone. And while Sarah Palin blasted Joe Biden for “You know, lookin’ back instead of – doggone it -- lookin’ forward,” the surging popularity of Facebook tells us millions are obsessed with looking both ways in order to make sense of the present. By April Lidinsky.
Let It Rain (Listen) -- As our bad luck would have it, we descended upon the Windy City when it decided to audition for the next Noah's Ark thing. After living in Seattle for a year I considered myself something of a rain professional, but this weekend in Chicago was in a whole different league. By the time we made it from the train station to our hotel, our clothing was already drenched. By Jonathan Nashel.
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Ice Cream Man -- “He liked driving the truck,” she said. “He drove a semi?” I asked. “No, an ice cream truck,” she said. “Tasty Cream. You know, those old US mail vans painted yellow and white with a cooler inside?” TQ nodded, “Yeah, he was good at it. He drove real careful, and he’d always take us other drivers out for beers. Spend a whole day’s pay on the guys.” “That was a waste,” said Kim. “Was not,” said TQ. By Jeff Nixa.
Getting Together -- I read somewhere that the 4th of July holiday is the most relaxed holiday of the year for folks: none of the stresses of Christmas or New Year or Thanksgiving. It’s summertime, and not only is the livin’ easy, but it’s also a time for celebration of family through the age-old institution of the family reunion. Mine is no different; we had a “cousins-gathering” one summer Saturday at the farm where my mother was reared. It’s near Lebanon, Kentucky, and my older sister, the knower of these things, tells me that it has been in our Mother’s family for about 175 years. By Jeanette Saddler Taylor.
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