Via Chicago

I broke down. I had a myspace blog, but who uses myspace anymore? I had intended to blog like the dickens during my Chicago residency, but never wrote once in it (journaling for class took the place of it and those of us who were in the program know how much it took to get ourselves to do so). With the cultural technological shift, I have chosen this route. Also, partially because a good friend of mine is departing for overseas for a year and this will help somewhat in keeping up to date with each other’s lives (along with various facebook messages back and forth and the occasional skype date once I can get my hands on internet that doesn’t involve a dial tone).

Before we get into the nitty gritty, I will leave a disclaimer. I do realize this is a public blog. This blog may amuse you (the reader), depress you, aggravate you, inspire you, etc. I apologize in advance if I say something that ignites the wrong fuse. I will try to keep my language clean and to not use specific names (which may eventually become confusing). Being that is this public, I can't say I'm going to trust that you don't share this information with other people. I will probably sound selfish throughout all of this, but isn't that what part of the purpose of these things are? Also, this being the first blog entry, I'm going to warn you. This one is extremely long, mostly because it consists of my Chicago story that I haven't fully told everyone. With that said…

Why “The Good That Won’t Come Out”? That was the title of my old blog that I used for four years. It’s also the first song I had ever heard by the band Rilo Kiley who has sat at the number one spot on my favorite bands list since my early high school days. And yes, I kept a myspace blog for four years. What I did do with all of those entries? I deleted them. Well, most of them save around 15 or so. I began deleting earlier this summer, needing a fresh start. I will admit, I’m a bit of a memory whore (Which may explain why I remember far more instances that happen than you. Yes you. You know who you are). There are far too many memories created during my undergraduate days I feel I no longer need to carry (hence, “timelines & tragedies”).

For many people I know, there are missing parts in the story they know about myself. This would include my departure to Chicago. Let’s begin there, because I know many of you haven’t gotten the ‘low down’ or anything in general other than facebook stalking me (don’t lie). I departed for Chicago, IL on Tuesday, January 5th, 2010 around 8:30AM. I made a call to my mom letting her know I got through security and then received a call from a friend/ex where her final words were, "I love you." I sat at Eppley Airfield alone, taking my first flight ever. Alone. It was emotional, frightening, yet exhilarating. I was more afraid of throwing up on the plane than it crashing. As my plane reached the city, I was in disbelief at where I was. It didn’t feel real. I was technically on my own in what can be compared to a foreign country. I had been to Chicago once before, but it was so structured and confined to where it wasn’t all too memorable and enjoyable. I figured out how to get my luggage by myself (all two suitcases) and took my first taxi ride (it was in one of those Scion vehicles that look like shoeboxes). I remember just gawking out the window at all of the old buildings and their character. It was an incredible feeling. I felt so much like a tourist. But the thing is, I was. At least, at that moment in time. I arrived at my apartment, “The Boulevard,” around 11:00AM, becoming the third person to move in. I remember right after meeting A~, our housing coordinator, I met S~ and I think his dad and right away I got asked if 1. I was a Huskers fan and 2. Did I have running water. Oh heavens tibetsy. I think he was joking about #2. I remember looking at the inside of the Boulevard and thinking how awesome this place was (I love, love, LOVE hardwood floors). I did many firsts that day. I ate Chicago style pizza which I was unsure how I felt about (sauce…ON TOP!?). I rode a public bus (CTA!). I went ice skating (which has been one of the most terrifying moments of my life). I shared a bedroom with someone for the first time since my first year of college. Orientation plus winter weather was intense. But I got a lot out of it. I also got lost in the city during our excursions we had to take (I wasn’t alone during this). And I learned how to protect myself if I was attacked (or at least, try to protect myself). After that first week of orientation, I knew that I wasn’t going to go back to Nebraska the same person. And I was excited about that. But at the same time, a part of me was still lingering back in Nebraska, not quite ready to fully let go.

My first student teaching placement was at Curie Metropolitan High School, located in Archer Heights. I remember being on the orange line for the first time and seeing the school from the train, comparing it to the size of two Target stores. My first day of student teaching, the first music faculty member I met was the department chair. Not all of the faculty members got there at the same time so I went almost two hours before I met my cooperating teacher. My first experience at Curie was watching this musician from South America do a demonstration with percussion instruments. My post was orchestra. Orchestra was one of the three reasons I wanted to student teach in Chicago. The other two reasons aren’t important right now. I won’t go into extreme detail about my student teaching experiences. Most of my students were bigger than I. I also got hit on on my first day. I don’t quite remember how I was actually broken in to the group. I guess that’s why I still have my journal from my seminar class to remind me. I had my own desk in the instrumental office, even though it was often covered in sheet music. I suppose from what I can remember from the top of my head is one of the ways that got me in with the students was sectionals. My group that was I guess my own were the violas. There weren’t many of them, and the number often fluctuated. After working with them so much, I often caught myself outside of the classroom counting to myself because that’s what the violas had the most trouble with (1-2, 1-2, 1-2-3). “Ghosts of Brandenburg” was the main beast to be tamed. Mr. B~, my cooperating teacher, handed the reins over to me to work “Adagio Cantabile”, otherwise known as Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 8 in C Minor Op. 13, or the “Pathetique Sonata.” I am an incredible nerd and was ridiculously exciting to be able to conduct. How excited was I exactly? Let me reveal to you an embarrassing story. There was a night where our Chicago group went to a One-Act Play festival. Someone who I admire greatly and find incredibly enchanting spoke to me afterwards about my Curie experience so far. I began telling her that I was given a piece to conduct with the advanced orchestra and was really excited about this because I finally got to use my baton. I may have slapped my forehead a dozen times that night after realizing how dorky I must have sounded. But it was the truth.

The day finally came to where I would finally use my baton to conduct the advanced orchestra. And when I began, I realized they had no idea what I was doing. They didn’t know how to watch a conductor or read what the conductor was trying to convey to them. After that day, I planned for a conducting workshop day. Everyday at the beginning of class, both the intermediate and advanced orchestras would do warm-up exercises from this packet they had. A metronome would be played during each exercise they would play. Well, that day I turned the metronome off. I used some of their exercises and a few scales to help get certain points across. By golly, this worked. It actually worked. From that day on, “Adagio Cantabile” began to sprout life. It became more elegant and no longer sounded like just playing notes on a page. It was glorious. That day they also learned ‘the conducting stance.’ That tool right there just may be the reason I was able to work with inner city Chicago teens so well. However, I still question how I did it. How I got them to listen. To play. To begin to make music. Towards the beginning of my student teaching, there was a certain moment that became a turning point in knowing what I really had inside me and how the students would react towards me. Let’s just say, that was most I had ever exerted my voice the whole semester. I suppose I proved to them that I wasn’t just this nerdy white girl from Nebraska. But I also found out that one of the best tools to gaining their trust is just being yourself and talking with them. I always liked to ask questions. I also wanted the students to be able to listen to each other. I carry a lot of warm memories with me from Curie and I honestly cried the day I had to leave them. I wish I could have been there all semester because I felt I had left with unfinished business. And I still feel that way today. My final day was March 5th, or at least, technical day. I’ll explain later. I spent the following day with a few of my students at solo/ensemble competition because I was accompanying a student.

I began my second student teaching placement the following Monday, March 8th at Hampton Fine and Performing Arts School located in Auburn (when I say names like that, that means the neighborhood). I came on a day where testing was still going on. So, I only saw the Monday students for 15 minutes each. It was a bit of a disappointing day. I have mixed feelings about my Hampton experience, and the people I lived with know this. It was rough. It was honestly rough. I took the 15 bus to the 47th red line station, took the train to the 79th station, and rode the 79 bus to 79th and St. Louis. I rode in a dangerous neighborhood 5 days a week for 7 weeks. I honestly feared for my life during the beginning but felt better as time went by. I’ll be honest, I ran into a lot of rude people on the bus. But there were some that stick out that were incredibly pleasant. About 97% of my travel time to Hampton I was the only white person on the CTA (Chicago Transit Authority). Usually in the morning, the 79 bus was packed which made for an uncomfortable 40 minute ride (it took me an hour and 20 minutes to get there everyday). There was a day where I got on the bus and was packed towards the front. My bag accidentally nudged a girl in the hip and I got the stinkeye and a few rotten words right away. I apologized and tried to keep my messenger bag as close to my body as possible so I wouldn’t invade anyone’s personal space. These two older ladies who were sitting saw what happened. When someone next to them got off the bus, they offered me the empty seat. There was another moment where I was sitting towards the front of the bus and once again, it was full. An older lady had gotten on and no one budged to let her sit. And so, I got up and offered her my seat. Half of the bus just stared at me, I think partially in disbelief that the only white person on the bus gave up her seat.
There were days where the racial tension was thick. One day some younger girls were sitting across from me saying, “Cracker this, cracker that,” while giving me the stinkeye. It obviously was an awkward situation, but I just had to ignore it. That was the worst of it. I often wore my identification badge on my rides but made sure the actual ID was covered. All you could see was the lanyard peeking out from my collar. There was one day that a guy asked me what NMEA was (I had been using one of my NMEA lanyards for my badge). I had to explain to him that it was Nebraska Music Educators conference. I had to then explain I was from Nebraska and I was becoming a music teacher. As soon as he heard music, he asked if there were any recording studios in Nebraska. “Yes, there are a few. No, I’ve never been to any of them.” I enjoyed that conversation a lot because I totally opened up this guy’s eyes to a whole different world in a matter of minutes. Another enjoyable conversation was with this mother who sat down next to me. She asked me why I was so dressed up and I explained to her that I was becoming a music teacher. She was so fascinated by this and starting talking about her kids. It was fascinating to hear her point of view about her children’s education. My morning transit rides caused my mornings at Hampton to feel like they would just be flushed down the drain. However, not all my Debby Downer days were caused by my rides to school.

I rarely ever saw my students which was problematic. The students I saw the most were my Thursday students, 1st and 6th grade. Breaks, assemblies, PBIS training, and professional development were the cause. I had a heck of a time remembering names. But what I find fascinating is for how little I saw certain classes, the students became attached to me (my Curie students became attached as well but in a teenage sense). Whenever I had a moment where I was working one on one with a student, it was like an interrogation each time. “Where are you from?” “Where is that?” “Is that your real hair color?” “How do you get your eyebrows to match your hair?” “Why do you wear ties?” “Why are you not wearing a tie today?” “How old are you?” “Are you Ms. M~’s daughter?” “Is that your real eye color?” Yes, I really got asked those questions. Because I saw my first graders the most, they became extremely attached. My cooperating teaching, Ms. M~, gave me the task of beginning a primary choir, consisting of select students from 1st-3rd grade. This was I guess what you’d call, “My baby.” Kind of like “Adagio Cantabile.” I picked out the music and taught the hour how I wanted to teach it. I wanted my students to be knowledgable of the music I grew up with. Out of the three songs I chose to start with, the one I knew was “Kookaburra.” None of my students had ever heard of it. As much as I wanted to teach it, I knew was going to run into a problem. The end of the original song, the final line is, “gay your life must be.” Most of my students didn’t snicker, but a few did. I had one day where a student freaked out because of the line. I had a short talk with her after class. That was another issue that was overcome.

Long have I had the fear of being who I am and eventually getting fired for it. Because Lord knows it happens in Nebraska. I didn’t know my 7th and 8th grade students all too well. There was a bit of an incident towards the end of my student teaching. It was a day where the students were working and of course, every class has it’s class clown. This particular student wouldn’t stop talking so my cooperating teacher invited him up to the front of the class along with the boy he was speaking with. She wanted to try an experiment. She would have both boys tell each other a story at the same time and have them try to listen to each other as they spoke. This was to have them see what it’s like to try to speak when someone else is trying to speak over you. But instead, some unnecessary words were spoken during the process. As one of the boys began his story, the words, “I hate gay people,” flew out of his mouth. Right at that moment, my cooperating teacher stopped them. Class ended and she spoke to him after class, demanding he write an apology letter for what he said. I was furious and at the same time I wanted to cry. I felt like my stomach was going to fall out of my butt. I felt sick. And I was supposed to teach the next class. I almost had asked my coop if she’d teach but I sucked it up and taught the following class. I brought up what had happened in that class of older students and just, well, did it. I came out to my cooperating teacher. And she was cool with it. From that point on, I felt comfortable in my skin, and I was opened up to a whole new world. It was truly liberating. This totally changed how I conversed with my cooperating teacher.

Towards the end of my student teaching, I had some brilliant things happen. But I realize this is already incredibly long right now, so I’m sure I’ll write about them at another time. On my final day of student teaching, May 7th, I took a bus north to Curie after school from Hampton to see Mr. B~ and my students a ‘final’ time. When spring break came around, I went back to Curie for a week while my Hampton students were on a two week spring break. The Saturday of that week at CPS large ensemble competition, I made my cooperating teacher tear up. Never have I made a grown man cry. Never have I thought I had left so much of an impact on a place and a group of people. Back to my final day of student teaching. After I left Curie, I cried on the orange line to downtown (not the whole ride). I honestly couldn’t have asked for a better student teaching experience, and even though my Hampton experience was a ride and a half, Curie has left me with many fond memories.

After all of that teaching stuff, I’m sure you want to know what I did OTHER THAN teach. We got to know the Chicago tourists don’t see. During my four months living in the city, never did I; visit Navy Pier (the closest I got was being in a vehicle that drove up to it), go to the Field museum, go the aquarium, walk on the beach (cold weather!), eat at Dunkin Donuts (I honestly have never been to one). I went to the Lyric Opera to see The Marriage of Figarro (and wore my tux!), saw Billy Elliot, sat by Lake Michigan, ate at The Original Pancake House (LOVE), fell head over heels with Giordano’s, Moon Palace, and Hyde Park Gyro’s, went to the Art Institute (twice), ate at Anne Sather, went to a White Sox game (a forever memorable experience). I visited Andersonville by myself to find the People’s Music School. H~, S~, and I stayed up (or tried) all night after an amazing time in Boystown to watch the sunrise at Lake Michigan (Day of Silence). I traveled all the way to Northwestern University in Evanston by myself to watch a violin teacher teach the most adorable students I have ever seen (itty bitty violins!!!). I saw the Chicago Symphony Orchestra perform Stravinsky. Visited the Sears Tower and Millennium Park on a field trip with my Hampton students. I composed music on a table cloth at the Mity Nice Grill on Michigan Avenue. There were many ridiculously amazing, confusing, and aggravating moments. We lived a weekend without heat and hot water during the cold winter. We experienced the separation of the floor, but at the same time, gained new friends (Super Bowl). I was outed to my roommates without my consent. A flirtation had begun between myself and someone else after the first weekend of March that would last the entire time there and never develop into anything no matter how many attempts I tried to arrange a get-together to talk, and failed miserably. I got back to the Boulevard at 3:30AM that night. Goose Island 312 became my favorite beer. Howl At The Moon became one of the top two best nights of my entire life. I also realized how awful of a dancer I must be (proof is found in a video of myself dancing to “Bad Romance” at Howl At The Moon) and how much 14 years of dance must have not have worked. I played piano in the basement at 1:00AM with amazing singers to sing along to The Phantom of the Opera. I also infected the Boulevard one “ra ra ah ah ah, roma, ro ma ma, ga ga oo la, la” at a time along with my dear friend A~. I camped out often on school nights in S~’s room, just talking. I drank a lot of Dr. Pepper and danced awkwardly in the kitchen. I also cleaned a lot and became incredibly sarcastic when needed. I found a miniature secret door in the floorboards in the living room. I walked around downtown Chicago with a gallon of orange juice in my messenger bag one night. I educated my closest roommates about LGBTQI issues and constantly reminded them about the crap I put up with (ex. “as least you can get married wherever you want and not get fired for being who you are”). I had glass shower doors crash down on me after I showered. I washed a lot of dishes. I ate actual pie for the first time. I knocked on H~’s door probably one too many times after school just to say hello. I had a Xena. I helped a student receive superior contest ratings. I said a lot of weird things (and still do). I hauled my iMac in my messenger bag on the bus all the way to the Apple Store. (my computer eventually bit the dust, right after I arrived back in Nebraska, the display went out). I didn’t feel comfortable practicing my conducting in front of my roommates. I often felt like the best dressed which is ironic (I don’t mean to sound cocky). I told my roommate A~ that she looked like a headmistress after a few of my roommates tried dressing her. I went to the Falcon Inn only twice and the Woodlawn Tap only twice. I spent my 22nd birthday at a professional development day, followed by visits to the Woodlawn Tap and Falcon Inn. I actually watched a full season of American Idol for the first time and consistently yelled at the television during critiques. I quoted so many lines to Juno, My Big Fat Greek Wedding, and Little Miss Sunshine with my roommates. I sang “Don’t Rain On My Parade” almost every time I did my laundry in the basement. I played piano when I was sure no one was listening. I was asked, "What do you do with your hands in your spare time?" and then showed that person what lesbian protection looks like. I learned it takes two girls to open and close a window. I dedicated songs in candlelit rooms. I bought a Dr. Horrible comic book and some Czech music on vinyl. I got angry every time someone mentioned the chore chart. I threw away the chore chart during everyone’s last week together. I thought the Pulaski Day dinner party was brilliant. I became a White Sox fan (don’t hate!). I Cajun danced with Nancy. TWICE. I also danced with two old men. I was sad the Greek music store burned down a week before I visited it in Greektown. I grew to despise the 15 bus. I was unexpectedly outed to a relative who wasn’t supposed to know. I never did get to go to Jamba Juice. I learned where the fuse box was. Fast. I sat on the floor in the hallway with my roommates talking and teaching S~ about pop culture. I taught people the benefits of being a musician at Panera Bread. I carried my computer and bedding seven blocks to the post office. I sang in a choir. I was enchanted. I was inspired. I was emotional. I was frightened. I was confident. I was many things. All of which have led me to become who I am now. And so, May 8th rolled around and I made a tearful ride to Midway Airport to fly back to Nebraska. I am going to be honest and say that my Chicago experience has been the best time of my life so far.

I returned to Nebraska around 5:30PM and stayed in Lincoln for a bit that night to see Wesleyan’s opera production of Hansel and Gretel. The next day I saw RENT. A day and half back in Nebraska and I feel like a stranger. Barely anyone recognized me. Barely anyone spoke to me. Nebraska no longer felt like home as I was chauffeured around Omaha and Lincoln. I stayed the night in Lincoln Sunday and returned Monday night. I minute after I was back in my house, my cooperating teacher from Curie called. An emergency happened and he was no longer able to be at the orchestra concert that was to happen that Wednesday night and said that I was the first person he thought of to take his place. He knew I was back in Nebraska already but after speaking with the principal, he wanted to be sure of what I was doing. I was offered to conduct the advanced orchestra at their concert. Sadly, I had to decline. I couldn’t afford the flight on such short notice and he couldn’t get Curie to pay for my flight. I graduated days later. Before all of us CCULC students left, we were warned that when we would return to where we came from, we may run into people who block what they don’t want to hear. I ran in that instantly and still do today. Most of the professors I spoke to, all they cared about was the touristy things of Chicago. My time spent there was far from that.

Now that I’m back in Nebraska with a music degree, what am I doing with myself now? To be honest, not a whole heck of a lot. I have visited Chicago twice this summer; one trip for Chicago Pride, to visit the Old Town School of Folk Music (that never happened because no one got back to me about interviewing even though my résumé was reviewed), to see my dear friend S~ and to see A~ that never happened. I got incredibly sunburned, but it was worth it. What wasn’t worth it was someone stepping on a ketchup packet and ketchup squirting all over my favorite khaki shorts. That was an awkward ride back to Hyde Park. I also made my first visit EVER to 7Eleven! I kid you not! I proudly wore my bow tie that weekend. The second visit was for an interview with an elementary school in Gage Park that turned out weird. I also took my Illinois certification tests in Mount Greenwood and got sunburned, again. S~ and I deemed that weekend to be S~ and Christine’s BGW. We had a pleasant time in Lake View as well as just hanging out eating food from Hyde Park Gyro’s and watching Little Miss Sunshine. That was the last time I saw S~ face to face as she’ll be leaving the country in two weeks for a year to teach. Basically, what I’ve been doing all summer is living with my parents in Sky-town, applying for every CPS music position I feel qualified for, sorting through my possessions (which I swear seems to never end), making music (specifically the Chicago album that was inspired by ‘some nice clean sheets’), and trying to get back in touch with old friends. I felt like more people from Nebraska kept in touch with me while I was in Chicago than they do now. I feel like I’m almost having to force people now to talk to me and it’s getting awfully frustrating. I feel like I have half the friends now than I did before I left Chicago. But then again, I gained a handful when I came to Chicago. They just happen to live all over the country and not in Nebraska.

And so, it’s already mid-August. I’ve had a few bites from people in Chicago about jobs, one interview and have been screwed out of having an interview (let’s not get into that right now). I’ve received my Nebraska Educator’s Certificate, have been working on getting my Illinois Educator’s Certificate, and am still without a job. After leaving Chicago, my plan was to go back as soon as possible, get a few part time jobs and live with S~. That obviously didn’t happen. The next plan was to keep applying for CPS music positions and hope to land one and move to Chicago. That hasn’t happened. It doesn’t help that hundreds of teachers were laid off, music programs were being cut and the state is broke. And so, with the rest of CPS beginning school in 2.5 weeks, living in Chicago is looking grim/unlikely. I continually get the, “You should have applied to schools in Nebraska, even if they were small,” speech. But I’m stubborn and I have my sights set. There was a moment last week where I really questioned if I wanted to really move to Chicago anymore. This whole job search had gotten me down and ridiculously frustrated with myself. When you think about it, really think about it, why would anyone want to move to Chicago? Pollution, high taxes, plenty of violence, pricey, politically corrupt, poor education system. All reasons to make a person reconsider moving. I felt this way for about a day and rethought things. I have a picture that I took on the bridge on Michigan Avenue after a few of my roommates and I went out for supper (the night of the Mity Nice Grill). Always has it been my favorite picture I have taken of the city. I remember while I was standing there during that moment, it felt magical and enchanting. Almost like the feeling I got when I performed shows with my band. Even though that spot is a tourist destination, I knew that if I moved there, I could visit that spot almost whenever I wanted and feel that all over again. In a city so large and full of life and culture, I felt at home. I missed walking around Hyde Park. I missed riding the orange line. I missed walking up and down N. Halsted late at night. Even though it looks as if I’ll be spending another year in Nebraska, I aim to return to Chicago. I feel as if I have unfinished business. There are art galleries, theatres, neighborhoods, small shops, restaurants, music venues, dive bars, etc., that have yet to be explored. Besides, Mr. B~ said if he could, he’d love for me to teach by his side at Curie.

August is here and it is already beginning to feel like a Nebraska October (it got down to 57ºF one night). This year will be spent saving money, paying bills/loans, continually learning about music (I need to really work on my cello skills), soul searching, figuring out what else I want from life, and making up for lost time with the people I love in Nebraska and still keeping in touch with the ones that aren’t. I’ve already begun to cut my pop habits down (it got bad while student teaching) and drink more water. I know I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in Chicago. I actually want to eventually move to either Massachusetts (or somewhere on the east coast) or Washington state and when I get old and wrinkled, retire to Vermont (I want to be able to sit on a porch in a rocking chair, sip iced tea and listen to jazz records on summer evenings). Before I assembled with my classmates the day of commencement, a girl I went to school with told me that she always believed I’ll be one of the people from our graduating class who will make a difference in the world. It was incredible to be told something like that from someone whom I hadn’t had a real conversation with since probably my second year of college. A few friends and even my site supervisor have said that Chicago needs me. By golly, I’m trying.

As all of us are on journeys of our own right now, whether it is to a different country, state, whatever, let me leave you with a few words to keep in mind. If I have learned anything from my experience in Chicago, it is this. My Curie coop would tell me, “It is never “goodbye.” Instead, it is “see you later” because you never know what could happen. So, I’ll see you later.”