We have a gorgeous car, paid off entirely. Why on earth would we sell it? Yeah, I know depreciation makes me rue this delay in forethought. The initial idea was entirely out of financial need. We simply cannot afford to own a car. Sure, I can put gas in it whenever needed. But if something were to happen — even the need for routine maintenance — we don’t have the necessary dough to correct the situation. Admitting this feels like failure to me. A car is one of those things that supposedly everyone has to have. I grew up in a city that has a laughable public transit system. I can’t imagine anyone getting along without a car there. And I had my own from the time I was a senior in high school. There was only a brief period of a year and a half during college that I was carless.  Since then I’ve always boasted my own working wheels. There’s a freedom of spontaneity that’s entirely consumeristic. I can go where I want, when I want, to then buy and haul the things I want as my car eats up the miles. My body is barely involved. Occasionally, my brain has been barely involved too, as I drove well-traveled routes on autopilot. A car is pretty much the ultimate in ease.

Therefore, to give it up feels like a major exam in moving away from the consumer culture.  I must think of it less as a failure and more of a proactive step away from being a part of the problem. It’s a great way to really protest the war in Iraq, for one thing. One less car means fewer emissions, less consumption of fossil fuels, greater consideration in where I want to go and what I want to do along the way, and certainly fewer things purchased as my body bears the weight. I don’t have to think about feeding any meters, finding any parking spaces, paying any tickets. And, yeah, there’s always the health benefits.

Chicago is a really well connected city when it comes to public transportation. And it’s currently trying to upgrade this system to be handicap-accessible (which, in turn means it’s stroller and heavy luggage and grocery cart accessible) so going carless isn’t impossible. We live about a block and a half away from a couple of great transit options, too. The only difficulty to surmount would be grocery shopping. We do live a few blocks from a Dominicks but are really more financially compatible with Aldi right now.  So, we decided to get one of those tall grocery carts and start shopping at the Aldi off the Wilson stop.

First, I didn’t even know where to get one of those carts. Friends informed us that a good hardware store would carry a sturdier option than, say, Target. We got the top of the line model, with a weight capacity of 250 lbs, and figure it will pay for itself in all those saved gas and car maintenance costs down the line. Off we trucked to Aldi, I pushing Henry in the stroller and Mark towing the cart. We had a bit of a logistical challenge trying to arrange our cart and stroller to fit on the grocery trolley and ultimately Mark decided to just walk with Henry as he tooled around the store with our cart, alternately pushing and riding, while I selected groceries. Mark did the heavy hauling once our purchasing was finished. The Wilson stop has a lot of stairs involved but most are fortunately broken up with landings. It was the trip down stairs at our home L station that was the most difficult, I reckon. It’s possible this all may be easier to negotiate by bus — maybe. Those grocery carts can be mighty unweildy. We also may opt to occasionally Peapod it, especially during particularly rough winter days. Mark says hauling groceries on foot builds character, so he might venture out no matter the weather.

The other thing that’s going to take some getting used to is the amount of added time to consider in making any journey. Say I want to take Henry to the zoo. Instead of just arranging to zip out and return before evening rush hour, I have to plan for the approximately one hour trip there with a transfer to a bus (I’m still trying to decide which bus is the best to take to the zoo itself) and then the hour return. Do I want to deal with a packed train and bus coming home? Can Henry have an adequate nap slumped in his little umbrella stroller? Will I have enough snacks and meals with me to accomodate us both? There’s also the matter of getting things done when I don’t feel so well. Schlepping on public transit when you’re under the weather takes the exhaustion to a whole different level. But Henry won’t be in a stroller forever. And I’m sure my body will get used to things as I do more and more.

Another thing that almost never occurs between two adult strangers is a spontaneous greeting. But it happens all the time between strange adults and a child. A person pushes a child in a stroller down the sidewalk. An approaching adult just stops and says something to the child or waves or otherwise greets them. Sometimes the adult attempts to engage the child in a conversation. AND this often occurs without the adult even acknowledging the other adult present. That is so weird.

I’d love to know if this sort of thing happens in other countries.

Over time I have collected a good handful of different knitting books in my quest to find one that could adequately teach me further knitting proficiency but somehow, with each of these books, the instructions would suddenly cease to be legible.  It was as though the individual words in the sentences had decided to jump up, do a quadrille and collectively thumb their noses at my exasperation. But now — the whole world of knitting is open to me, thanks to a trusty guidebook borrowed from a friend. I may have to buy this guide for my own studies.

So, I’m happily on lesson II’s project — a ribbed scarf. Yippee! I feel a great swell of excitement with each purl I stitch. And, upon returning to a knit, I feel a little bit of relief. It’s kind of like the difference between spending time with a new friend and then going back to hanging out with your spouse. You feel a little giddy with this new person in your life — the future possiblities of cool things to learn about each other, the new perspectives. But it’s also so comforting to relax back into a relationship you’re really solid on.

So anyway, yesterday I came across a discussion of the Big Box referrendum on the Chicago Indymedia website and I knew that something had changed with that, so I wanted to see if I could find out what. Instead, I was sickened to read a response by some academic blow-hard to dared to say that companies shouldn’t be “pushed” into paying people more than their services were worth. I can’t even conceive of a response to that. Little pieces of my mind just explode with the thought that someone would think another person’s work isn’t worth the amount of money that could allow them to feed their children and themselves and have a place to live. Oh, and then this guy said that the writers at Chicago Indy are always down on wealth. Oh, poor, poor ickle rich man. Why’s everybody always pickin’ on him?

And then I found an independent TV show, locally produced, that had a story about a bill to try to make sure large telecom corporations don’t restrict ‘Net bandwidth based on their own commercial gain. While watching that and subsequently browsing the site to learn more, a friend popped on to chat with me. I forwarded him the link and he proceeded to do a bit of devil’s advocating. It turned into a discussion of whether radicals are just pushing some kind of flawed, hot-air agenda and blowing things out of proportion. Rather than craft pithy and honed responses to his points, I was trying to wrestle the keyboard away from Henry as he simultaneously repeatedly turned off the monitor. I finally had to just cut the discussion short to focus on my son. He’d had enough of my sitting around online and I really can’t blame him for his impatience with me.

And now, this morning, I heard that Mayor Daley vetoed the Big Box ordinance, claiming it would discourage Walmart and Target and the like from erecting their temples in our city. I know I shouldn’t be suprised at this. But, again, my mind reels that the Mayor is so distracted by the imagined short-term gains that he doesn’t see what these corporations are doing to the thousands of people forced into jobs (because there’s little else) that will allllmost, but not quite, allow them to live without constant struggle. I know a gal whose husband has a college degree but could not find work beyond Walmart after he graduated. And now, he’s trapped because potential employers from better paying jobs ONLY see WalMart and won’t hire him.

Oh, and don’t get me started on American Apparel’s anti-union, sexist sham of a progressive store. After reading about all the harassment and oily business practices, I began to wonder where I was going to buy underwear. Fortunately, there’s a website that shows you how to make a pair with an old t-shirt (thrifted for me, thanks.) Now if only I could learn to knit socks.

Yeah, so I’m feeling overwhelmed. And the fact of the matter is that this inundation of underground reading material is not diminishing. As our frightening government continues to muscle its way around, ploughing through whatever human rights stand in its way, there’s a bigger and bigger picture that’s not being told. But it’s hard to know where to turn or what the best course of action in day-to-day living is. And sometimes I feel like because I’m a stay-at-home mom (dread breeder!) and white (potential gentrifier!) I’m part of the problem. I read countless discussions full of bitterness and anger from people who supposedly believe similarly and I feel small and ineffectual. And then overbearing whitewashing from the other side that cuts a large swath through compassion infuriates me to speechlessness — how does that help the cause? 

I want to know how to live every day and make a difference. I want to know what clothes and shoes and food I can afford, what books to read, what ideas to show to my son to not be a part of the problem. But I also want to feel like I’m not alone in this because I’m not necessarily an artist and I live far north of all the alternative happenings and that we still own a car and that I still have a long way to go to feel comfortable no matter what neighborhood I’m in. I want to know that it’s okay to not know about all the stuff that’s going on and that I’m not a poseur for trying to read all the fantastic zines and websites and blogs that are out there to reflect the people that are actually in the trenches and living in really innovative ways that I can only dream of. I want to be one of them but I want to be me, too. I also want to know more of them and find out how they live their lives so I can be inspired in practical ways. But I don’t want to be some kind of sycophantic hanger-on, seeking out the progressive cool kids for a taste of their celebrity. And I know from past experience if I go to far I risk too much deprivation and isolation that throws me back to the same cycle of consumption and willful ignorance that really is part of the problem. It’s got to be different this time. I’ve got to find some way to feel like this struggle is really my struggle, that I am underground too, not necessarily fighting in the trenches but perhaps bringing those fighters snacks.

So last week was one long field trip. I schlepped Henry up and down stairs, off and on busses, in and out of elevators. We saw well near all the animals at Lincoln Park Zoo, a lot of very awesome art at the MCA, and — the coolest thing all week — a release party for Venus magazine. The last was the most fun. Mark came along too as we rode the Grand bus out to an unknown street and walked out into an unexplored neighborhood. I’m not sure what neighborhood we were in, but it was the full-on industrial experience generously sprinkled with gentrification and a goodly number of art studios. We were bound for Mars Studio, up the inevitable steep flight of stairs into a cozy space lined with Mark Ryden-esque portraits. There were amazing baked goods and lots of hipsters. A woman came up and started talking with us about how neat it was to see a toddler here and how she had two and they’d be tearing the place up if they were there and how her husband is Rock’n'Roll Dad (somebody we’ve got to find out more about) and does shows for just Henry’s age. And she’s now one of the publishers of Venus. Whew! Rubbing elbows with celebrities and it isn’t even 8 o’clock!

We wandered a little, looked at the art, talked about how cool it was that the studio took lay-away which put some real live art closer to our grasp. Then my stomach was feeling a bit twisty from earlier Taco Bell and I thought maybe this was all there was and should we get going? Mark suggested we try upstairs. I was sceptical but was proven way wrong when I stepped into the real party. It was a craft fest with different stations where you could make your own t-shirts, or buttons, or a leather cuff, or a stuffed creature. You could also get a free massage. We sat down and pulled Henry up to a table where we both started working on a t-shirt using Sharpies and stencils. It never really occurred to me that permanent ink could be a good thing on a t-shirt sometimes. Mark made an awesome turtle homage in red and black. I embellished a turquoise shirt with some different colored flowery bursts that I would later further modify by cutting off the sleeves and around the collar. It turned out really nicely and i’m quite proud of it.

This room soon became the very happening place to be and maneuvering around with child in arms was a tad difficult but we stayed as long as we could. Mark made a bunch of buttons and I made a leather cuff. Henry scarfed cookies and, I hear, daintily licked cupcake icing and held a crowd in thrall. I even nursed a couple times!

The only damper on the evening was a pervasive commercial presence of a particular company attempting to attract hipsters to buy their product (I’m not naming the company or product ’cause that’s what they want me to do with my influential and marketable social skills!) Mark picked up a little promotional “magazine” from said company and I noticed they were somehow partnering up with all kinds of underground people. It made me sad. I’d read an article about this in Punk Planet a few months ago but had never really seen it in action.

Anyway, eventually we said our goodbyes and walked off to find the nearest L station. I realized that it was totally possible to do really fun and groovy things like we used to, now including Henry in our party. And, more importantly, the party set off a little creative spark in Mark and I so that we see how fun it is to be crafty together. Tomorrow, being Labor day and a vacation day for Mark, will be a craft day for us. I hear it’s going to be a rainy day. Ideal! Bring on the ric-rack and the popsicle sticks!

And now look what I’m doing.

Yesterday I visited with Allison and it began to hit me that she’s moving away. Today I feel heavy and tired and it’s a bit hard to breathe. The inpenetrably overcast sky outside doesn’t help much. I feel like I’m climbing a steeple and connections are dropping away even as I see my friends and interact with others on an increasing basis. Perhaps I’m actually climbing The Tower, preparing for the lightening storm to follow. I feel alternately restless and bored, agoraphobic and in need of company and release.

Henry is pulling me in polar directions as I am forced to learn what it means to not take something happening to my person as “personal”. One minute he’s politely thanking me for a snack and giving kisses and massages, the next he’s savagely biting my fingers and testing how hard his little fists can hit my face and chest. Apparently the “terrible two’s” begin once there’s a two anywhere in the number of months they’ve been on the outside.

What if alchemy and astrology were still thought of as mainstream science?

What if ants were as big as Welsh Corgis and were kept as pets?

What if people were encouraged to say what they felt at any time?

What would happen if everyone got all the sleep they needed?