, ,

I’m helping direct the media campaign for Loyal to Justice, a group of students, alumns and supporters of my MA in Social Justice and Community Development degree program at Loyola University Chicago.

We are taking on the administration of Loyola tomorrow at a noon rally at Water Tower Campus in River North, Chicago.

See: Loyal to Justice for details.

And from my pen: PRESS RELEASE: Loyola Graduate Students Protest Dramatic Curriculum and Faculty Changes

and: An Open Letter to the Society of Jesus


I just know I’ve got something coming

The great news is that January is over!

The other great news is that while I’ve been preparing packages to send to friends post-Christmas, I’ve been listening to old Regina Spektor bootlegs I hadn’t heard for a long time which remind me of Ukraine (and Christi Anne’s kitchen. . .)

This has transfered my current travel-writing plans to Ukraine now, since EUROMAIDAN and its fresh on the mind.  Somehow, the night bus excursions still are important to detail in Ukranian travel.

I took a long long walk today through my neighborhood, up to the market to buy Polish and Ukranian candy to mail to friends.  FINALLY I remembered that it felt good to live in Chicago.  Because Chicago has been WERID and dark lately.

February has got to be better.  I got my crazy narcotic-like crush out of the way for the year (an opera singer).  I should be good to go to focus on things that do actually matter in non-heroine-like states. . .  like Rome and World Refugee Day and that crazy Polish website. . . oh and, the fact that I was abruptly transfered from the Communications department to Strategic Planning and Reporting at my Illinois quasi-governmental job. . . frankly, it’s a fine move.  I get the whole nepotism thing now too. . .

I had a dream with James Martin in it, last night, which is a bit weird. OR an amazing sign of getting published in America. . . we shall see.

Feburary, lets walk toward sanity and sunshine together.

Where have all the flowers gone?

Long time passing. . . 

Singer of folk songs I taught to Polish high school children in classrooms facing low-lit rolling hills of flowery babushkas and cows.

Farewell Pete, favorite singer of favorite friend, Miss Molly.  I think of her bamboo-tatoo of your banjo.  And others who appreciated you, and all the broken hearts you’ve touched.

Listening to American folk music abroad will always be central to me.  Will always help feel like the best parts of home, of friends, adventure.  Of connecting with someone once in awhile in our solitary journeys.  It helps to remember that it is all romantic. . . that maybe you will buy those boots of Spanish leather.

And here, I remember skipping around in circles, the lyrics of Oh Susanna written in chalk.

Wars and revolutions

Because Nina always sounds like Europe, and it’s a good time to note that Ukraine continues to explode–protestors  are being shot and journalists are being beaten and photos of Kiev look like a war zone.  I heard that a priest from YKY was taken from his home last night, and it feels even more real.

And South Sudan. . .

And our master’s program . . .

Oh the darkness.  How DO the Russians do this winter.  How do CHICAGOANS do this winter?

I was told that the first time I yelled at one of those Green Peace guys asking for money on Michigan Avenue I was a true Chicagoan.  But it’s not true.  Only winter will earn the Chicagoan stripes.

I should embrace it’s similarities to Eastern Europe.  I felt a little Poland today, I wore the gray thick sweater I bought there a few years ago, and had a conversation about finding a sauna.

The sauna in Ukraine, that one was the best.

A high of -15

Chicago, post-Christmas break

The noises coming out of my radiators tonight are truly incredible.  More incredible, in fact, than the cold steam coming  through my bathroom window.  They are incessant tonight, which is abnormal.

Usually, there is a 15 to 20 minute break between this hissing, banging, gurgling sounds of my radiators in the winter.  At least enough of a break to get some sleep (as I write after 2am.)  They’ve now heated my apartment so fully that my friend’s comment earlier on my complaint of the severe cold in Chicago does seem correct,

“Well at least you’re apartment is 10,000 degrees.”

I opened my shades to let in a little air.  There’s ice on the inside of the window.  I turned on my fan.  Everything can be managed by a good fan.

It is, really though, great to be back in Chicago.  Christmas break, despite my first two buses back to Chicago getting canceled, despite being de-friended on facebook by someone who days earlier gave me earrings–was restful, and filled with friends, family and love.  It was hard to leave Nebraska, to realize I was going back to a lot of hard work and many very busy days.

The adjustment reminded me of my days of travel, the days of absolute torturous loneliness and sadness when I left home or friends or family.  Transition always broke open new possibilities though, and I don’t think it’s possible to grow without it.  I always hate saying goodbye to Peter and Rooney and the Mollys, and I always will.  And I’m painfully lucky to get to experience those kind of familial bonds of love.

My last night in Omaha, after two haphazard nights sleeping on my brother’s futon after canceled buses, I got to spend several wonderful hours with my mom, shopping and then eating French food and drinking wine.  Then, we met my best friends one more time–friends with whom I’ve never felt more fully like myself, more content in the moment.

Before 10p.m., Mom and I sped off and then waited for nearly an hour and a half for Megabus to finally arrive.  It was enough time to befriend a fellow Nebraska-to-Chicagoan who was game for drinking on the night bus.  The two things I discovered from this adventure were 1: don’t buy Sangria-flavored red wine even if it is the only twist-off bottle in the store and 2: I finally found someone who has a boat! (and offered to let me ride on it!)

I have been back, alone and content, in my apartment in Uptown for a few days now.  I’ve been given time to organize this semester’s classes madness and to think a little bit about the break, about relationships and friendships and various holiday packages I still need to send around the  world.

I’ve been reading a lot too, which has been a comforting reminder of how I  feel so much more human when I’m reading works by James Martin or Murakami or whoever.  The more I read the more I want to write and the more I write the better I feel.

My best friend in Chicago, Nina, called 2013 the “Year of Sophie” but I’d like to continue it on into 2014.  New plans, new friends, new love and adventure.

And hopefully, by the end of this winter, a tolerance to my miserable fucking radiators.

Hello 2014

New year, resolved intentions, Woody Guthrie/Bridget Jones style for 2014:

#1 Graduate with MA

#2 Create great media project for DEON.pl

#3 Go back to Poland this summer (and Balkans. . .)

#4 Find fabulous job in Chi or abroad

#5 Be in beach shape by March

#6 Start Jesuit examen et. James Martin

#7 Make deliberate, sober, honest men decisions

#8 Write more letters

#9 Visit Rachael in Indy

#10 Start travel writing again/keep up blog/edit old travel stories

#11 Work on feet calluses before they become unmanageable

#12 Create new recipes with lentils and other legumes

#13 Try harder at work, patience. . .

#14 Work on photography skills and learn video editing

#15 Read more non-school or news

#16 Avoid beer

#17 Spend less money on booze in general

#18 Grow out hair a bit

#19 Find a church and time that are attainable to attend

#20 Thoughtfully be a part of MASJCD battle

#21 Send package to Australians

#22 Write regularly in new journal

#23 Plan trips more than days in advance so as to avoid repeated Megabus disasters of 2013

#24 Don’t let the 4:30pm darkness of Chicago winter get me down

#25 Sleep earlier and more



Krakow, oh Krakow!

Talking to the trees

Today I walked through St. Boniface Cemetery because the trees were turning and it is a bright fall. I was in a fine mood, as I’d had a very successful meeting with my advisor who told me I could graduate in 1 ½ years. And we spoke of travel for the summer and I saw my future like a crystal ball.

I looked up into the trees in the park and heard the Dr. Zhivago music in my soul.

I bless these moments of divine presence in the city.

At least the poetry of the trees is a constant in this funny season. I so wish it would be a real excuse for not doing homework or inexplicably not going to work.

“Where were you?  Why didn’t you call?”

“Don’t you know? I was talking to the trees.”

What did I do this month?  I re-kindled my romance with cafes and the post office.  I danced around a few landmines of love confessions.  I tried not to listen to too much Jewel.

I may be sentimental to my detriment, but it sure does make for a fine afternoon now and then.

With God on our side

Elzbieta in Krakow

Elzbieta in Krakow, fall 2010

Every now and then I hear a song that feels like three glasses of wine and looks like nostalgia:

The country I come from is called the Midwest. . . 

me in a Prague hostel, 2010

me in a Prague hostel, 2010

Every day is like new and I’m very present because the stakes are high.  I try to see the forest among the essays about inner-city Chicago and graphics of affordable housing stats for the Governor.

There are so many characters these days.  New friends, old friends, coffee dates, drinks after class, drinks before class, weekend tea and feelings parties.  North side–I stay on the north side on the weekend.  Don’t plan to see me unless you’re between Wilson and Devon.

But I miss this:

Erik sleeping on the train to Warsaw

Erik sleeping on the train to Warsaw

There have been many fine moments this fall, and now that I’m in my reflection phase of the season my focus has moved back toward my international sensibilities.  The thought of moving back, of working toward a job, of living abroad (in Poland) again.

The question always arises. . . why do I want to go again?  Why do I think of leaving while I love establishing myself in Chicago, a place near my family, that has plenty of Polish people anyway?

US has folk music, but Poland has the gypsy.


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