All my mapquest trips I had printed up: from Days Inn to the Renaissance Hotel in Schaumburg; from Days Inn to the House of Worship/Baha'i Temple in Wilmette; and from either location to O'Hare Airport, included too many turns and expressway voyages, which I had no intention of taking. I considered this a vacation.
September 2nd we moved to the newer, much better Days Inn on W. Devon, having gotten excellent directions from them, and checked in. I got a map at the local gas station, but no hand lotion [mistaken assumption the motel would have lotion.] We discovered there was a mall off of Meacham on route to the Schaumburg hotel with a Ruby Tuesday, which we eventually found. At Ruby Tuesday we got very good directions to the Baha'i Temple in Wilmette: follow Euclid, which becomes East Lake, which fetches up on Sheridan, the street which cruises along the lake shore where the Temple resides in all its glory.
Towards the end of my stay I realized why distances were so long on this map. The scale is one inch to two miles. On my Tacoma map the scale is probably one inch to a half a mile. Anyway, with distances so out of proportion, it led many times to a lot of confusion in my mind, thinking we must have passed a particular turn. Driving from Schaumburg to Wilmette along this surface street late in the afternoon took about a rather tedious hour.
At last we reached Sheridan, turned right, passed some smaller streets, crossed a small bridge and then, whoa! There it was, this breathtaking, beautiful, enormous white lacy dome. One is never prepared to see it. Here we are driving through a beautiful residential neighborhood, and then here is the Mother Temple of the West. My real reason for coming to the Chicago area.
Just as at the World Center, where we saw the Shrine of the Bab and the terraces, a jewel-like and holy setting, set in the midst of an urban center in Haifa, I wondered about the people living there mundane lives with this gem in their midst, so replete with meaning for the Baha'is. Do they notice?
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Journey to Chicago, Part 2
At O'Hare airport we had no difficulty finding our way to baggage claim and finding the bag he checked. Then we followed the signs for car rentals, expecting a department within the actual terminal. This is how it works at SeaTac and at the Milwaukee airport when I went to the Kingdom Conference. But we found ourselves out on the curb, with a few signs but no rental offices. There were a few shuttles but none for Advantage. I tried asking the uniformed attendants at the curb and received a variety of conflicting information.
We were hauling a backpack, a small tote bag [me], a small suitcase, a large tote bag, and a santur [him.] We ended up hiking down to the end of the terminal and crossing the street, where I phoned the national office for Advantage [I had failed to secure the address and local phone number for the office at O'Hare.] Perpendicular to the terminal was a very long building and curbside which was the Hilton Courtyard, with shuttles coming and going. With husband and baggage I hiked the length of the building, hoping to speak to an actual human at a counter. This was a lady at a counter for buses. She directed us back to where we started at Door Number One.
Back and forth we hiked, between Door Number One and the curbside sign for Car Rentals 60 feet away, asking shuttle drivers and being directed to either location. At last we found a shuttle for Advantage, which we boarded, and discovered that the actual rental office was four miles off site.
I had Mapquested directions from O'Hare to the Days Inn in Elk Grove, but those directions, not only were confusing, but were going to be invalid from this other location. I got some wonderfully direct instructions from the shuttle driver: turn right out of the rental office, turn right on Touhy, which becomes Higgins, and follow about five miles, and Days Inn will be on the right.
Meanwhile we waited over an hour at the car rental office behind three other parties, one of which was very angry because he apparently had discovered that it would cost him significantly more to have more than one driver on the rental agreement. He kept saying, "I'm screwed!" There was only one clerk at the desk. At last I had the keys to the Nissan Sentra, and learned to use the automatic door lock; later I realized that the electric control for moving the side mirrors was discombobulated and we had to lower the windows to set them manually [they were probably broken by someone doing this initially.]
Down Higgins I drove until I came to a Days Inn and attempted to check in at the desk. Despite making a registration weeks before, they never heard of me. It was now nine thirty at night. We checked in anyway. At this point I realized it might have been better to just arrange for a shuttle from the motel and have a rental car delivered to the motel later.
It was a king, not a queen bed, and though my reservation was for a nonsmoking room, reeked of smoke. I was puzzled. I called the desk: "What is our address here?" "1920 Higgins." I compared this to my address on Mapquest: 1000 West Devon. Wrong Days Inn. I called the W. Devon Days Inn and explained where I was and arranged to check in there in the morning. We ordered a vegetarian pizza and watched actual tapes of the Frost-Nixon interviews on PBS.
We were hauling a backpack, a small tote bag [me], a small suitcase, a large tote bag, and a santur [him.] We ended up hiking down to the end of the terminal and crossing the street, where I phoned the national office for Advantage [I had failed to secure the address and local phone number for the office at O'Hare.] Perpendicular to the terminal was a very long building and curbside which was the Hilton Courtyard, with shuttles coming and going. With husband and baggage I hiked the length of the building, hoping to speak to an actual human at a counter. This was a lady at a counter for buses. She directed us back to where we started at Door Number One.
Back and forth we hiked, between Door Number One and the curbside sign for Car Rentals 60 feet away, asking shuttle drivers and being directed to either location. At last we found a shuttle for Advantage, which we boarded, and discovered that the actual rental office was four miles off site.
I had Mapquested directions from O'Hare to the Days Inn in Elk Grove, but those directions, not only were confusing, but were going to be invalid from this other location. I got some wonderfully direct instructions from the shuttle driver: turn right out of the rental office, turn right on Touhy, which becomes Higgins, and follow about five miles, and Days Inn will be on the right.
Meanwhile we waited over an hour at the car rental office behind three other parties, one of which was very angry because he apparently had discovered that it would cost him significantly more to have more than one driver on the rental agreement. He kept saying, "I'm screwed!" There was only one clerk at the desk. At last I had the keys to the Nissan Sentra, and learned to use the automatic door lock; later I realized that the electric control for moving the side mirrors was discombobulated and we had to lower the windows to set them manually [they were probably broken by someone doing this initially.]
Down Higgins I drove until I came to a Days Inn and attempted to check in at the desk. Despite making a registration weeks before, they never heard of me. It was now nine thirty at night. We checked in anyway. At this point I realized it might have been better to just arrange for a shuttle from the motel and have a rental car delivered to the motel later.
It was a king, not a queen bed, and though my reservation was for a nonsmoking room, reeked of smoke. I was puzzled. I called the desk: "What is our address here?" "1920 Higgins." I compared this to my address on Mapquest: 1000 West Devon. Wrong Days Inn. I called the W. Devon Days Inn and explained where I was and arranged to check in there in the morning. We ordered a vegetarian pizza and watched actual tapes of the Frost-Nixon interviews on PBS.
Journey to Chicago, Part 1
Sept 1st we boarded the Shuttle Express to SeaTac and had a good conversation with the driver who was a Christian. He ended up asking us whether Jesus Christ is worthy of worship. I thought that was rather a poser, and I was allowing Enayat to lead the Baha'i end of the conversation. I really wanted to get into the Kitab-i-Iqan [Book of Certitude] material which better illuminates the dual station of the Manifestation, but didn't have much of a chance.
I instructed Enayat later that when people have these deep convictions, it is counterproductive to say things which invalidate their point of view, such as saying the Bible has been translated wrong somewhere. It's much better to meet them where they are and lead them out of the jungle, shedding light on issues and assisting them to focus on the inner and spiritual meanings of scripture, rather than on the outer and physical meanings which people tend to be trapped in.
Our flight was excellent and we sat next to a woman about my age whose parents were born in Latvia, so we learned some things about that country, and the music.
I instructed Enayat later that when people have these deep convictions, it is counterproductive to say things which invalidate their point of view, such as saying the Bible has been translated wrong somewhere. It's much better to meet them where they are and lead them out of the jungle, shedding light on issues and assisting them to focus on the inner and spiritual meanings of scripture, rather than on the outer and physical meanings which people tend to be trapped in.
Our flight was excellent and we sat next to a woman about my age whose parents were born in Latvia, so we learned some things about that country, and the music.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Lost in Evin Prison
The final day of the Friends of Persian Culture Conference, Sunday, there was a talk [fortunately translated] by Roxana Saberi, author of Between Two Worlds, My Life and Captivity in Iran. Later I bought a book and she signed it. I told her, "I'm glad you got out!"
This is the journalist who was arrested on suspicion of spying and spent 100 days in Evin Prison, who met the two Baha'i ladies, members of the Yaran, who were incarcerated there. That section of the prison was for "political prisoners."
Still extraordinarily emotionally and physically fatigued by my journey, I'm wrapped up in this book, which I started reading this morning. It seems to complement and exacerbate my depressed feelings.
This is the journalist who was arrested on suspicion of spying and spent 100 days in Evin Prison, who met the two Baha'i ladies, members of the Yaran, who were incarcerated there. That section of the prison was for "political prisoners."
Still extraordinarily emotionally and physically fatigued by my journey, I'm wrapped up in this book, which I started reading this morning. It seems to complement and exacerbate my depressed feelings.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Running For the Bus
I was feeling my usual level of anxiety about catching my flight, and decided to do a little time traveling to explore it. It's always about catching the school bus.
Here we are, the four Elwood girls in a line, braiding each others' hair, gulping down overboiled oatmeal on a frosty morning. There's a brother too, but not braiding hair until much later. For some reason there's always a terrific hurry. In twelve years of riding the school bus, I don't remember ever missing it on the way to school. But if we had, it felt as if the consequences would be dire.
So here I am galloping across the little park called the Schoolyard, for an old school which used to be there, my red fourth-hand tights down to my knees by the time I'm halfway to the bus stop, and I haven't even passed the Black Dog yet. The line at the Bus Stop has a Lord of the Flies aura of disorder and confusion without adult supervision. People with clout can take cuts. I usually go for the back of the line.
Right up the hill from the stop is a stair-step family of Mormons with a collie dog they are forever trying to send home. "Go home, Goldie, Goldie, Goldie." They show up last because they are right there by the stop. And here is the bus.
I step on. Suddenly, forty years later, I can smell it. It doesn't smell horrible, but it is a distinctive odor. I've caught the bus. Where to sit? The first day of school I actually engaged in conversation. I hated sardines. I had never even seen a sardine. I became Arlene Sardine.
I used to have Borrowers-sized people rafting down the water in the ditches. Welcome to my world.
Here we are, the four Elwood girls in a line, braiding each others' hair, gulping down overboiled oatmeal on a frosty morning. There's a brother too, but not braiding hair until much later. For some reason there's always a terrific hurry. In twelve years of riding the school bus, I don't remember ever missing it on the way to school. But if we had, it felt as if the consequences would be dire.
So here I am galloping across the little park called the Schoolyard, for an old school which used to be there, my red fourth-hand tights down to my knees by the time I'm halfway to the bus stop, and I haven't even passed the Black Dog yet. The line at the Bus Stop has a Lord of the Flies aura of disorder and confusion without adult supervision. People with clout can take cuts. I usually go for the back of the line.
Right up the hill from the stop is a stair-step family of Mormons with a collie dog they are forever trying to send home. "Go home, Goldie, Goldie, Goldie." They show up last because they are right there by the stop. And here is the bus.
I step on. Suddenly, forty years later, I can smell it. It doesn't smell horrible, but it is a distinctive odor. I've caught the bus. Where to sit? The first day of school I actually engaged in conversation. I hated sardines. I had never even seen a sardine. I became Arlene Sardine.
I used to have Borrowers-sized people rafting down the water in the ditches. Welcome to my world.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
A Real "Bahai Blog," Or Not?
I noticed the other day that not everyone counts Weaner Pigs as a real "Baha'i Blog." This could be a valid point of view. There's just too much real life in it.
My intention is usually to use this at least partially as a forum for discussing the principles of the Baha'i Faith. However, doing this requires a fresh mind and a positive outlook, both of which I find in short supply due to the long hours I work and the overwhelming challenges I face there. So, even when I have time to make an entry, usually what ends up there is whatever is on my mind; typically, real life.
Just a parting shot before I fly to Schaumburg, Illinois for the Friends of Persian Culture Conference and meet some new friends there.
My intention is usually to use this at least partially as a forum for discussing the principles of the Baha'i Faith. However, doing this requires a fresh mind and a positive outlook, both of which I find in short supply due to the long hours I work and the overwhelming challenges I face there. So, even when I have time to make an entry, usually what ends up there is whatever is on my mind; typically, real life.
Just a parting shot before I fly to Schaumburg, Illinois for the Friends of Persian Culture Conference and meet some new friends there.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Traveling
We're just on the cusp of leaving for Chicago area for the Friends of Persian Culture Conference. I'm going to try to pack just one bag [my leather backpack] for carry on luggage.* Enayat is planning to take his santur, which is still out of tune. He has a hard time cutting himself loose from his obligations at home and leaving on time, especially at the first of the month. I've been occupying myself with sewing, thinking that if I wear gauze fabrics they will take up less room. We'll see. I also made a pancho with heavy duty outdoor [rain] fabric, which isn't very long, but folds up very small. They are anticipating hot but rainy weather.
*I really feel the phrase, "Carry on luggage" deserves a cartoon with a vulture boarding a plane with some sort of roadkill.
I'm trying to learn to say "I don't speak one word of Farsi" in Farsi.
It's a joke.
*I really feel the phrase, "Carry on luggage" deserves a cartoon with a vulture boarding a plane with some sort of roadkill.
I'm trying to learn to say "I don't speak one word of Farsi" in Farsi.
It's a joke.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
