My Kind of Town, Chicago Is

Did we have a time! The kids were completely jazzed as we hunkered down in the airport for a quick dinner before our 8pm flight last Thursday.

Yes, they were just that excited. But because I'm losing what pass for my brain cells, I only had the camera with me half of the time. The other half of the time, the camera was locked in the rented apartment. (D'oh!) So I'm afraid you're going to just have to Make Do.

(A digression regarding the apartment. We stayed in a very interesting concrete building in the South Loop area called River City Lofts, and on the interwebz, it looked like a slam dunk. However! When we stumbled in at 11pm on Thursday night, the first thing I noticed was that the (humongous) lobby was scabrous and in need of paint and new flooring. The second thing I noticed was that the common area hallways had not been recarpeted since the Reagan era. The third thing I noticed was that our rental unit was severely underfurnished and under-refurbished. Cosmetic coats of paint had been [sloppily] applied in the living room and bedroom, but inexplicably, not in the bathroom, which was flaking and rusting and just gross. And the ventilation ducts were be-furred with an accumulation of dust and grime that was truly revolting.

The only furniture in the whole farking place consisted of two small, rickety stools at the kitchen bar, a black "leather" queen-sized Jennifer Convertibles sofa that was older than I am, a TV table mit TV, a queen-sized bed (no headboard, of course), one small, open two-shelf.... ummm..... unit? and ONE night stand (duh?). That's it. No dresser. No chairs (easy or otherwise). No coffee- or end-tables. And no area rugs to soften the unrelieved banality of a poorly-installed Pergo floor that was starting to peel up at the seams.)

But was I going to let a crummy apartment ruin our family vacation? No, siree! We did so much in four days that I can't fathom writing actual paragraphs. On with the bullet points.

DAY ONE (no camera)

• Millennium Park: We had a fine time bouncing around the Park and admiring this incredible sculpture.
  
• Sears Tower: Incredible view and fun exhibits of the history of Chicago.
• Pizzeria Due: Because the line at Pizzeria Uno was huge. Loved the texture of the deep-dish pizza crust for a novelty, but won't be giving up my Manhattan-style thin-crust any time soon.
• Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull: Fun, but not as good as #1 or #3. Great action scenes; a little sloppy in the plot department. The kids loved it.

DAY TWO (camera, but no good pictures)

• The Science and Industry Museum: Despite the completely incomprehensible floor plan, we spent several incredible hours exploring a miniature circus, an interactive exhibit on the internet, a farming exhibit, and more. This is a not-to-miss if you're travelling to Chicago with kids.
  
• India House: Wonderful Indian food, and plenty of it. We could watch the kitchen from our table, and the kids were very impressed with the size of the shish-kebab skewers. (Aside -- for a cuisine that is so vegetarian-friendly, you'd think there would be more actual VEGETABLES in the food, wouldn't you? Bueller? I ate lots of rice and samosa dough.)
  
• Chicago Shakespeare Company: The boys' first Shakespeare! We saw a schizophrenic production of "Comedy of Errors" which included a misbegotten framing devise written with great self-consciousness for the production. But the scenes from Shakespeare (all 6 or 7 of them) were brilliant. Magnificent acting.
  

DAY THREE (with camera!)

• Chinatown: We walked about an hour from our apartment to the Phoenix restaurant for dum sim and chrysanthemum tea (name that Sondheim show). While waiting, we explored the plaza and found our Chinese zodiac animals.

After eating our weight in dumplings, we saw some Buddhist monks. That they were walking just behind a group of sailors (in whites) created a fun image, but I couldn't draw my camera quite fast enough. You'll have to take my word for it.

• The Navy Pier: Holy moly. The first thing you encounter -- before the entrance to the actual Pier -- is a fountain.

And it was windy, which blew the water from the top jets over onto passers-by in a most appealing way (if you're a boy between the ages of 10 and 12). And, oh look! There are water jets coming out of the floor at random intervals!



If you think that's not irresistible, you've never had a 10 or 12 year old boy in your care.



At some point, you just have to embrace the experience.



Michael and I spent about an hour blessedly resting our tootsies on a bench while the boys got soaked -- and I mean, soaked. Then, onto the Pier itself, with a speed boat ride, ride on the Ferris wheel, and ride on the swing-wave thingy. (I know it has a name, I just can't remember it). It was all fun, but boy, that Ferris wheel is HIGH.

• John Hancock Tower: A late dinner at the lounge atop the Tower. Fabulous view, but the menu has gone seriously downhill since my trip here last fall. The bar food was all pre-made Sysco crap (heat and serve) and the mojito didn't even give me a teeny buzz -- one well-made cocktail is enough to make me right tipsy. And when did it get to hard to order a vegetable that isn't breaded and deep fried?!

DAY FOUR (without camera, which was inexcusable)

• The Shedd Aquarium: Dolphins and otters and whales, oh my! I had woken up with another UTI (grrrrrrrr), so we took it slow but still managed to see everything. I think. There were baby Beluga whales that were criminally cute. I could have lived without the tarantulas.
  
• Evanston: Michael has a frat sister who lives in Evanston with her hubby and two delicious bookworm children, and they insisted on having us out for a home-cooked meal, which was really delightful of them. We had a lovely, restful evening chatting and drinking wine while Garrick and their 10-year-old tried to kill one another with plastic light sabers. And we ate a wonderful meal WITH VEGETABLES! Bless them.
  

All in all, it was a wonderful trip with maybe a little too much walking and too many late bedtimes (and too many UTIs and not enough vegetables or area rugs), but we somehow seemed to get muddle through anyway. The kids swung wildly between having the best time of their lives and being too overwhelmed and crabby to enjoy any of it. (Note to self -- NEVER let Garrick miss a feeding meal when on vacation!) But now that we're home, all would agree that we had a most fabulous trip and we can't wait to back and see everything that we missed.

The extra snuggle-time while waiting for buses and the like was just a bonus.

Checking Out......

We're off to the airport. Have a wonderful Memorial Day, all you lovely internetz, and see you on the other side.

Patsy Cline Has Nothing On Me

Have I mentioned how much crazy I'm amassing as a result of organizational nonsense in my company's new Mexico branch?.... So much crazy, in fact, that I almost missed this lovely gift from HG.



If you haven't already, go visit her -- in addition to being smart and funny and an excellent blogger HER OWN SELF, she's a Sondheim fan. A winning combination no matter how you slice it. Thanks, HG!

Aftermath

Thank you all for the comments and the calls and the emails. It was a little scary to put that out there quite so boldly; thanks for making me not regret it.

I have to write about the courage of the two primary victims in the case. Listening to their statements in court on Friday has humbled me, and I must rush to add a qualifier to this narrative: what I experienced was nowhere near as severe or damaging as what these incredible women endured. That they could get up on the stand, face their abuser in the courtroom, and speak about the emotional aftermath of the abuse with such bald honesty was inspiring. And, questions of degree aside, we are now part of a sisterhood, for better or for worse.

Almost everyone I've spoken with or heard from has been flabbergasted that there was no jail time -- that the negotiated sentence seems very light. It's my understanding that the primary victims in the legal proceeding were more concerned about an assured guilty plea/verdict and acceptance of responsibility, than about a highly punitive sentence. They both (the victims) had to testify at length at a preliminary hearing earlier this spring, and it was a horrible, wrenching experience -- a plea agreement spared them from having to testify again (what they read on Friday were victim impact statements, and there was no questioning). And given that Klever is a 76 year old man in very poor health (cardiovascular disease, brain aneurysm, history of TIAs, prostate cancer and early-onset Parkinson's), jail time seemed to me to be somehow irrelevant, and possibly cruel.

At least, that's how I felt going into the courtroom. Seeing Klever in person after all these years did not disrupt my nervous system as much as I expected, but it was disorienting. I was seated toward the back (the room was packed) and as he scanned the crowd, his eyes did cross mine once or twice without any hesitation or recognition. (I am alternately relieved and infuriated by this fact.)

The legal proceedings were, initially, very dry and uneventful. There were endless readings of the charges and pleas, with line-by-line attention to whether Klever understood the implications of what he was agreeing to. There was a bit of housekeeping as the two lawyers jousted over minutia in the paperwork. And there was more than one recess, during which the on-camera reporter from Channel 3 trolled blatantly (and rudely) for victims to interview.

Most of the people packing the courtroom were from Klever's old church, and many of them clearly had been members for decades (lots of white hair in the room). At one point during the victims' statements, the deputy D.A. asked that anyone in the room who had been abused or otherwise affected by Klever's actions to stand, and half the room stood up, which was staggering.

After the victims made their impact statements, his attorney indicated that Klever had a statement to make. To my disappointment, he was not required to allocute to his crimes, but merely read a brief and wholly inadequate apology. There was a complete disassociation between the (very banal) words he was speaking and his affect -- it reminded me of nothing so much as the way a little boy acts when he's apologizing to a parent for doing something wrong, but not understanding that it was wrong (or why it was wrong). Very creepy, and very disappointing. I think we all hoped that Klever's guilty pleas would signal a true understanding of his crimes, and a full repentance of them. This is clearly not the case.

I don't believe that Klever has any understanding that what he did was wrong, and I don't believe he is capable of empathy with anyone, let alone his victims. In this light, I begin to wish that he would rot in jail for the rest of his life...

Many of you have been asking how I'm doing/dealing with it, and the truth is, I think I'm doing okay. I may have been a little extra-high-maintenance this weekend (hush up), but otherwise, not bad. My sleep has been disjointed and strained for the last week, and I'm sure the old psyche is working things out in the wee hours. But the case is over (except for the formal sentencing on July 29), and we are leaving for a long weekend in Chicago on Thursday. The potatoes and strawberries have been planted, the bills have been paid, and I hauled 3 bags of crap gently used clothing to Goodwill today. This is how I heal: through getting my hands dirty, through chasing dust bunnies out of closets, through crossing items off lists.

I think I can finally cross Gerald Klever off my list.

Sometimes a Cigar Is Just a Cigar...

And sometimes it's a cylinder of chocolate mousse, wrapped in a chocolate "tobacco leaf", with a custom tuile cigar band and served over homemade vanilla bean ice cream.

We interrupt this week's scab-picking to present: Garrick's birthday dessert.

Here's how fast it disappeared.

Court Today

Guilty, one count of involuntary deviate sex.

No contest, one count of rape.

One year house arrest, ten years probation.

$24,818 in restitution to be paid to one of the primary victims for counselling fees, both past and future.

To be listed on the Megan's Law registry as a sex offender.

It's not justice, exactly, but it helps.

February 3, 2007

I've been carrying this newspaper clipping around in my purse for over a year.



I still remember the shock I felt on that Saturday morning last February when my mother, so tentatively, asked me whether I'd seen the paper and slid it across the table to me. I remember the horror I felt upon reading the article and learning that not only was I not the only one, but that the others who had come forward suffered much worse abuse at our former neighbor's hands than I did. I remember the irrational guilt I felt at not having known, and at having done nothing at the time to prevent it. I remember sitting in my mother's kitchen and spilling tears in a way I haven't done since I was a child.

I remember the urgency with which I sought out the lead detective in the case, and my insistence at meeting with him as soon as possible. I remember sitting in the Springfield Police's interrogation room with this kind, dedicated detective -- who had taken seriously the claims of, at first, a single woman reporting crimes that had taken place over 20 years ago -- and trembling uncontrollably as I told him my story. And I remember his nods of recognition, his resolute validation of a story that he had already heard in various forms from over a dozen women.

*****

After 15 months of pre-trial hearings and motions, rescheduled court dates, and general delays of one kind and another, this matter will finally be before the courts a week from today. The deputy district attorney prosecuting the case phoned me last week to inform me of the date, and also to let me know that the defendant's attorney has asked for a "non-trial resolution" to the matter -- in other words, a plea agreement.

I will be there, not as a participant in the case, but as a witness to Gerald Klever's admission of guilt and accountability. I will look him in the eye as he leaves the courtroom, hoping that he recognize and remember me, and that he take responsibility for the harm he has done. I will look his wife in the eye, if she is there, and insist that she own up to her years of silent complicity with her husband.

But mostly I will be there to stand with the other women, members of his former church, who were brave enough to come forward in spring 2006.

Chia Dog

Unretouched photos.

They Clean Up Kind of Nice, Huh?

Needless to say, this picture was taken before they discovered the chocolate fountain at the party.

Self-Doubt Monday

I had an arch, witty little post percolating in my head regarding the horror that was my work day on Friday that coincided with my PMS (you're welcome), but I just can't go through with it. It was along the lines of how-to-maximize-your-PMS (open company in Mexico [DON'T YOU DARE; I will hunt you down]; hire well-meaning but incompetent vendor to handle payroll; make sure you're 2 days away from your monthly; on payroll day, shake violently and stand back) and it would have been wry and cute and self-deprecating. You'd have enjoyed it. But I'm not going to write it.

Instead I'm sitting at my desk on this gorgeous Monday morning with an aching back (too much gardening therapy on Sunday) and a pit in my stomach. I need to clear the wreckage strewn on my desk -- detritus of the multiple payroll f*ck-ups and vendor screw-ups and near-disasters that have resulted in staffing mutinies in Mexico over the weekend and may well result in mass firings -- but I find that I'm fighting myself. I can't dig in and get it done.

No matter how old I am (shut it), how successful I am in my career, how accomplished I am in real-life terms, all it takes is one major blow-up and I am instantly thrown back into that horrible place of self-doubt and second-guessing. What could I have done differently? Did I do everything I could to correct the situation? Is my production head angry at me for the screw-up that resulted in her losing a whole shift over the weekend? Does my boss blame me for hiring these frocking incompetent payroll chowder heads in the first place? And, how do I solve it, long term?

My brain knows the answer to some of these questions; it's going to take my heart a little longer to learn them.

At least I got some gardening done.

Swivel-licious

I got scolded at physical therapy tonight. Apparently I was doing the hamstring stretch all wrong -- my hips were too turned out and as a result I wasn't getting the full benefit of the stretch. Then, while I was on the treadmill, the therapist commented on how much my hips were.... um.... moving.

Hey, I TOLD them I used to study dance -- that loose-hipped turn-out stuff doesn't just go away when you stop taking classes, you know.

And I started young. Proof:



(You never know when a perfectly turned-out fifth position is going to come in handy.)