Heroes in our Midst

Our journey so far has been adventurous and brought to light heroes in our midst.  When a passenger waiting for a CitiLink bus passed out and hit his head on the ground, Lisa, our chaperone, and Jessica H., one of our students, ran to his aid.  They took care of him until the ambulance arrived.  Heroes.

After our bus finally arrived, 20 minutes late, and we were able to board it 10 minutes later, we discovered the bus had no heat.  Had the only effect of the lack of heat been the inconvenience of being cold on a two hour bus ride, though we complained about it a bit (okay, a lot), it would have amounted to nothing more than a minor blip on the radar of travel incidents.  However, the bus having no heat had a far more sinister effect, the fogging up of the windshield.  Unbeknownst to us, until the driver pulled off onto the shoulder of I-74, the windshield was so badly fogged that the driver could not see well enough to safely drive the bus.  Once on the side of the road, the driver retrieved some paper towel from an overhead bin and wiped down the inside of the windshield.  She got the bus back on the road, but continued to wipe down the inside of the window while driving.  Megan, one of our students, not knowing if she would be scolded by the driver for doing so, bravely walked to the front of the bus and asked the driver if she could help the driver by wiping the windshield for her.  The driver agreed and thanked her.  For the next half of an hour, Megan kept the windshield as clean as possible, so we could arrive safely and on time to catch our train.  Hero.

I cannot say that I am surprised by our heroes actions.  After all, everyone on this trip is a teacher, a nurse,  a nurse in training, or a combination thereof, which means we are all caretakers.  Our calling, whether in the classroom or the emergency room, is to help others.  I feel extremely privileged to be traveling in their company.

The Romantic vs The Realist

When I tell people that I grew up in a suburb of Chicago, they think I lived in the city.  They couldn't be more wrong.  Carol Stream, at the time I lived there, didn't even have its own post office.  We had a gas station and a small grocery store.  Of course it had a library, schools, and parks, but we were secluded.  A little village insulated from the city by the farmland that surrounded us.  It was safe, clean, and idyllic (ah, how childhood memories have a rosey tint to them).

Having lived near Chicago, I was fortunate enough to visit the city often.  After all, it was where my mother grew up, where my parents met and lived for a time, where some of my extended family lived, and the home of the Chicago Cubs.  Not to mention Chicago had amazing architecture, museums, and other cultural attractions (it still does).  My experiences in Chicago, growing up, were warm, fun, and educational because they were either family outings or school field trips.

I suppose I am a bit of a romantic, in that I want to believe cities are the way they are portrayed in novels and fun,romantic films.  I want Chicago to be the Chicago of Ferris Bueller's Day Off.  I want New York to be the New York of An Affair to Remember and You've Got Mail.  I imagine living in a city to be this wonderful, eclectic, artistic, romantic adventure in which I meet a suave Cary Grant figure sauntering down a clean, well lit, sidewalk in front of a row of Brownstones. However, the realist in me knows those cities are also dirty, dangerous, loud, chaotic, and expensive. I can satisfy the romantic in me and have those idealized cities, so long as I am only visiting them and only the romantic parts of them.  I can also pacify the realist in me by promising to never live there.  Until a few years ago, this compromise worked well, and the romantic and the realist lived in harmony.  Then I went to New Orleans.

After my first day in the French Quarter, the romantic stuffed a beignet in the mouth of the realist and refused to hear how dangerous, dirty, and expensive cities are.  The romantic took complete control and reveled in the unique, historic, progressive, artistic, eclectic culture of the French Quarter.  In a city to which I was a stranger, I felt as if I had finally found my way home.  I fell in love, and there was nothing the realist could do about it.

We're All Mad Here

When on an adventure in a new or unfamiliar situation, be it a place, activity, or group of people, I often think of myself as Alice.  However, once I have gleaned the necessary knowledge to successfully navigate the situation, I channel the Cheshire Cat.  Perched on a branch that affords me a fine vantage, I take some mischievous pleasure in watching the new Alices learn their way. 

Nervous & Excited

With less than two weeks until we depart for New Orleans, I am a jumble of emotions.  The excitement and eagerness of an upcoming adventure to one of my favorite cities is tempered by the nervousness of taking an entire class of college students with me.