ROOTS

Heading north on Lake Shore Drive, summer sapphire skies complimented the pale green lake with its waves creating a rhythm that blended with the beats of my heart. But when winter winds demanded attention, grey skies clashed with blue-grey water, a tiring violence. Oak Street, Division, North Avenue, Fullerton, Belmont. I named each exit. Addison, Waveland. I used to get on the bus at Addison and the inner drive at 7:30 in the morning to go to work. During summer weekends, I’d stroll through the park at Waveland with a radio cradled in a beach towel packed in my straw beach bag. I’d sunbath on the large flat boulders stacked along the lakeshore while juggling the sounds of waves with an announcer’s pitch on the radio calling the Cubs game. My memories of being there gave me a smile though gilded with sadness. I felt this was my place once. But was this my home? Some say your home is where your family and friends are or where you are from, where you grew up. That would be on Carlisle Street. But what happens after that, when you have to leave your home, leave Carlisle Street?

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