A Valentine Message

From the Chicago Diaries

Valentine’s Day 2012

Recalling our experiences from the weekend prior—hers, mine—essentially the same but separate, I began tapping to record the memory, then print. That would be my offering instead of confections in a heart-shaped box, where half would surely be tested and tossed. We, after all, were two halves of a whole, inseparably connected.

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Friday Morning, February 10

I was walking with Jake¹ when I noticed a squirrel sitting on the windowsill of one of the many uninspired block-style two-flats that populate this Skokie neighborhood.

At first, I puzzled whether the squirrel was on the inside or the outside of the window of this basement-level apartment. Upon closer inspection, it was clear it was on the inside and clearly didn’t belong there. Was it stuck? I reasoned there must be a way out. There was obviously a way in. Perhaps the squirrel had forgotten where the breach was and was forced to take up residence in this vacancy. I hoped it had a food and water source.

Why did I care? I’m fairly indifferent considering these “city rats.” Sure, I marvel at their industrious nature as they scurry up and down from the crooks high in the Maples to fashion their nests with twigs and leaves and urban litter. I chuckle as they chase each other for no apparent reason, as this activity can cease as suddenly as it starts. Their dexterity along the telephone lines is impressive. I find it entertaining watching them hop everywhere. They never run. They never walk. But did I really care if this one in a thousand squirrels made it to tomorrow? I did.

The fluffy-tailed rodent and I regarded each other for about a minute before it darted off the ledge, passed the makeshift curtain, and disappeared into the darkened space “for rent.”

Saturday Morning, February 11

Karen was driving me to work when she started telling me about that morning. While walking with Jake, she saw a squirrel sitting on a windowsill.

“In a basement apartment?” I said.

“Yeah!”

Then I proceeded to finish her anecdotal discovery with questions — her confirmations.

“Did he jump down past the curtain after about a minute?”

Yeah, that’s funny.”

“You weren’t sure if he was on the inside or outside at first, were you?”

“Nope,” she smiled.

“Did you wonder if he was trapped in there?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re worried.”

“I am. You should throw a brick through the window and set him free.”

We laughed.

But still, we talked a bit further about the squirrel’s circumstances and how he got there. And whether he had a way back to the earth and the trees and acorns. It became our business on some level. It was certainly our shared business. We witnessed the same thing and had the same inner dialogues on successive days independently of each other. I love that we were connected in this way. I know that we are connected through Jake, even as our lives have taken on a multitude of challenges and day-to-day, unfun, requisite duties.

It seems too often we go through the grind’s motions, and the days turn into weeks, and the weeks, years. I love Karen. I love how we have built a nest together in the second flat of a three-flat, in need of upgrades that we would have already made in our condo in Cleveland.

Also, we’re used to Insta-earth access, not descending, and climbing as if we were members of a scurry. Though I love that we hop about for no apparent reason when inspiration strikes.

Sometimes I feel we are trapped in this apartment in this chilly city. We found a way in. We can find our way out. I believe we are teamed for life.

I will search for a brick. Not to smash a window, but to place as a cornerstone for tomorrow.

1. I considered writing, “I was walking Jake…“ to clarify that he was our dog and not say, our son, nephew, or whoever. The truth is—tethered to a leash or not—we considered Jake as a member of our family, and our walks with him were equitable in that each, Jake or we (she and me) were free to take the lead.