City Living

People from Cincinnati often ask me how I like living in Chicago. I've been here more than 10 years now, and mostly, they assume I like it. They're right.

Chicago's the perfect city, in my humble opinion. We have great parks, the gorgeous lakefront, a (mostly) decent economy, good restaurants, theatre, music, and people. And we're still in the heart of the midwest. We can fly anywhere in the country in about 3 hours (with some exceptions) and we don't have to spend an arm and a leg to do it.

But city living is, frankly, city living. It means there are a lot of people in tight spaces. It means traffic, and a 10% sales tax (thanks, Cook County Board of Commissioners! I'll be voting you out soon!!!). It means an ancient public transportation system that is unworthy of a city our size. And, despite the fact that we have wonderful, amazing neighborhoods, it means noise.

I live in a beautiful old building in a two bedroom condo. There is a basement below me (no neighbors) and only one set of neighbors with whom I share walls. They're above me - and nice people - a couple, with a dog. The dog, per restrictions, is less than 45 pounds. He's pretty tame. The couple, without restrictions, are also appropriately sized. And mostly, they're pretty quiet. I think they're students. But, to be honest, when I was working and going to Racine, Wisconsin every day, I wanted to murder them. Every morning. Because they generally go to bed around 11:30 p.m. I went to bed at 10. Quietly. Them? Not so much.

Do you know what a dog leash sounds like when dropped on a hardwood floor from five feet? Or what a pocketful of change sounds like as it hits the floor and rolls around?

On concrete, it's nothing. It disappears into the abyss. But on 100 year old hardwood, with little insulation between floors, it's like someone playing the Liberty Bell in the room above. I tried everything. Ear plugs, alcohol, going to bed earlier, going to bed later. I slept in my second bedroom (their TV room above me). I laughed, I cried. I read. Usually by Wednesday night of a given week, I was so exhausted that I slept regardless of how loud they were.

Ironically, now that I'm out of work, I can't seem to hear them. Maybe it's because I go to bed after they do - but even in the morning, when I know they're running around up there, it doesn't phase me. I'm guessing that's because I can roll over and sleep for another 2 hours if I want to - which seems SO wrong, but is really SO right.

Anyway, that's not the only noise we get. Soon, it will be spring. (I know, where you live, it may already be spring, but until we get 10 days above 50 degrees in a row, I'm refusing to call it). That means open windows, and birds in the morning, and squirrels running around at night (yes, dammit, they are squirrels, they are NOT rats...well, most of the time. Let me live in my delusion, okay?) Anyway, the windows are going to be open. The occasional hoodlum will ride by with his H to the I to the Z to the Izzo blaring out the window (but he's rare, really). And other sounds will wander in - people walking home from a night out, bikers zipping up my street to head North. Did I mention the birds? Allow me to detour, because yes, in reality, this scene plays through my head on more occasions than I like to admit:

City Living Video: Take One

But you know what? They're not that bad. I live 3 blocks from the train, and when it's quiet, late at night, I can hear it roll by. When I was growing up, we always heard the trains - even though they were far away - rolling down along the Ohio River. It's a sound that I have always associated with home. And maybe that's why that noise - my kind of ambient noise - is not that hard to bear.

Don't get me wrong. I'd still like to play Liberty Bell to my neighbors some mornings (Saturday morning runs at 6:30 are REALLY fun in the summer!). But for the most part, I'm learning to live with it. Twelve years in, I've adapted. Sort of. Through ear plugs, alcohol, and a ceiling fan. I feel like Ruby would shake her head at me - what a softie her granddaughter is! But then again, maybe she'd be just as happy that I'm here at all - just a little bit far from home, living in the best city in the world.

A granddaughter can dream....