A Sense of Place
I usually start my Friday mornings by getting up somewhere around 9 or 9:30. I work second shift and don't get to sleep until 1:30 or so in the morning, so getting up that late isn't really such a sign of laziness. After my morning ablutions and maybe a quick bite to eat, I usually check my email, see if anyone put anything out on Facebook that needs a response, then grab my mp3 player and headphones and drive on down to the gym. I try to get in a bit of a workout on Monday, Wednesday and Friday most weeks. If I miss one I generally don't feel as well physically and people say I get cranky. I'm not a big fan of “cranky”, so I make a real effort to keep to the schedule. I do my workout at the local community center and exercise in the room they have there for that purpose. It's specifically allocated for seniors, 50 and older, so I know I won't have to “compete” with the younger crowd who are so much more competitive in their exercising. At the community center it's much more laid back and easy going, with lots of gossiping between us ol' fogies as we sweat and strain our muscles. The exercise room has a number of treadmills, bikes, weight machines of various kinds and even some dumbbells. I nod to the familiar faces on the exercise machines and go through my routine. I try to put my mind elsewhere by listening to some classic rock on my mp3 player while my muscles warm up and my generally always achy lower back gets a bit happier. About an hour later I'm usually finished and ready for a trip to the local library where I'll look over the newer books and DVDs. After that it will be lunch with my wife at one of our favorite lunch spots directly across the street from the library.
On this particular Friday I'd completed my workout at the gym and had made my way the three blocks to the library. I'd selected a movie to peruse that weekend and a new book to keep me company next week at work during the quieter periods of my evenings. I'd settled into one of the overstuffed chairs in the ground floor near one of the large windows that faced to the north and settled in to wait for the noon hour when I'd cross the street and meet my wife for lunch.
As I gazed out the window at the street scene in front of me, my mind wandered a bit and I began to reflect on the ground where this new library sat. The building was a fairly new edifice, only a couple years old, and sat on most of a full block in the downtown area of the city where I live. I am a big fan of this library. I use it a lot and enjoy the way the building was designed. Hell, I'd even had a chance to vote on the architectural design of the building myself. They'd had models of some possible building configurations set up at the old library and the people of the city were encouraged to vote for their favorite. (My vote ended up being the one chosen!) The new library needed to be built for several reasons. The old one had flat run out of space to contain the myriad new technologies that a modern library had to have including internet capabilities, genealogy, audio-visual, periodical and loads of other needs. It had many building failings including the heating and cooling system and was loaded with asbestos. Plus it had never had adequate parking.
Ever.
It sat on the same site as the old Carnegie library that had served my hometown up until the '60's or so and was land-locked in all directions, so expansion was never really an option. The new library, contrary to what some acquaintances of mine insist, was definitely needed.
An issue was placed on the ballot one year and the funds for a new library were allocated.
Soon after the vote was taken a block was selected in the downtown area and the businesses that sat there at the time were bought out. I believe the city used eminent domain to accomplish this. The buildings were eventually demolished and the block was cleared for the construction of the library.
For those of us anticipating “our” new library building, it seemed to take ages to construct. Eventually, however, the place was completed and it ended up being generally everything we desired. Lots of room inside, plenty of computers to use, a large genealogy department, a huge children's department downstairs, meeting rooms, a teen area, plenty of shelving and room to grow. Oh, and lots and lots of parking! It was ideal.
Anyhow...
As I sat in the library in my comfy chair looking out the window, I began to daydream about the stores and businesses that had stood within feet of where I now rested. About 50 feet east of where I sat I remembered there used to be a restaurant that I often frequented, a place called Nadeline's. It was a landmark in town as I remember and I recall going there late in the evenings as a teenager with friends and having pie and coffee. They had the best doggone cherry pie! And a wonderful sandwich called, appropriately, The Nadelburger! They also had those individual jukeboxes at each table and we'd play some of the current tunes when we'd congregate there. I think it was a dime a song or three for a quarter. It was a great hangout spot!
On the corner north of Nadeline's sat Dick's Camera Shop. I recalled when Dick Quicci's shop used to be about a half-mile further east, over on Pittsburgh Avenue. My friend Bill and I bought a couple of the first Polaroid Swinger Cameras in our hometown from him back in the early '60's. They took black-and-white photos, of course, but they were instant developing and were loads of fun. Lots of memories there and I still have some of those old snapshots.
About a half-block to the west used to sit the old Hobby Shop. Anytime any of my friends or myself wanted to get anything to do with a hobby, we went there – model trains, cars and airplanes, hobby paint, you name it – he had it. It was owned by a gentleman named R. G. Zimmerman. He used to tease us kids that the R and G stood for Real Good! Still don't know if that's true or not, but I really doubt it Above the Hobby Shop there was an apartment and, according to what my parents used to say, that was the first place they lived after they got married back in June of '46. I also know that it was my first home too, from my birth up to the early '50's when they moved to an old farmhouse about a dozen miles to the north of town.
The county liquor store also sat on that block and I'd pop in there when some “hard stuff” was needed on the shelf at home when I was of age.
There were lots of memories floating through my mind of the now nonexistent places whose ghosts stood all around me as I sat in my comfortable chair in the library.
And, in that very moment of reminiscing about the past, I felt such a sense of place that it was almost overwhelming. This was my home, this chair, this block, this city. I felt as firmly rooted there that moment as the old maples and oaks and sycamores that still stand all over the city. I felt as much in place and as comfortable sitting there as an old dog does sitting at his master's feet in front of a crackling fire.
This was MY place. At that moment I fit in there and belonged there as well as the last piece of an intricate jigsaw puzzle fits into the hole that awaits it on the tabletop. Any direction that I looked I saw my history. I remember THAT place and THAT place and THAT place over there. I did this there and those things over there. I'd eaten, shopped, bowled, drank, met friends, made friends, laughed, cried, kissed my first girl, drove my first car, made many mistakes and hopefully achieved many more triumphs right here. Right here! I'd walked, biked and driven a dozen different cars down those exact streets. I was born about 3 blocks from here, had lived in several homes within a ten-minute walk, had gone to grade school and high school just up the road. I'd attended college a block to the east and had married a mile across town. My son was born just up the road. My home for the past 32 years was a seven-minute walk to the north.
This was my place and I could feel that fact in my very bones and sinews.
And all those thoughts and feelings and emotions of place came over me like a tidal wave, crashing into me and through me. And after the internal tsunami had subsided, I looked out through the window again with even more observant eyes. The still extant buildings across the street were all familiar, all in their appointed places. The restaurant where I was heading in a few minutes belonged on that corner. The owner inside knew me, the wait staff knew me, the busboy knew me, I could almost feel the texture of the seat where I'd soon sit and eat my lunch. Next door to the restaurant was a book store. I'd bought a massive picture book of my home town from a friend who had authored it and sold it there only last year. Further down the block was a building that use to house the trolley cars that trundled from my hometown up to Cleveland back in the early part of the last century. My father and grandfather had ridden them. Where the drugstore sat now used to stand a bowling alley where I'd rolled many frames and drank many beers.
It was all familiar, all known, all exactly right. All of a place.
My connections to almost everything in sight or mind was firm and tight and I drew comfort from those connections. I had a history and a relation to almost every brick and paving stone as far as I could see and I could tell a story about almost anything you could point to.
I soon gathered up my library materials and headed across the street for my lunch. I was greeted by a smile from Mike the owner as I knew I would be. My waiter brought our drinks without my having to tell him what we wanted. Another of the waitresses stopped and chatted a moment about the movie that I'd picked up at the library. She'd seen it and gave me her take on how good it was.
Soon my wife would arrive on her lunch hour from work and we'd chat and compare notes on the day.
And as I sat there in the familiar surroundings listening to the din of another Friday lunch hour surround me I again felt the wonderful sense of place and my part in it.
I'm sure the customers nearby wondered at the goofy smile on my face.
