Really Bad Cleveland Accent

So Long, and Thanks for All the Zebra Mussels!

2010-02-04T12:28:00.010-05:00

Today is the fifth anniversary of RBCA, and so I think that's as good a time as any to pull the plug.

I started writing RBCA when I lived in New Jersey. I felt like a displaced person, a Rust Belt refugee, and I was trying to figure out what my relationship to Cleveland was.

However, I've exhausted that topic and now I'd like to focus my life on other things.

As you know, I have been out of work since July. When it happened, I wasn't too worried. I decided that if I had no job offers, I would re-evaluate the situation in six months.

Six months later, I realized I have three options:

1. Continue to pursue freelance work (I have picked up a few paltry bits and pieces, but nothing substantial);
2. Acquire a completely new set of skills that are better suited to the Cleveland economy; and
3. Look for work outside the region again.

It's easier not to move. It's easier not to have to sell the house. Jim has a good job here. I still have hope about finding a great job here too, but I have to think realistically now. I love libraries, I love archives, I love publishing, and I'm really good at those things. When I think about starting a new career in something with a future but which doesn't interest me (like health informatics) just to avoid the hassle of selling the house and planning another long-distance move (this would be my sixth!), part of me wants to roll over and play dead.

But at the same time, when I think about the possibility of leaving again, I don't feel a sense of loss or disappointment, so much as the sense of relief that comes with admitting you made a mistake. When I came back here in 2007, I made a mistake in timing and judgment. I came back here with a skill set that didn't match the needs of the community. I came back here because I thought I could make a difference just by owning a house and shopping at local businesses. I should have waited longer, stayed at a job I loved until the right job opportunity came up here, if ever.

I won't succumb to the idea that I'd be failing Cleveland by leaving again. I'm not a martyr. I've given it two years, and two years is a long time. Cleveland and I are comfortable enough in our relationship that if we need to end it now and pick up again in ten years, we can do that. I still like Cleveland. I still want to see it succeed, and help it succeed if I can (by sending money home, for instance). But at the same time, I'm just going to have to think about other things. I can't waste my prime earning years scraping by, doing nothing, or doing what doesn't interest me.

I'll still be posting at Cleveland Area History and Rust Belt Reader, so check those out if you're interested. I may end up doing something else, too, but as far as RBCA goes, it's time to call it quits.

Otherwise, thank you for reading and I wish you all the best of luck!

Favorite Books of 2009

2009-12-26T12:25:00.003-05:00

Every year at this time I look back over the list of books I read over the last twelve months and pick my favorites.

Last year, I noticed that I'd read an awful lot of books I wasn't crazy about. I noticed the same thing this year. Why do I keep doing this?

The answer, which I am going to pull out of my librarian hat, is because people read books for different reasons. In 2008, I read a lot of mediocre young adult books because that's what I was writing at the time. In 2009, I read a lot of pulpy whodunnits because they kept my mind occupied between losing my job and figuring out what to do with myself.

I was surprised to find that I'd barely read any nonfiction this year, because I've always been a big reader of stuff that tells you why and how things got to be how they are. Although it's possible that I've given up that slightly adolescent search for definitive answers, I've probably just been reading more magazines and news sites, and fewer books.

All in all, I liked this year's crop of books better than last year's -- for the most part, the stories are better put-together. Better stories for an author to be working on while simultaneously trying to put together her own fiction projects.

So here are this year's favorites, in the order that I read them.

The Secret Life of the Lonely Doll: The Search for Dare Wright by Jean Nathan

Margaret Wise Brown: Awakened by the Moon by Leonard S. Marcus

I read these two books in tandem - Brown and Wright were two of my favorite authors as a very small child (Brown wrote Goodnight Moon and Wright did the slightly creepy Lonely Doll series, which is incidentally one of Harriett Logan's most requested books.) Both women were tragic figures, but in entirely different ways.

Knockemstiff by Donald Ray Pollock
Absurd, horrific, delightful Ohio.

Lirael by Garth Nix
Everyone should read one artfully-rendered epic story per year.

Walking the Labyrinth by Lisa Goldstein
I read this after lamenting to a fellow librarian (who's much better at readers' advisory than me) that most urban fantasy felt too gimmicky and trendy. My only complaint is that Lisa Goldstein hasn't written more books.

Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie
I'm probably the only person on God's green earth who didn't know what happens in the end. Surprise!

The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman
Neil Gaiman is still one of the only authors who makes me feel glad to be alive. Why? Because it's so obvious that he enjoys what he's writing.

Modern Ghost Stories by Eminent Women Writers, ed. Richard Dalby
I suspected that I might enjoy writing ghost stories, read this anthology, and found out that I do.

Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury
This is one of those books that I should've read at some point, but never did.

Crooked River Burning by Mark Winegardner
This one, too. It's been on my list forever, but I've always been afraid I would hate it. Either it would be too sentimental (it isn't) or it would have that loathsome studied quality that I've come to expect from academics (it doesn't). You can read my full review here.

OMG ONE OF MY XMAS WISHES CAME TRUE

2009-12-24T10:38:00.003-05:00

A year ago today I made my Christmas wishes for Cleveland, one of which was "I want Cleveland to learn to laugh at itself." Obviously I have powers, because it did:

Since I've got the wish fairy caught in a rat trap, and since my pole-dancing friend Kim is going to stay up late and help me catch Santa in a compromising position, this year I'm going to get greedy and ask for ten wishes:

I want more people to shop at Drug Mart instead of Walmart.
I want Cleveland to embrace the following things once and for all: winter, the term "Rust Belt," and not being New York or Chicago.
I want a Christmas miracle for public transit funding.
I want a Christmas miracle for the Christian Science Church at West 117th and Lake.
I want Clevelanders to remember the small arts organizations. Every dollar helps.
I want the unraveling of the cultural forces that converged to allow Imperial Avenue to happen.
I want to see more courage here.
I want all Clevelanders to open up a savings account. (Preferably at Third Federal, the bank that deliberately chose not to screw you in the foreclosure crisis.)
I want Clevelanders to really connect with their cultural heritage.
I want Cleveland to keep laughing. It's the best medicine, trust me. Better than ranitidine.

Now go read some other wishes. (I vote for the Ghoulardi statue.)

The Lost Year

2009-12-06T18:34:00.004-05:00

I've blabbed a lot here about my experience living in New Jersey and New York, but something I haven't talked as much about is my first relocation experience: when I moved to Montana in 2000. It's not just here, either: I have plenty of friends and associates, some of whom have known me for years, who say, "I didn't know you lived in Montana! How come you never talk about it?"

Well, the reason I never talk about it is pretty personal, but it's faded enough into the background of my life that I'm not uncomfortable talking about it anymore. That is, a very intense romantic relationship fell apart in Montana, and that's what I've always associated it with most. So, the year in Montana = bad memories.

But really, it wasn't all bad. It was living in Missoula, Montana, that made me discover the importance of walkable neighborhoods. During the four months I spent out of work in the Big Sky state, I had my routine: I'd walk to the bank, the post office, the library, and back home again, all the space of 20 minutes. It was a comforting thing.

I have a lot of happy memories about reading, and buying huckleberries at the farmers market, and interesting characters like my neighbor Billy, a retired math professor who told dirty jokes in the laundry room and who had a fridge full of nothing but yogurt that he got on clearance at Safeway. Billy had wandered on foot all over North America. He liked my cooking and didn't mind that we had no furniture to sit on, because he had even less. I never found out why, but he was estranged from his family. Billy was the last person I ever saw or talked to in Montana. I still remember him waving to us, his face sweaty from helping us move crap from our apartment down to the car.

I got my first driver's license in Montana. And since so much time has gone by, I can even remember happy memories from the relationship that wasn't meant to be. It's taken me a long, long time to get to that place, but no matter how cringeworthy the memories are, you get there eventually.

Most of the interesting stories I acquired during my twenties took place not in New York, where my experience was the refreshingly mundane routine of someone who'd gotten burned out too quickly and needed to dissolve into anonymity right quick, but in Montana. In Montana, someone got stabbed outside the 24-hour casino that I lived above. In New York, I lived two stories above the parking garage, and one storey above a Dominican couple whose chief idiosyncrasy was that they watched Lifetime movies a little too loud on weeknights. In Montana, I attended a creepy death-day party for G.I. Gurdjieff. In New York, the only recreational outing I ever went to was the company Christmas party, and even then I left early because I'd had too much free beer and I was afraid I might say something stupid.

In New York, I never peered through the blinds to see my neighbor engaged in a scene that, if it were a 19th century painting, would be titled, "Twenty Unclothed Men and a Vacuum Cleaner." Or made sympathy dinner for that neighbor after he got evicted, either. Or for that matter, been surprised at how hungry he was, and wondered whether he had enough money to buy food.

There were no bears in New York.

So what I aim to do, now that the tenth anniversary of my great westward migration is at hand, is explore what it means to be a Midwest migrant, a Rust Belt refugee, in these modern times. What made me leave? What made me come back? What did I learn about myself, about where I came from, about America, while I was out west?

Please stay tuned. I hope we both learn something.

Five Lessons I Learned from Harvey Pekar

2009-12-06T09:56:00.002-05:00

I went to see Harvey Pekar at the Eastman branch of the Cleveland Public Library yesterday. Here are five things I learned from him:

If someone offers you $5000 to write something, do it, even if you don't know how.
You don't need friends.
If you don't make much money at your job, your pension will be correspondingly small when you retire. You have been warned!
Quit it with the nationalism and ethnic pride. You're not better than anybody.
Artists need to take chances to move things forward. If they don't, "fine art just becomes folk art." (Also Wynton Marsalis sucks.)

Bonus: The Cleveland accent may be dying among young intellectuals, but it's still alive in Harvey Pekar.

Would you go on a Jane's Walk?

2009-12-02T09:36:00.002-05:00

Jane's Walk is:

a series of free neighbourhood walking tours that helps put people in touch with their environment and with each other, by bridging social and geographic gaps and creating a space for cities to discover themselves....Jane's Walks are less like the regular heritage walking tours and more like a walking conversation about neighbourhoods and how people use cities.

Based, of course, on the principles of the patron saint of snobby urban assholes everywhere*, Jane Jacobs.

Actually, the 6 Tips for Leading a Jane's Walk makes it look like fun. Look them over and tell me which CLE neighborhoods would be best for a Jane's Walk, and why.

*Hold your hate mail. That's supposed to be funny.

Would you move away from friends and family for a new job? A Plain Dealer poll

2009-12-01T07:16:00.003-05:00

It's been interesting to sift through the comments on this one. There's a lot of the same predictable shouting: "Cleveland is great -- love it or leave it!" vs. "I jumped ship like a rat on the Titanic!" There are even a couple of chuckleworthy bons mots about losing your Cleveland accent, which of course I appreciate. But honestly, there's a lot of thought there, too, put down by real people with real worries.

Earlier this month the Great Lakes Urban Exchange hosted an event called "I will stay if...." I didn't go mainly because I was zapped by a harrowing, 3-hour long job interview, but also because I suspect "what will make you stay?" is the wrong question to ask, because so many people are strapped for cash and out of choices that it's more like "I can't stay unless..."

In Roger & Me, there is a scene where a former GM employee describes the day Ronald Reagan came through Flint. When she told him about losing her job, he blithely suggested that maybe she could just move someplace like Texas and find a new job. As if people's attachments to their families and places of origin should mean nothing.

There is a odd and ruthless undercurrent at work here. One that says, if you're not willing to leave your home and family in the pursuit of cold hard cash, you're being sentimental and backwards, a drain on society. There's an expectation in America that if you're not willing to relocate to look for work, there's something wrong with you. Maybe I'm just being sensitive, but I feel like the Rust Belt is hit the hardest by this idea, because more so than any other region, we were defined not by our character or our land, but by our industry. By our jobs.

Hope

2009-11-23T14:46:00.004-05:00

Last week, when RTA announced the latest round of devastating service cuts, I finally realized that Cleveland is becoming a place that I don't recognize. It is simply becoming a different sort of place -- a place where (unfortunately for me) it is much harder to live without a car. It finally feels to me like Cleveland is emptying out. Of course my old brain-box has always known that Cleveland is losing population. I've listened to older people complain about it since the launch of the Cleveland's a Plum campaign. But now I am becoming the older person. I can see how different the place looks as compared to ten years ago, twenty years ago.

And that unnerves me. Because suddenly I'm riding the empathy train with the voices of cleveland.com. Don't get me wrong. I'm not going to urge the last one out to turn off the lights. But I've realized that when you hear "Cleveland sucks," it's often coming from the same place as "Cleveland rocks." The difference is thin and elusive, but I think it has to do with hope. And one thing I've learned is that hope is hard for some people, and maybe it's not our place to judge them.

Top 10 Cleveland-Themed Halloween Treats

2009-10-31T16:19:00.002-04:00

Want to give away something a little more meaningful this year? Stick it to Big Candy by passing out some of these Cleveland-centric treats instead:

pink slips
tiny vials of Harvey Pekar's tears
pierogies stuffed with candy corn
copper pipes ("Just don't tell anyone where you got these, OK, kid?")
Cleveland pears (like crabapples, only they don't taste as good)
bait
Christmas Ale (leftover from last year, of course)
urban chicken eggs
quarters to plunk in the slot machines when Issue 3 passes
gift vouchers for the Megabus

Marriage: Two Years Later

2009-10-26T11:54:00.003-04:00

Today is our second wedding anniversary. Before you start cooing and asking what kind of special romantic evening we've got planned, know that we'll probably just eat hot dogs for dinner because I like hot dogs, and also that I am ruthlessly unsentimental about marriage.

Why am I so unsentimental? I think because I was the only one of my friends growing up whose parents were actually married. I had no illusions. I saw that marriage is not all rosebuds and moonbeams, it is hard work that is much less about romance and much more about friendship, compatible fiduciary values, and having another part of the house to go cool off in when you're mad.

We're not completely without heart, though. This morning after I said "happy anniversary," Jim said, "I'm just glad it coincides with how you scolded that guy who was booing Leonard Cohen's backup singers last night. I don't think I could remember both our wedding anniversary AND the anniversary of your most important act of folk heroism."

National Day on Writing

2009-10-20T07:20:00.002-04:00

I just discovered this is the first annual National Day on Writing.

While not specifically about writing, here is a pep talk from Ira Glass on forging ahead and making your work into something presentable:

Favorites of the Week

2009-10-11T18:12:00.002-04:00

Here's a short list of things I enjoyed this week:

Seeing Neil Gaiman at the Cleveland Public Library.

Epic Pooh is a classic essay wherein Michael Moorcock criticizes the likes of Winnie the Pooh and Lord of the Rings for being "too cozy." Found this via Wikipedia, and only because I wanted to prove to Jim that I could correctly identify Neil Gaiman's county of origin based on his accent (I was close; he's from West Sussex, not Kent).

Ecumenical Council on Tourism is an organization that looks at the negative impacts the tourism industry has on local economies worldwide. (Casinos, anyone?)

Amanda Palmer is someone I would not have known about if she hadn't been Neil Gaiman's girlfriend. She is tops at turning personal tragedy on its head, and that's something I always applaud in an artist.

Inspector Lewis may not have usurped Cracker in my black, whodunnit-loving heart, but he's something to look forward to on a chilly fall night. Plus, he's made me want to visit Oxford, for sure.

The Sausage Shoppe is one of those places that I've always known about, but had never been to. It's in a tidy brick-lined corner of Old Brooklyn, near Memphis and Pearl. Fall and winter are prime sausage-eatin' months, so stay tuned for recipes.

Take a look at Jim's review of Moon Cleveland.

These Brooklyn bloggers have been experimenting with spending no more than $30 a week on groceries. This concept could have gone so wrong ... but I guarantee you'll find no irritating smugness on their part. Just a lot of good food. (Thanks Cookbook.)

(Speaking of which, I've inadvertently started my own adventure in cheapskatedom: I'm looking for the best red wines under $5 that aren't Two-Buck Chuck. Any suggestions? Drop 'em in the comments.)

Unemployment: Month Three

2009-10-09T03:53:00.004-04:00

As time marches on, I spend fewer sleepless nights worrying about myself and more sleepless nights (like this one) worrying about the other jobless people out there -- the ones who have debt and kids and no health insurance, who have an unemployed, underemployed, or disabled spouse, who may have only had three months' worth of savings if they were lucky. What is happening to them at this point in the game? One night I lay there staring at the ceiling, teeth clenched and shuddering about what might happen to a friend of mine, who has a chronic, lifelong congenital condition, if he lost his job and his health insurance. Could he go on his wife's health insurance? Would her company suddenly notice how expensive she'd become, and find a reason to quietly give her the axe?

During the third month of my unemployment, we acquired a washer and dryer. Second to the house, it was the most expensive purchase we'd ever made. We felt every penny of it leaving our bank account in horror-movie slow motion. But after four months' worth of plunking our quarters into the chronically out-of-order machines at the laundromat, this seemed like a good investment. I feel grateful for these darn things every day. That I still have not started to take the Greatest Innovation of 1908 for granted ... well, I feel that somehow, this means I'm on the right track in life.

Plus, I do a lot of laundry, which keeps me busy.

Otherwise, I've been following the example of a young PhD student who, two weeks after the stock market crash of 1929, returned from Europe to find no work and no hope of work. So he retired to Woodstock, where his sister lived in artists' colony, to do nothing but read for the next five years. Now I hope it's not going to take me five years to find another job, but at the same time I can't forget that after five years of intensive immersion in the books and stories that captivated him, this young man became Joseph Campbell.

Cleveland Dreams, Two

2009-10-07T20:26:00.000-04:00

Last night I dreamed that Cedar Point was destroyed, and I was wandering through the ruins.

I haven't been to Cedar Point in years. I'm no longer a fan of roller coasters, and never was a fan of spending money. But in the dream I still knew exactly where everything was -- or should have been -- because of that deep-down map that gets imprinted in the imagination of every little child entering a new world of wonders. The one that makes me better at finding my way to Frontier Town than to Cleveland Heights.

There was a dust-to-dust quality about the landscape. This, an ancient voice could have whispered, is how things are meant to look. Except it wasn't quite -- the ground was still paved with concrete so that the sky, the lake, and the ground were all the same shade of grey. Like being in a children's storybook and wandering off the page into oblivion.

(Or at least an oblivion filled with steel girders and track, once painted cheerful colors and now scabbed over with rust, plummeted to the ground and mangled into shapes that would make even Frank Gehry's skin crawl.)

I approached the twisted wreckage of the Witch's Wheel, barely recognizable, with the same horror as a little kid the first time he ever sees the aftermath of a house fire. "That's not what it's supposed to be like," his mind says, in a small voice. "Mommy, what happened? Can someone fix it?" No, they can't. Or, maybe they can, but it will never be quite the same.

That's impermanence for you, son.

Reader's Choice: Pugs

2009-10-07T06:31:00.001-04:00

For Mark.

When you gaze into the sappy eyes of a pug, you’re reminded that all God’s critters got a place in the choir. While a golden retriever might contribute a nice brassy baritone, pugs are content with singing the screechy, snuffly bits. They’re the not-so-sharp but well-intentioned kid who brings his flutophone to the symphony.

With the decision to host the 2014 Gay Games in Cleveland, I predict that the opportunities for pug-based small businesses will be enormous. Pugs, the unofficial dog of gay men the world over, will undoubtedly multiply across the city as 2014 approaches. Whole neighborhoods will have to be renamed: Pugland Heights, Pugwood, Pugmont, Wrinkle City.

The pug is, in fact, perfect for Cleveland. Although the origin of the word “pug” is often traced back to the Old English for “affectionate little devil,” it may also share roots with the word “pugilist,” or fighter. And we all know that to live in Cleveland, “you gotta be tough.”

Pugs can be hard to take care of: their wrinkly faces trap more dust than the average mini-blinds. And watch out for the few ‘07 pugs that are still waddling around out there, an adorable accident waiting to happen.

Above all, the pug is a cheerful dog. Put away the expensive antidepressants; one only needs to Google “pugs in funny costumes” when one is feeling blue. (There’s just something about a pug with Yoda ears.) Halloween is when pugs truly come into their own. No, really - take it from pugs.com:

QUESTION: Do Pugs really like to dress up in costumes like I see in all the pictures?
ANSWER: Actually, they usually do. Pugs are very extroverted dogs, and do just about anything for a laugh from their people. If they discover that wearing a costume makes you happy, they'll do it. If it gets them laughter and applause and more attention, that's even better!

I'm finding myself oddly preoccupied....

2009-10-06T09:44:00.001-04:00

....so the theme for this week is Readers' Choice. You give me a subject, and I will write about it in 250 words.

36 Hours with a Native: Going Where You're Not Supposed To with Bridget Callahan

2009-10-02T10:39:00.000-04:00

Bridget Callahan, 30, is a self-described cubicle worker/fate decider. She grew up on 54th and Clark, on the Near West Side of Cleveland, and has spent most of her life "successfully avoiding habitation anywhere else." Except, she says, "for a year and a half in Phoenix AZ, meth capital of the world and generally nasty place. Cleveland is cheaper and less demanding of my constant attention, plus the seasons change." She has been writing and taking photographs at BridgetCallahan.com since 2007.

When I asked her to describe what Cleveland is about in 50 words or less, Bridget had this to say:

Cleveland exists. It exists with you or without you. It does not falter or sway in its position of being Cleveland. It remains the same no matter how long you abandon it. Cleveland is a Rust Belt Icon, and it is the most constant, most un-romantic ex boyfriend you will ever have.

Of her 36-hour itinerary, Bridget notes:

The last time I was in NYC (like, the only time in...ever), I found myself practically begging my new friends to come visit me here. "The cheapest best vacation ever! Bring the dog!" I shouted. I was mostly just completely and utterly shocked how expensive everything was, especially when nobody was really that much more attractive. So here's me trying to back that up.

FRIDAY
Let's start off by getting some coffee and bread, and going down to Edgewater to eat. No walking. No biking. Just sitting and getting caffeinated, watching the old guys fish off the rocks.

Next we'll hit up the Cleveland Museum of Art, which is free! And it's better to go in the middle of the week, before the crowdy people who don't know how to hover properly around paintings show up. But we have to make sure we're out by 3, cause being stuck in traffic is not what I wanted to show you.

Then it's back to the West Side, to have dinner at Sahara Restaurant on Lorain for really awesome Lebanese food. Since I kept you hungry all day, we'll also get some East Coast custard and drive around Rocky River Metroparks listening to music and finding a good place to let the dog run around. [editor's note: if you add clove cigarettes and Renaissance music, this is how I spent most of high school.]

And if you're still up for doing stuff other than watching episodes of Angel while drinking (a completely normal Cleveland thing to do), we'll go get drunk at Now That's Class and watch some weirdo bands doing weirdo things.

SATURDAY
I assume we're hungover, I am anyway. But I know you're going to kill me if I don't take you to the West Side Market. We'll get some coffee and wander around buying random types of cheese and beef jerky to eat later. Then a tour of the Flats, starting with the glass factory at the bottom of Jefferson Hill, and ending up at the Temple of Lost Love. Then back up the hills to get some sandwiches at La Bodega in Tremont, stop in at Visible Voice Books to say hi to Jeff and hang out. More coffee at Civilization, and then the abandoned Clothcraft building! It's super easy to get into, I promise. And later, after we change and shower, we'll go see somebody play some music at Brothers Lounge.

SUNDAY
Lucky's Cafe for brunch, and then a little road trip out to Virginia Kendall State Park to be happy and gleeful about the glacial rocks. Be sloth like for a few hours upon our return. Go check out Flower Child and Suite Lorain. Ty Fun for dinner, and Crop Bistro for dessert and drinks. Then I'm sure, drunk as I will be, I will make you wander down to the river and look at that old wooden cabin. Cause I love that damn thing.

36 Hours with a Native: Family-Style with Holly Rosby

2009-09-30T09:47:00.000-04:00

Holly Rosby, author of Craving Cleveland, is 31 years old and currently lives in Old Brooklyn. She's been married for 5 years and has a 17-month old son (who, I can attest, looks brilliant covered in hummos). She works part-time as a reference librarian and does chat reference from home. Says Holly: "I've lived in Cleveland for my entire life and honestly doubt I’ll ever leave."

When I asked her to describe what Cleveland was about in 50 words or less, this is what Holly replied:

Cleveland is about not taking the easy route. It’s about making an effort to find the local eatery or place to shop. It’s about taking advantage of what we have, not complaining about what we don’t.

Holly begins her 36-hour itinerary with a caveat:

Christine, this was more difficult than I expected! As I started thinking about an itinerary I realized that there would be way different ones for the different times of the year and if I had my family with me or if there were no babies involved. I decided to go with this....September with family in tow. Since my in-laws have a few empty bedrooms we would stay with them.

So here is Holly Rosby's family-friendly fall itinerary:

FRIDAY
Rosby's Greenhouse and Rosby Resource Recycling [editor's note: yes, Holly is part of the Rosby Raspberry Empire. Mmmm. Raspberries.]
Take a tour of the recycling and composting facilities. Everyone likes taking a ride on the Gator and looking at the big machines. It’s pretty interesting to see how all the debris is sorted and composted. Afterwards visit the greenhouse and go raspberry picking. [editor's note: did you know you can take your yard waste to Rosby's for recycling?]

Dinner - Siam Café
It's a great place for a large group to get dinner and very kid friendly. We actually had our rehearsal dinner here so it has some sentimental value for us too.

Honey Hut Ice Cream
I highly recommend Chocolate Pecan!

SATURDAY
West Side Market - Walk around market and purchase items for dinner which would definitely include ravioli from Ohio City Pasta & steaks from Pinzone's.

Lunch - Nate's Deli
Shish kabob sandwich, hummus and fatoosh.

Afternoon – Coffee at Gypsy Beans. Take a walk around the Detroit Shoreway neighborhood & visit Edgewater.

Dinner – Cook at home our market purchases and enjoy a homemade raspberry dessert. Hang out in the yard, roast marshmallows around a fire and have some beers.

SUNDAY
Tremont - Stop for a coffee at Civilization and a treat from A Cookie and A Cupcake. Take kids to the park to play and go for a walk around the neighborhood. Stop at Banyan Tree and point out all the cool places that we used to go to before we had a baby. End tour with a quick drink at Lincoln Park Pub's patio.

36 Hours with a Native

2009-09-28T09:48:00.001-04:00

Apart from the four years I spent living in Montana, New Jersey, and then New York, I've lived all of my life in Cleveland.

While I was living elsewhere, I always had a certain routine when I came home to visit. There were things I had to see, feel, touch, pay homage to as the icons of my own personal memory.

(Now, I'm no dummy. I know that you have to be suspect of other people's nostalgia. For example, Lead Paint Cookbook probably doesn't realize that when I finally drag her to New York, she's going to spend much less time at Bloomie's or in Central Park than she is riding the F-train to Jamaica and gawping at the empty space where the Manhattan Mall Arby's used to be.)

But I feel it's equally important to get a handle on what the people who have been with a place through thick and thin really treasure. What they would miss if they found themselves far, far from home. These are the things that bind us, our common ground, how we would recognize each other out in the lonely, unfamiliar world.

So, in the spirit of the recent New York Times 36 Hours Cleveland article, I've asked a few of my favorite native-Cleveland friends to imagine they were living someplace else, and bringing a friend home to visit Cleveland for a 3-day weekend. What would they do? Where would they go first? How would they convey the essence of their Cleveland?

I'll be posting these over the next few weeks. And if you're a native Clevelander living here or elsewhere and want to tell me about your Cleveland -- please do email me at christine [at] christineborne [dot] net.

Impromptu blog break

2009-09-27T08:17:00.002-04:00

Last Tuesday I felt a pressing need to take a break from writing. I'll return to the theme, Cleveland in Five Senses, in a couple of weeks.

What did I do last week? Well, I tried to spend as little time online as possible. I remembered what it was like before I had TV or Internet -- what did I use to distract myself? And the answer was ... nothing. I didn't distract myself. I just did stuff.

So last week I just did stuff, and I read. I went into the basement where there are no clocks and I read from dawn until dark.

It felt wonderful.

There are only two things in life that have ever made me deeply, soul-thrillingly excited to be alive. Those things are reading and writing. But somewhere between the ages of 14 and 28 I developed a complicated relationship with both. I went from being a kid who read voraciously and wrote with abandon to a sullen adolescent with an inflated ego who reluctantly read only what was assigned and who wrote nothing.

I'm trying to fix this but it's slow going. It's been much easier to learn to love reading, unsurprisingly. Writing is the hard one. Writing is what I'm in charge of, and even when I'm delighted by my own story ideas I find them exhausting to be around, like children.

Cleveland in Five Senses: Smell

2009-09-21T08:55:00.003-04:00

This week's theme is Cleveland in Five Senses.

Everything starts with the lake. It doesn't smell like the sea -- it is colder, fishier, more sinister. It isn't the primordial soup from which all life sprang. Only ghosts are born there.

You come inland and move through neighborhoods that smell like burning garbage, leaves, pipe smoke, onions and cabbage. Somebody somewhere is always grilling some small, delicious creature. Maybe Cleveland used to smell like engine exhaust but it doesn't anymore, really, because it is so empty. I am not nostalgic for the smells of the past - not even my own past, not the crowded #23 bus on a humid summer day when the A/C is busted, for sure.

You can go through the scent maze at the West Side Market, where Concord grapes, raw meat, coffee, and spices mingle with Maha's Falafil, with fish from saltier waters. The scent particular to the Mediterranean Import Store is something I would recognize anywhere, though I'm not sure what it is.

Cleveland never smells like flowers, not even in the spring. It smells like wet grass and hot concrete after a rainstorm. In the fall, everything is leaves and apples and ash. Even at Christmas Cleveland does not pretend to be part of Ye Quainte Old Heartland -- no country Christmas here, just the flat white scent of snow rolling ominously off the lake.

Because everything ends with the lake, too.

Hummos Mustache

2009-09-19T09:26:00.000-04:00

The West Side Market is full of tourists.

The Market is much busier now than it was two years ago when we moved back from New York. There’s still a lot of mystery meat parts, but there’s also a lot more prepared food than there used to be, and a boutique place that only sells cupcakes. Are cupcakes an economic indicator?

West 25th is busier too -- I note only one empty storefront. And although Nate’s Deli is nearly empty this morning it’s full of the spirit of the place, the hordes of familiar diners who don’t even need the menu.

Night Falls Fast

2009-09-17T09:44:00.000-04:00

This is the first night of hot chocolate weather in Cleveland. The first night that I can sit on the front porch of a home that I own, wrapped in hooded sweatshirt and blanket, reading Agatha Christie. The street is quiet, except for a few scattered cars and dogs. The wind blows through the old-growth trees. There are a lot of things we don’t like about this house but the trees for Jim and the front porch for me are the best things. This neighborhood gets dark. I can always feel the lake nearby, and across it, Canada’s reassuring presence.

Full Circle

2009-09-16T08:22:00.001-04:00

I live in the neighborhood where I lived ten years ago. Since then I’ve moved nine times between four different states.

It is emptier here now. Drivers treat Clifton like a freeway, rarely stopping for pedestrians in a crosswalk. Was it like this before, or was I just resigned to it? The bus runs once an hour, instead of every ten minutes. I see people on the bus that I did back then. Have they been going through the same patterns all this time? Are there young people on the bus now who will eventually think the same about me?

Just Looking

2009-09-15T08:57:00.000-04:00

Our feet tramp the fallen ceiling tiles and lightbulbs into muck. How long did it take for the place to fall into precisely this amount of decay? When I get home, I’ll look it up.

Tetanus looms everywhere, baiting me.

Next to the rusted cash register, I spy a newspaper dated 1993. I marvel at its condition -- supernatural, or just luck? On the front page is a photo of my fourth grade teacher’s two children, sifting through the rubble of a demolished church. I do what you are not supposed to do and pocket a keepsake for my Christmas tree.