After Charity got on her connection, we messed around there a bit (Daughter #1 insisted that she wanted a hot dog on top of her Happy Meal!). There used to be a really nice restuarant in the upper level of "the rotunda" by concourse G ... but it's gone now, replaced by a conference center. I guess it's a better use of the space, but it was a nice place to kill time and watch the airport, and I'm sad that it's gone. I finally had a chance to stop in the "airplane" store in the basement of the O'Hare Hilton ... I'd blown by it a number of times on the way from the train to the terminal, but had never gone in. This place is amazing! You know all those little metal jetliner models? They had HUNDREDS of them, from dozens of airlines and eras and in a bunch of different sizes. They're all pricey (a 6" long plane is like $29.00), but I had no idea what an amazing collection they had there. Daughter #1 was able to talk me into getting her a styrofoam Tweety glider for $5.00, since her Happy Meal came with cookies instead of a toy!
Anyway, we took the Blue Line back downtown, getting off at the State of Illinois Center. Daughter #1 had never been in there before, and we still had about a half hour to kill before heading off to the Dojo. Bought her an ice cream and we hung out. Then found our way upstairs (the "Clark & Lake" El stop is now built into the two buildings on either side of it) and caught the Brown Line up to Lincoln Village (where here martial arts classes are). Finally, after class, took the Brown Line back to Belmont and changed back to the Red Line and back home. I think, all told, we probably spent pretty much 3 hours on the train yesterday.
Which, of course, has quite a bit to do with the title of this poem, and somewhat to do with the contents...
ON TRANSPORTATION'S LOOM
shuffled distance
scattered space
we chart these lines
tracing steel
to give dimension
to static image
to bring vibration
to close context
so much resides
in subtler zones
where premise
and pretense,
visage and stance
substitute for presence
for being, truth,
and open soul
what minor slice
of twisted time
adheres to this,
what paltry fraction
of these intents
comes to bear
within this frame,
this course as set?
so many fibers
are wove herein:
the planned,
the absent,
the unexpected;
what is the final shape,
the pattern that forms
when the day is done?
somehow this echoes
of other states
as though a mixture
made of movement,
strangeness, norms,
brought forth a newness
which will continue
on in unknown planes
- Brendan Tripp
04/18/2001
Copyright © 2001 by Brendan Tripp
