Already Out of There

Yesterday, I was staying in the Sax Hotel in downtown Chicago, which is located next to Marina Towers.  It was a cold and blustery November day.

When Marina Towers was built in 1964, it was one of the tallest reinforced concrete structures in the world; designed by the same firm that later built Water Tower Place and Trump Tower.   And it was the first post-war urban high-rise residence in the United States.  

It was also subject of one of my father's earliest pen and ink drawings of Chicago's architectural attractions.  Thousands of which still hang in homes and offices across the city.

From the eighth floor, I watched people huddle and hurry toward the coffee shop across the street.  Globe lights flickered on in the rain and glimmered across the river and the iron span of the bridge.  The current a dull and swirling and muddy green.   In the parking lot below, the neon "House of Blues" sign cast off puddles of blue on the wet pavement.  

My favorite kind of day.   And no better place to be - at least yesterday. 

It was hard to leave, but I boarded an evening flight to Ft. Lauderdale.  As the plane turned onto the runway for takeoff, the city could be seen framed in the clouds and mist at the end of the runway. 

Within a few hours I was in Florida, driving across a bleached white bridge on the Atlantic intercoastal waterway.   There, I saw the "Oasis of the Seas," a floating city that towers over the buildings nearby.   Decorated with tiny blue lights, it is the largest cruise ship ever built; a completely different kind of high rise residence. 

This morning, out on the boardwalk that snakes along the shore, I watched bikini-topped joggers and spandexed bikers flow under the lines of palms; the last rays of the sunrise still glittering on the slate blue waves of the Atlantic. 

The glass and concrete buildings looked like they might belong in the big city, but they stood quietly and relaxed; perhaps calmed by the coral and pink colors of the nearby buildings or the movements of the tides.  A sign across the street said, "Fishing: $30."   Unclear but inviting.

These contrasting perspectives of the past few days are not uncommon or unwelcome in my life.

But it seems that no matter where I am today, I'll be thinking about the next stop.  As I looked out the window at the stormy Chicago sky, I was thinking about the ocean.   Today, looking out on the boardwalk, I was thinking about Milwaukee and Toledo.   I'm already out of there.

Watch my back and light my way

My traveling star

Watch over all of those born st. christopher's day
Old road dog
Young runaway
They hunger for home but they cannot stay
They wait by the door
They stand and they stare
They're already out of there
They're already out of there

My daddy used to ride the rails
So they say, so they say
Soft as smoke and as tough as nails
Boxcar jones, old walking man
Coming back home was like going to jail
The sheets and the blankets and babies and all
No he never did come back home
Never that I recall

Nevermind the wind
Nevermind the rain
Nevermind the road leading home again
Never asking why
Never knowing when
Every now and then
There he goes again

(James Taylor/ One Man Band / 11/06/2007)