Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Last weekend, I went to Home #2, meaning Milwaukee. (And for future reference, Home #3 is Brooklyn). All three homes have the ability to create some pretty major warm fuzzies for me and last weekend was no different. I was able to catch up with several old friends, all of whom told me they were so happy to have me back in Wisconsin which in turn made my heart sorta want to burst. I also felt a great sense of relief knowing that I didn't have to cram all my visiting into a three day block. I could visit again tomorrow if I so desired. Yipee!

In my state of homey bliss, I spent part of Sunday afternoon driving around my old neighborhood haunts. Brady, Prospect, Farwell, Washington, Oakland, past the lakefront. Then I had the urge to drive up Downer Avenue, just a couple of blocks from one of my first apartments. I braced myself for what I already knew (Schwartz has gone out of business!) but I was not at all prepared for the giant structure on the opposite side of the street. No more popcorn cart, that's for sure! There was a bank and some other monstrosity surrounding it. (A parking garage perhaps?) I really didn't want to figure out what it was. I just wanted to get past it as quickly as possible.

So I quickly turned onto Belleview where I was instantaneously tempted to pull over for some custard at Lixx but (gulp), I quickly learned that Lixx was no longer in existence either! Yes, there's something in its place and they may very well still be serving the delicious frozen custard I remember but the fact that it was no longer my Lixx made my heart drop.

So let's get this straight. On this two block stretch, there is no more Coffee Trader (okay, I know it's been years but I have warm memories of that place from my college days, darn it!), no more Chancery (my first date with my sweet college boyfriend), no more Gil's, and no more Schwartz's. Basically, everything I used to walk to in the 90s is now gone.

This got me to thinking of Bill Bryson's book, The Lost Continent. I adore Bryson's writing and this book in particular made me laugh and cry at the same time. After a decade or so in England, he returns home to the Midwest and decides to reacquaint himself with his country through a vast road trip, visiting each of the 50 states. He finds himself grieving about the loss of America (in particular, small town America) which is turning into a stark land of strip malls, gas guzzling automobiles, and parking lots.

I am a lover of most things historical and would be the first one to face off a bulldozer if necessary; however, I also understand our constant evolution and that if Schwartz isn't making it or if the neighborhood deems the parking structure necessary, it might be time to accept those changes. But I guess when you purposely go back to a place for the sake of warm memories, it's hard not to feel offended by the parking garage standing on the site of your first kiss. (No, we didn't kiss in front of the popcorn cart. It's just an example.)

But that's why we have those memories lodged in our brains, isn't it? So we can conjure them up when we need them. So that when we walk into our favorite cozy Alterra and find it in the midst of major construction and expansion, we won't want to cry.

Don't worry, I didn't. Instead, as I gave the cheerful barista my money, I said to myself, "Wow...changes everywhere." And then I sat down with my cup of piping hot, black coffee, slightly taken aback but feeling quite content.

And then I toasted no one in particular: "Onward!"