Home Is Where the Heart Is

My sister, Casady and I on our childhood treehouse built by my father, grandfather, and cousin before it was torn down.

Is the couple married? Do they have children? What do they do for a living?

I've never had so many questions about two people I don't know - and probably will never meet - than when my mom texted me that our house sold. I wanted to know everything. Were they worthy to live in the home my parents have owned for 36 years? Do they understand that they are about to move to the greatest street in the history of the world? Will they decide to make my childhood dreams come true and create a tunnel between my sister and I's room underneath the staircase, to create the best hideout ever?

Probably not to that last one, but I stand firm in thinking it's a great idea if they have children, or young nieces and nephews.

It's difficult to comprehend the idea that the only home you've ever known will soon be occupied by strangers. My house is the only thing that currently brings me home to Lansing and I have so much love for the city that made me, and specifically the westside that raised me.

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In recent years I've become accustomed to coming home and seeing pieces of furniture slowly removed, it made the transition easier but I wasn't ready for my walls to be painted white; awaiting the next occupant. That's when it hit me. This was no longer my room.

The walls were bare - no more sports heroes valiantly fighting for victory. My CDs were gone. And my favorite stenciled brown bear that held a red balloon was beneath a fresh coat of paint. This place wasn't mine. The room was simply ready for the next. 

During my last trip home, I saw a basketball in the Take Up North pile and had to get one last game in.

The net was tattered. The ball was flat. The paint was chipping away from the backboard. All standing as a reminder of the kid who is grown and no longer at home. But in that moment the hoop was still mine.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

It didn't take long for the neighbors to know the youngest of the Hoover-Wyckoff family was home. Apparently after almost 27 years, that was the giveaway that I was home and naturally, outside. I'd say I'm pretty lucky if all it takes is a few bounces for your neighbors to come say hello. That's a level of care that I'm not sure I'll ever know again, but I'm so fortunate to have experienced. 

the fam, 2010

To the new owners moving in. I'm not going to pretend to know what you're looking for, but thank you for picking my house. I'm glad you saw something in it that made you decide it was right for you. You likely don't know how lucky you are, but I hope that for however long you stay - be it one year, five years, 20 years, or anything in between - you realize while you're still here, how great this community is. 

You live steps away from a high school that is underserved but filled with teachers that only want the best. And the students, well the students are some of the best humans the world could produce. Whether you have a kid there or not, I hope you take a walk over for Friday night football games. (Former resident tip: Even if you don't, you can hear the announcers over the loudspeakers if the windows are open)

Your neighbors are better than most. They frequently gather together and follow a code of conduct called being ridiculously kind human beings. Something I think we'd all like to see more of. They are a collection of individuals whose open spirit will welcome you from the day you arrive to long after you've moved out.

If you're looking for the best place to gaze at the stars, look no further than St. Joe Park. It's a short walk away and growing up, was within my bike ride radius when venturing out alone. As I got older, it's where I went to think. If I ever approached my house with time to spare on my curfew, I'd round the corner and continue to St. Joe. I'd lay on the tennis courts and look up. Pretending I knew what was up there, while knowing that what I saw was a beautiful night sky, in the middle of a hardworking city, that was filled with people who dreamed of what was to come.

Lastly. I'm proud of how we filled this house with love. There aren't many rooms, but each room is big. I'm amazed at the number of people who have texted, emailed or sent a quick note all starting with, "I remember when we came to your house for.." Maybe that means I've told too many people that my childhood home has sold, or maybe it means that my house meant something to them too. 

To my parents. Thank you for raising us here on the westside. I couldn't dream of a better place to grow up. I am grateful for the memories we made here while being equally excited for your next chapter of retirement that you so deserve to have.

Home is where the heart is. That's what they say anyway, but for many weeks I had a hard time agreeing, knowing that a piece of my heart will always be here. But now the papers have been signed. The keys have been handed over. The house has been emptied. Reality has set in.

Now, this is someone else's house to turn into a home and that brings me peace.

All love, HW (resident from June 1990 - June 2017)

2016 in Review

2016 has a pretty bad rep at this point, but these are the moments that I choose to remember the year by:

I lived in LA for a month; literally brushed shoulders with Prince Harry; wore a boot for two months; First Lady Michelle Obama shared my photo on her Instagram; gained a sister; traveled equally for work and for fun; took a cleat to my shin and have a lovely new scar; hiked and wandered through Northern Italy; chased countless sunsets; and ended the year with a great round of family time.

Life is full of choices and we can make 2017 a good one. Let's see what we can do. Cheers to the new year!

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I Listened to a Country Song, and Smiled

The following was written on my iPhone on October 19th in Riomaggiore, Italy to honor the birthday of my best friend from high school, Stacy Blakeslee. Half was written while enjoying the sunset, the remainder when I returned home that night. Stacy unfortunately fell ill just days before finals of her last semester in college, in December of 2013. Read her story here.

Hey Stacy - 

You're with me always, but on this trip to Italy in particular.

On my first night here, I sat down to dinner and was brought a glass of prosecco before I could even look at the drink list. Felt odd, but who was I to complain? I was in Italy!

So there I was in Genova, on your birthday, with a glass of prosecco and pint of Italian beer sitting side by side at a table for one. I knew you'd want me to be fancy first (might as well pretend), so I downed the prosecco while I waited for my pesto. 

You'd love it here, bud. I wish you were here to join me - hell, I wish you were well enough for a quick chat. 

For almost three years, I've felt so much guilt as I know I haven't done what a good friend should when it comes to your situation. But I simply can't bring myself to see you as anyone but the bubbly Stacy I became best friends with at 15. The one who was so similar and dissimilar to me at the same time. 

I was always welcome at your home and I knew that if I texted and showed up unexpectedly, there would be no questions. Simply the request for me to make you a new mix CD or your latest attempt to make me fall in love with country music. 

The latter never worked, but right now I'm sitting on a cliff, with my feet hanging over the ocean, as I overlook the marina in Riomaggiore, watching the sunset, and the one country song on my phone just came on. And now, I feel like I need to write some things down.

Kenny is telling me how forever feels. So I'm going to tell you about the last few years.

I didn't know how much I missed our conversations and your support until I was at your mom's funeral last fall and it all became clear. My dad told me to go say hi to you. 

I tried. 

I managed to touch your arm and murmur, "Hi bud," before looking around the room for a friendly face and walking away. 

It was too much. 

Too much guilt. Too much sadness. Too many high school classmates.

Simply, too much. 

Though I know I haven't done enough, I'm thankful for those that have done so much for you. It's made it easier for me to stay at a distance, knowing the great people who surround you.

I'm not in town much, though that's definitely an excuse I've used for my lack of visitation. This summer I found myself with a car and a spare afternoon in Lansing, so I came by.

I sat in the parking lot for almost an hour before I made my way in. Your dad was there so we talked for a while, but I was very unfocused. The whole time I just wanted to know if you recognized my voice. Did you know I was there? Were you calling me an asshole for waiting so long? I hope you did. I deserved that.

I had this entire plan of filling you in on my life. I wanted to share where I've done well and where I seem to fall short of my expectations. Moments that I have no idea how I came out on top, but over the years I seem to have figured out how to connect with people - despite my preference to do my own thing. I wanted to tell you where I've been and where I hope to maybe go - you know me, I don't like definitive future situations.

But I didn't. Maybe it was because your dad was there. Or likely I didn't know how to begin. 

So today. As I watched this beautiful sunset with my feet dangling over a cliff and Kenny Chesney began to serenade me, I smiled and I started talking to you, Stacy.

I told you about Chicago and what I love about the city. I told you about my job and favorite projects so far. I told you who I've dated since we last spoke and who you would have liked. And then I likely made it weird because I knew what your comments would be and I replied to them as I usually do, sharing my reasons why they didn't work out - some valid, others questionable. Don't worry bud, I felt your side eye.

And I told you that I finally found a hobby in photography, something you always had an interest in. I have a long way to go in that space, but I think you'd really like my pictures. 

The dusk settled and I smiled again because it felt like you were listening the whole way through.

I don't know what's going on in your body or if you'll have the chance to live your life, but I hope that when you close your eyes, you can transport yourself here. Because I know that you would love it and I believe it will bring you joy. 

If there is a God, I think it's only right he were to grant that wish. As you and your family have been through enough.

Emotionally. Physically. Financially.

But I, am here.

Apologizing for my lack of presence while hoping you know I've been here all along. Just unable to be, well, present.

I miss your guidance, largely because you never told me what to do. Rather let me talk my way to my own solution. I've missed that since high school - a lot harder to do on your own I've learned.

And, other people ask far too many unimportant questions. 

So Stacy, I've got another week on this trip and I hope you'll continue to follow along with. I think you'll enjoy what's to come.

And if you need a win. Just remember, I listened to a country song and smiled. That's a rarity that was just for you, bud!

Love and miss you, 

Hallie

2015 in Review

Reflecting back on what the year brought me with increased work and personal travel, I was curious how much I had lived up to my wandering name. With that, I did some math. Looked into my archives. And made this quick graphic. 

Who knows what 2016 will bring. Happy New Year!

Big trips: Women's World Cup; Istanbul - Budapest - Copenhagen

One World Trade Center

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Earlier this week I traveled to New York for work. It wasn’t my first trip, but it had been quite a while since my last visit. My list of things to do were more along the lines of wandering to new areas than tourist stops but there was one item in particular that was deemed a must: One World Trade Center (Freedom Tower).

I wrote the below on Monday, September 21.

The last time I stood in this spot was in 2003. I was in 8th grade and standing with 100 of my classmates while on a school trip.

Then, there was a hole. Where construction workers filled the space. With a small observation area and fences surrounding the rest. And there were lots of people unsure of how this could be real. Unsure of how they should feel. All reminiscing of where they were, just two short years before. All trying to imagine what would become of this place.

Now, there stands a beautiful glass building. Where people work. With a memorial for those lost, set in the footprints of the Twin Towers. And each of their names are etched in a way that you can touch and somehow feel their presence and absence simultaneously. And there are people here too. Some visiting a landmark. Some visiting to remember. Some still unsure how to feel. Some visiting with selfie sticks. Some visiting because they think they should.

Today’s scene is different than before but the feeling is the same.

Then, I felt those lost by viewing the destruction. Now, I feel those lost by placing my hand over their names.

Then, I thought of how far the city still had to go as protective mesh covered surrounding buildings from dust. Now, I see brand new buildings surrounding the tower with more developments on the way.

Then, I walked away proud of my classmates for being well-behaved 13-year-olds. For having intelligent and real conversations about what this meant to us individually and to our country as a whole. Now, I walk away knowing that I need another visit before I can enter the 9/11 museum. For I remember our chosen retaliation and how that still affects our country. And I’m not quite ready.

Then and now, I approached with little to say. Feeling thankful for everything – good and bad.

Today, I turned my music off and took a seat. Looked in every direction and into the faces of all I passed, knowing that we shared one event that brought us all to this place. Reflected on where I was on 9/11/01. Remembering every detail of my sixth grade classroom and the broadcast we watched and the conversations that followed.

At the end of the day. No one has all the answers.

And it’s not the how or why that matters, simply reflection is key.

Martin Luther King Jr.

“Justice for all just ain’t specific enough.”

— Common (Glory)

I saw Selma this weekend, as I believe all should. Not only is it important for these stories to be told often and repeatedly, but the cinematography is beautiful. It’s hard to believe protests were needed to alter legislation of something that already existed – an equal right to vote.

But these injustices still exist today. We’re still fighting for equal rights across the board. Laws may have been changed, but a perception still exists. And this time around, there’s a large population who doesn’t believe it does. A population that believes we’ve come far enough. A population of people who are “tired” of hearing about problems that they don’t believe exist.

I say, speak up. To those who say discrimination isn’t that bad, tell them a quick story of a situation that happened to you. Doesn’t need to be long or make them feel guilty, just needs to give them a second to think and decide if they think that’s right. A second to acknowledge and understand how discrimination may be affecting not only the people in our country but the success of our society. A second to wonder how this is still happening. Be loud.

Little change will occur until people desire to understand, but if no one is giving them a reason to understand, why will they bother? No matter how in depth your knowledge of the Civil Rights Movement is, when you see a movie like Selma or when you watch the real footage from the events, it is horrifying to see with your own eyes how openly hateful people were / are.

I realize how naive this is and that it takes a lot more than this but in the spirit of Martin Luther King, Jr. and the celebration of this day I frequently remind myself of one of his quotes: “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” We don’t have the same leadership right now that Martin offered, but we do have voices. Voices that deserve to be heard as injustice continues.

You and I may not be leading the charge on a national scale, but we can affect change in our local communities. We can quiet the voices of those who are quick to judge or choose to ignore that discrimination still exists. By hearing your story or seeing this movie might help them connect the dots. Might make them understand for a second.. Selma is now.

Phenomenal Woman

“You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them.”

— Maya Angelou

I’m not one to be sentimental. In fact I often choose that of no emotion - apologies in advance. But when reading the news on my morning commute to work I was saddened to see that Maya Angelou had passed away. I realize this post will get lost in the internet and that’s okay. But she was one of the few people I had admired after reading her poetry in high school and deserves my low impact post.

It wasn’t until college that I started to read her autobiographies and at first I wondered, how could a woman have enough stories to write seven of these? Was she jotting every single experience down? But then I started to read. This woman lived. She lived through love. She lived through heartbreak. Heartbreak caused by family. By friends. By society. But she came out of every single situation – good or bad – with a story. Better yet, an experience. Most importantly though, she came out stronger each and every time. Not always understanding the lesson in the moment, but no one really does. She shared her story in words that everyone could understand but with such smooth language. [I’m no writer or poet so my apologies for the next line] Her words danced from detail to detail in a way that left you wanting more even when she had given all the words there were to share.

When I finished I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, I immediately put each and every remaining autobiography on request from the library. They came in on the same day and the librarian said, “You know if you check all those out now, they’ll all be due in two weeks?” Chick must not have realized who I was checking out. They were thoroughly read and returned with time to spare.

I was fascinated that her autobiographies were not really chronological, rather they followed themes. Themes of her life. Breaking her experiences into these sections further showed readers how she reflected on her past and how she thought each moment connected. Maya Angelou was as honest as anyone in the spotlight ever has been and documenting her journey like this showed how open she was.

I can’t think of anyone who is quite like Maya Angelou. Though I wish I did. She was who she was, with no time for shame. She understood she had faults and sometimes corrected them. But she also understood that our time is limited. We do not get to choose all of our situations but we can take control if given the opportunity. She stood up (often with a smile). She was real. And somehow, even in our judging society, she was eventually accepted by the majority. She was a beautiful, strong, intelligent, outspoken, honest and important woman. I could keep spitting out adjectives all day and probably would still leave a significant one out.

Her life is one that few will live. And maybe that’s okay. But her lessons, those will lived by most. Those should be shared by all. And those should be learned by all.

I am a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal Woman,

That’s me.