lingonberries, social activism and buckets

The day starts with a trip to Ann Sather's Swedish Restaurant: time for oatmeal mixed with granola and lingonberries on the side. I love this food because I love this culture. It is warm in that home-y sense. No wonder that Swedes are such happy people.

The Swedish-American museum was striking, but not in the typical way. I walked in thinking that the exhibits would be a story of struggle and eventual triumph. Instead the captions for the scenes reflected the idea that Sweden's drought of 1866-68 influenced much of the immigration and transitioning to America was not a major struggle. Previously I had thought that immigration was always difficult, and the newest group was always at the bottom of the pack. Contrary to that line of thought, the information at the museum seemingly proclaimed that the Swedish slid into the lower-middle class almost immediately. The single women were hired to clean houses, because they were known for "honesty and hard work." With many other immigrant groups, it took years and years to climb the ladder to the point of having a good reputation with the wealthy. I was so surprised by the idea that they didn't have to fight for their lives in the same way. Was it their attitude that separated them? What made the difference? Or, was the museum trying to make history more favorable than reality?

Moving on, by which I mean taking the bus for 71 blocks, I love watching social interactions on public transportation. It brings out the best manners, the "character" kind of people, and sometimes the worst attitudes. For example, people are so polite: making room for others, saying 'excuse me', etc. But then you have the men who insist on reciting monologues, so desperate for the attention of fellow passengers, that they are willing to humiliate themselves repeatedly. Or there is the girl in the back of the bus loudly proclaiming her feelings about a conflict with a former friend. No matter what, people will always be unique, interesting, and timeworthy.

The bus took us to Pilsen: the Mexican community of Chicago. First stop: the National Museum of Mexican Art. The exhibits on history were great: factual with creations made of intricate details. However it was the Immigration exhibit that demanded attention. It was all about social activism: the way that we treat immigrants and illegal aliens compared to the founding of our country. I know about this issue from a political stance: some see banishing as the answer, others say that education and citizenship are the way to handle it. The art today spoke out about the personal side of the issue. One artist's collection was a series of pictures of immigrants dressed in superhero's outfits, and the caption told the stories of the money that these people send home from every one of their paychecks. Are they heros? To their families, I'm sure the answer is yes. To the average American? Well, I doubt that they would fit that category on a typical day in a typical American's thought processes. Then again, who is the typical American? Is the answer different standing in Chicago versus Spring Arbor? Which means that the art was successful: it was stretching.

Following the museum was an authentic Mexican meal... and a trip to Millenium Park. We were there to hear a Mexican band, but things never work out the way that they are planned. Thus it rained, motivation was lost, and after a few songs, we left. The band was not bad: they just were not totally focused on playing after the rain. So as we started walking, we saw (or first heard), three guys sitting on boxes, playing 5-gallon buckets with actual drumsticks. And we were blown away. Simplicity wins again.