Since Nobody is Leaving Their Homes In Streator Illinois, Wilbo Makes An Imaginary Friend with the Astronomer who Discovered Pluto

March 19th, 2020 at 10:38 AM

Redding Township, Illinois

Around five in the morning, the neighbor across the street filled his burning barrel with refuse and lit the junk aflame. I saw him standing in the light of the flames as I looked out my bedroom window.  I wondered if he couldn't sleep or wanted to carry out a personal ritual. I let my eyes close and sleep picked me up for one more hour. 

When I opened my eyes again, the barrel had gone cold and I could see his yard in the faint light of morning. He has abundant leaves to burn and a trash pile I would gladly see vanish, even if it has to go up in smoke, night after night. Redding Township allows burning every day of the week, a rural amenity that goes with the sewer system and the water system. This is not too far from the township fire station should a fire get out of control.

Monday, the neighbor next door, to the south, raked up all his leaves and burned them all afternoon long, adding bushels to the fire ring. The scent of burning leaves just smells better in the fall than the spring. It has to arrive to the nostrils of a cold nose, I think. I wanted to ask to borrow his rake, but he took no notice of me as he piled another bushel onto the fire. I would like to say hello to neighbors eventually. My Grandmother Aino always asked if I had said hello to the Bigottis or the Roches. "Be neighborly," she advised. Extend the right hand of friendship went the fraternity ritual. I'll always say hello even if there's no answer.

I saw a burn mark upon the prairie grass as the train made its way north from Saint Louis to Chicago. The patch of black didn't cover more than an acre of earth. We burnt our grass along the ditches of our road every spring, the lines of flames consuming the dead grass dried by March sun, revealing the shoots of Timothy sprouting from the earth. Fields in the south were burnt in this way until the Agriculture Extensions convinced the farmers that it was unnecessary. It really was an expression of my father's pyromania. Few of our neighbors burned their ditches or fields.

I walked another day looking for a wireless signal. The hospital has a signal but it doesn't let me logon completely. I've tried two days in a row. I called the help desk and I was asked, "Are you an employee or a physician?" "I'm a guest. I'm calling to report that the guest wireless signal isn't working. Could you reset the router, look at it or somehow fix it now?" Jeremy, the help desk person I eventually reached after a few transfers promised to take a look at it. A hospital that doesn't test its wireless worries me.

A few restaurants have remained open, but they haven't allowed anyone into their dining rooms. I leaned into an open door to ask about wireless. I could stand outside the door and use it. "Hello sir. We're just open for curbside delivery. If you would like to call in an order and pay on the phone, we'll set it out on the curb for you".  "Thanks. That's great. Do you have wireless?" "No sir, we're sorry, we do not." I have wished I had visited one of those town that have a public wireless zone, like Chicago does.

The Elks have a grand temple at the southwestern corner of Streator City Park, a park donated to the city by the city parents in 1868. I sat upon the grand veranda and enjoyed one of the wooden benches and set my laptop out on the coffee table. I looked the park over, seeing the statues honoring the founder of the town, Colonel Plumb and a famous labor leader, Ruben Sonderburg. 

I was glad the statues gave me two examples of the human form to see because I failed to see any citizen out walking. Yes, it was raining but who goes walking when there's a lack of destinations, open and welcoming? I dialed up a number, glad that the phone meeting had not been cancelled, and I listened to the human voices hungrily.

I've taken to searching the wifi signals reachable by my computer from where I sit by a picture window. The birds feeding on the bird feeders give me a great deal of amusement, but I want my Facebook Live. I wonder which neighbor has named the signal "Gates of Heaven". Will the neighbor share the wifi password? Good Heavens, does that neighbor know how truly that signal has been named?

More Thoughts

So far, eighteen tests conducted have returned nine negatives in LaSalle County, the rural Illinois county south of Chicago where I am gloriously bored to death. 

Since the news arrives once a day in the Streator Times, I won't have an update until today when I walk to the news stand. I'm betting all were negative. You couldn't get to Chicago from here without walking or thumbing if you don't have a car.

I took calls on the porch of the Elks lodge, looking onto Streator City Park, dedicated 1886. It's a beautiful two-story brick temple, an impressive building with wooden benches and tables outside for enjoying cocktails and holding court. Closed for the duration, I had the porch to myself. I had the view to myself. Who wants either to himself?

I read the markers of bronze. George "Honey Boy" Evans kept me company, an imaginary friend from history. He started doing minstrel shows for his Elks club, then took it on the road and became famous. He wrote, "In the Good Old Summertime" to sing for his supper across the land.  "Write a song", he advised me. "People love a songbird". "And a clown", I quipped.

On the phone, Dr. Neil Barnard himself talked about diabetes, an outcome when the organs begin to absorb fat and sugar can't enter cells to be burnt as fuel. I wish he had recorded himself because his fine voice made listening easy, even on a badly broadcast phone conference. 

He talked about glycemic index. Pumpernickel Bread has one of the lowest glycemic indexes of all the breads. And I love pumpernickel. Rye will be added back to our diets in a few weeks. If we can find it in the stores. “Pump up the pumpernickel!” I said as we all said goodbye and rang off.

I saw nobody walking the streets, but it was raining after all. The Walgreens took in customers, so I walked around the shelves, looking for vegan snacks and keeping four feet away from fellow shoppers. Four feet should keep one safe from droplets, or so I hoped. It was so pleasant to see humans although only the clerk would answer questions.

I found raisins. Raisins. That really was it. All the other offerings would cause my immune system to go on alarm, swelling joints.

I fielded a text from a colleague, worried about inevitable furloughs without pay at a former employer where we met. If no one is booking appointments for medical services, the sales can't sustain an office staff. 

I shared a few phone numbers from my Rolodex. My friend had so many uncertainties because does a work visa allow one to collect unemployment? Would immigration send a business analyst back to India if a client shoved the analyst onto furlough? This talent has incredible analysis skills, never having earned less than an A in higher mathematics.

I've heard of National Guard deployments at hospitals and the Bass Pro Shop. "Ammo is sold there", a friend explained. The deployments arrive as mixed news to my mind, good and bad.

The man who discovered Mars lived his young years in Streator. I'm going to make his acquaintance on today's walk for exercise.