Small town mom, big city daughter

In the past two days I've discovered two things about myself. The first is that I'm not as ready as I thought to say goodbye to my younger daughter and leave her eight hours away, at college in Minneapolis, Minn.
Melissa and I attended student/parent orientation at Augsburg College on Friday and Saturday. Due to the mechanical unreliability of my Jeep (and the woeful lack of big city driving skills of its owner), my friend Kathy was kind enough to get us to Minneapolis. While Melissa and I were oriented, Kathy explored that jungle of excess known as the Mall of America.
As we neared the city I was gripped by a mix of sorrow and distress. How could I let go of my daughter? How would it feel to not see her every day, to face the end of our comfortable girlie rituals of tea and "Desperate Housewives" on Sunday nights and occasional Saturday afternoon strolls through the stores of downtown Marquette?
What I wanted to do was burst into tears. What I did was suck it up. Melissa had worked hard to get accepted to Augsburg. It was her dream school, this was her dream moment, and I had no right to compromise her happiness with my quivering reluctance to face the fact that my baby was all grown up.
So this was actually a twofold discovery. I am a) More bereft than expected at the prospect of Melissa's leaving, and b) A loving enough mom to push my own feelings into the back seat for the sake of my child.
Discovery number two occurred during parent orientation. As I sat in the modern, glass-doored conference room, listening Augsburg staff enumerate the many cultural advantages of living on an insular campus with a major metropolitan city mere footsteps away, a yen to live in the big city myself stirred in my brain.
I could do it, I thought. Imagine packing up and starting fresh in a city with so many opportunities for cultural enrichment. What an adventure it would be!
Later that day, Auggie parents were offered walking tours of the surrounding neighborhoods - abbreviated tours, courtesy of the high temperatures and obscene humidity.
The neighborhood my group toured was tidy and vibrant, a colorful mix of older, well-kept homes and ethnically diverse businesses, shops and theaters. I could easily imagine Melissa eagerly exploring it all, expanding her cultural horizons in a way I never had the opportunity to do.
What I couldn't imagine was me living there. The houses are so close together you could practically reach out and knock on your neighbor's window. The yards were square green handkerchiefs of grass or garden. No lakeshore. No tree lined bike paths. Just lots of concrete, cars and people.
I couldn't do it. I don't want to exchange my slow-paced, small-town life for any advantage the big city can offer. I know Melissa will thrive there. I'm proud of her for her adventurous spirit and intellectual and cultural curiosity. I look forward to hearing all about her new life as it unfolds.
Meanwhile, I'll keep the home fires burning. This trip taught me that I'm destined to be a small town girl. Maybe that's another way of saying timid, or lacking in a spirit of adventure. Or maybe it means I know where I fit - and I know enough to value it.

Traverse City North

It's not as if I don't realize how unreasonable I'm being. I just want Marquette to become a more vital, job-accessible city, and not change one iota in the process.
So Indy and I were strolling along, rejoicing in the newly cool, dry air. As we approached Mattson Lower Harbor Park I tried unsuccessfully to ignore the scraped-clean earth boxed in by an ugly chain link fence locked with a seriously thick chain and heavy-duty padlock.
"Coming in 2011" the sign bragged about the soon to be built hotel. I stared over the fence and construction equipment, wondering how much longer I'd be able to view Lake Superior from that spot. Resentment is a tough lump to swallow and it leaves a bitter taste. I tried to keep in mind that this hotel would attract tourists and create jobs, but overriding that was the thought that a handful of rich guys were tearing up the lakefront in order to make themselves even richer.
As I walked away I knocked my hand against the orange plastic fence blocking off the lot next to the chain-link imprisoned area. The sudden "ow" and the tiny mark on my knuckle felt like a rebuke. You can't fight progress.
Over the years I've heard people grumble that developers are "turning Marquette into another Traverse City." I've never been to Traverse City, but that doesn't sound like the worst proposition in the world. More shops (maybe a Barnes and Noble to console us after the loss of B Dalton), more entertainment venues, more entertainment.
I can hear you already. Yes, that would mean more changes to the city I don't want changed. But here's a crazy thought: how about making use of existing buildings instead of constantly tearing up the landscape with newer, sleeker, less attractive constructions? The downtown area is small-town cozy and welcoming, yet buildings stand empty while white siding mini malls pop up like dandelions all over town.
And while I'm ranting, how about trying to attract more industry instead of building fancy condos most of the population can't afford?
I love Marquette. It's friendly, beautiful, and as comfortable as my favorite sweatshirt. It's not that I'm resistant to changes in my city, really. I'd just like to see them made for the good of many instead of a few.