Because two readers requested a picture of me, I offer this. The next picture of me will be posted in November 2006, earlier if I get over my painful shyness. Or my hair looks good.
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View from Sears Tower.
In the shadow of the John Hancock building.
Pizza, local-style.
Going home. We saw the four corners of Chicago from Sears Tower. We explored as time allowed, ate tall pizza, and flew through tunnels and over bridges on the train. We flew home. My Aunt Bette was on our flight. Aidan and I were seated near the back of the plane. Southwest Airlines does not have assigned seats—boarding is done by groups. The last few passengers were boarding. I watched to see who might be sitting next to us and I noticed a familiar-looking woman walking down the aisle. How odd. She looked like my Aunt Bette—my mom’s brother’s wife. I shouted her name over a dozen rows of heads. She looked up and saw us. A coincidence we will retell over potato salad at future family reunions was born. It was Aunt Bette. She took the empty seat next to me. What are you doing here? we asked each other. She was flying from Orlando, via Chicago-Midway, to Denver. My uncle was going to pick her up in Denver and then they would drive the five hours home to Montrose the next day. She had helped my cousin drive a load of things from my Grandma Mary’s house to his house in Florida several days earlier. Aunt Bette was the first to hear about our adventures. We talked about family, the difficulties of December, future hopes and plans. Aidan slept most of the way home. The sky outside her oval of thick glass was dark. I’d lean over her and look down at the ground. Sporadic orange twinkling towns were far between and far below. Many times I have been outside at night and looked up to see the blinking lights of a jet and wondered where it was going. I always figure half the people on board are going home. Half are leaving home. Either way, it’s an adventure.
The Chicago winter night tried to bite but reconsidered. Three lovely ladies made their way to the American Girl Place for a show in the theater and dinner in the cafe. Two of the ladies held gloved hands. One anticipated her homecoming. The glow from the door spilled out onto the sidewalk and it was in this light Aidan held up Samantha and tenderly told her “you are home…” I always note my full-circle moments but never entertained the idea Aidan thought of the trip in such a manner. I tried to stiffle my giggle at her delicious sincerity—it was hard not to melt at that moment. We entered. The first stop on our night-on-the-block was the theater, where we enjoyed The American Girsl Revue. It was excellent and moved me to tears several times. The lighting, the intimate setting, the sparse stage, music, and the astonishing talent of the girls in the cast surprised me. I wondered how a theater housed in a store could be decent, but it was top-notch and I highly recommend seeing the show to anyone who visits. After the show was over we moved upstairs to the cafe. At 7:30 the staff opened two sets of double doors to the dining room and we were ushered to our table. A special little chair was provided for Samantha, along with her own plate and cup. The decor was entirely done in black, white, and bright pink. Lamps above the tables lining the windows overlooking Chicago Avenue were covered in flowers. The giant Christmas tree still stood, covered in gold and pink ornaments. Our waiter, Andrew, was very friendly and sprung right into action, bringing mini warm cinnamon rolls to our table as a greeting. We perused the menu and had a difficult time settling on our entree choices. I went with the Tilapia Florentine and Aidan ordered the Chicken Pot Pie. In between courses we played with the game on our table. It was a little box full of slips of paper with printed questions, like “would you rather swim at a lake, ocean, or pool?” We took turns asking each other about our best memories, dreams, likes and dislikes, and opinions. One of the slips of paper prompted her to ask me to describe myself in one word. I thought about it for a long time until she got impatient, so I settled on the very-trusty “Nice!” and she laughed. “No, mom. I think the word to describe you is complicated.” I almost choked on my mousse. We finished our dinner and begrudgingly left the store. It was closing for the night. Walking back to our hotel, the wind tried to bite, but couldn’t. |
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