Who’s for supper?

Thursday night, I went to an evening yoga class in Grant Park, under the shadow of these imperious folk. It’s strangely peaceful considering where it is – on a really busy intersection, with Metra and El train lines a short jog away and Lake Shore drive just the other side of the park.

I think it’s being able to see so much sky that makes Chicago such a roomy city. So much is going on that it could seem crowded. It doesn’t though, probably thanks to the extraordinary care that goes into the upkeep of parks and beaches. There’s just so much open space; once you turn your back on the Loop and face east of Michigan Avenue the space is endless.

That means endless space for the vast Mid-western sky to occupy. Strange then, that it should feel so peaceful when there was so much going on in the cloudless blue above: not to mention the dog-walkers, kids on bikes, and joggers on their way home. Despite the competition from the traffic and the people, I found it hard to close my eyes as instructed because I was watching the birds and the planes and the leaves blowing in the wind. At the end of the night it was suggested that I was getting distracted by all the activity above us.

That wasn’t my problem though.

It’s so hard to feel zen when there are biting insects making you their early evening snack.

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Trainspotting

For the first couple of years of living here, most of my more sentimental thoughts have been of what I miss from home. I am constantly reminded of things I love that are no longer easily accessible. There are foods, people, and places that bring on a bout of homesickness and for which I feel the occasional rush of nostalgia.

Recently, it has occurred to me that there are things I will miss when Chicago is no longer where we live. Unexpectedly, I have grown to love things, food, people and places in this new home. There may be no deep ties holding us here, but I feel as though I have started to put some roots down.

Things that I found ugly and frightening when I first visited are now familiar and even beloved. For the past few weeks, I’ve been waiting for a good day to go out and take photos of one of those ugly, loved things. I went once last week, but took the wrong lens with me. The thing I really wanted to photograph is a view of the rickety old elevated train lines that can be found all around Chicago. It’s become part of our scenery, as we can see one of the stations from our windows and every time I walk home from the gym I walk underneath the tracks.

I still can’t figure out why the El should appeal to anyone. It’s noisy, looks decidedly dangerous, and is an unavoidably ugly part of the urban landscape. However, I think I’ll feel really, really homesick for the old thing when it’s not part of my surroundings any more and finally getting round to taking its photograph seems the least I can do.

This post wishes you Happy Love Thursday, a group feature hosted by ShutterSisters.

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The cop and the donut.

One of the funny things about stereotypes is that they are very often retold for a reason. The one about the North American cops and the donut shop? It is funny because it’s true.

We have a Dunkin’ Donuts behind the house – if the wind is blowing in the right direction it’s possible to smell the fresh donuts from the building’s back door. Four times out of five there is a cop car sat outside the shop with its flashers on. Sometimes there’s even a policeman or two in the car drinking their coffee and eating their donuts.

The police force in Chicago don’t have a fantastic reputation. There are frequent sensational reports on the local news reporting on the latest ‘crooked cop’. I hasten to add that we’ve never had reason to complain about CPD. However, on the way back from the gym this evening I had to smile at a prime example of how the stereotype of a lazy policeman is propagated. On a major intersection on the route home I encountered a car, with its flashers on, and two younger guys nervously hanging around waiting for their mate to bring the coffee from Starbucks.

Turns out that the reason for their nervous behavior was a policeman on a motorbike also hanging around the coffee shop, with his fresh coffee. As I stood at the corner, waiting for the light to change, he spoke up:

No need to worry, you know, I’ve run out of tickets today.

One of the guys started to explain that they wouldn’t be there for long; the usual excuses that you use when you’re temporarily parked illegally and hoping that the flashers will save you from a ticket.

The response was a hearty laugh and an assurance that he’d used his last ticket a couple of hours ago and was on his way home. While I’d love to believe that this was a kind-hearted guy who recognized an ordinarily law-abiding citizen bending the rules in order to get a coffee for a journey home, my mind instantly went to the thought that he just couldn’t be bothered to fill out a ticket so close to the end of his shift. Funnily enough, he did have that Chief Wiguum style donut-belly.

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Busy Busy: Shorts

We’ve been spending the week sightseeing. It doesn’t matter how many times I see ‘the Bean’, or Anish Kapoor’s Cloud Gate, I could stand watching for hours. A lot of the time, most of the enjoyment comes from other people’s reactions.

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It has been a hot and humid week, with downpours the last few afternoons. Chicago has also been living up to its nickname. The winds have been getting very high, building to thunderstorms over night. I slept through it all. Then I left the house for the gym this morning and got soaked. The streets were running with water and I had to buy new socks when I arrived. It’s now 77 degrees and the sun is shining again.

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My baby sister has been keeping us amused with more of her comments on the wonders of life in the USA. Like every other visitor, she has been amazed at just how different two countries which share a common language can seem.

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We went to a free lunch time jazz concert at the Cultural Center on Tuesday. Chicago really does have the most wonderful free art program. The concert area was packed full and we had to sit on the front row. I’ve never sat so close to a jazz performance in broad daylight before.

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Today we’ve all been to the Shedd Aquarium. Whilst lining up to get in, we counted that I have been six times now. I’ll likely go again with our next visitors. The view of the Lake from the Oceanarium is one of the best around.

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We’re off to the Hancock next. Being a tourist is exhausting!

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Rockin’ Grandpa

People, the funniest thing happened last night on the way home from the gym. You remember the Rappin’ Granny? I just bumped into her old friend; rockin’ grandpa.

As I walked over the intersection, not cutting the corner because it’s gone dark now, I could hear loud music and the thumping bass was getting closer. I presumed somebody’s shiny black pick-up truck or jeep was headed my way. However, there was no accompanying sound of meaty engine or double-barrelled exhaust.

That’s because the noise, the unbelievably loud hip-hop-style-beat, was coming from a motorized scooter. The kind of scooter Grandpa would usually use to mosey his way around the grocery store. It was the kind of scooter in which old ladies monopolise the sidewalk and keep small dogs in baskets. Yet, this one was being driven down the dark street at 8pm by an elderly gentleman with a leather flat cap with matching black jacket, dark sunglasses and hard-core speakers. At his side strutted a very tall lady in high heels and a red leather jacket. She was also wearing sunglasses.

You just can’t make this stuff up.

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