Decompress with me....

This is a repost from my Myspace fall of 2007....

So this was my lunch yesterday....Let me set the scene...Decompress with me!..
I run to the car outside in the lot and grab my blanket to save my butt from the faded planks of an old wooden porch of our pole-barn type office. The covered porch makes for a nice comfortable lunch in the spring and these days of the fall.

I had heated my leftover spaghetti in the microwave before heading out here and I'm hoping the bees aren't going to bother me like they have the last few days. Something about late fall that makes them crazy! I'm not one of those neurotic girls that go crazy when a bee comes by them. I usually just mind my own business about it. If they get close, I swat away and kill if i get the chance. Why can't we all cohabitate peacefully? I take my first bite and realize it's not half bad so the rest of it goes down smoothly.....with a pepsi chaser. I have found it is definitely a challenge to eat spaghetti with your legs stretched out in front of you and no table (in a skirt no less). Funny, I guess I should be more worried about 'sitting like a lady' than how to eat spaghetti on a porch. However, I am NOT.

The breeze is nice, thankfully, because it is about 80 and kinda stuffy out. You'd think it was midsummer, but the crumbling dry leaves that are bumping and twitching across the faded asphalt lot gives the fall season away. Ahead of me is the ash tree that looks beautiful in all the seasons, but drops 'catkins' from its branches that is not always pretty. Not like the maples that have those whirligigs or even a nice pine cone. They drop these things that look like petrified squirrel excrement. Not pretty.

The left and right of the flagstone steps are large cement planters filled at the last minute with a hodgepodge assortment of multicolored mums, million belles, kale, etc. for the fall. They had been empty until last week because one of the designers didn't like the first ones one of the maintenance crews put in, but I guess empty pots for 3 months are better than ugly ones? Not sure about that. I do NOT agree.


After partaking in a nice little lunch, I have toasted up enough to take off my shoes and shrug and soak up some real rays. Now that it's fall, the sun reaches all the under the porch roof (kind of defeating the purpose of a covered porch for shade, huh?) I actually got some color yesterday! It took a few paragraphs of my book to get me back on track to what was happening; after all, it's only at lunch that I'm able to take the time to actually read.

The tired arborvitaes that flank the driveway to the office have seen better days and for a 10 million dollar landscape co., you'd think they'd think about replanting with something that looks nicer. I guess we put all our energies into our customers. At least the entrance is now presentable.






The only thing missing is tunes on my ipod, but I would have hated to miss the sounds that accompany this wonderful weather for the drum solo of an 80's hair band, but maybe instead a nice piano piece by Jim Brickman or the lull of Norah Jones would've been more appropriate. I take a mental note to tune up next time.

2 days of Chicago Bliss....Spring 2008

This is a repost from a warm spring day in early 2008....

SPRING WEEKEND – 2 days of Chicago bliss.

The weatherman said it 3 days IN A ROW and I was a believer. 61 I packed myself a little day bag, threw on my Breast Cancer 3-day training shirt and my Nikes and headed to the Waukegan station.

I had had it planned for a week or so….a weekend (with a trip home in between) in the city. What could be better? I had goals. To put a substantial dent in my training, have an ice cream cone, catch a nap in Millennium Park, finish my book, get a great summer skirt or two, get a few great pics, and have a beer on the train home.

Here’s what I accomplished. The train ride in was great – crowded, but great. The Great Lakes stop is always a challenge and it wasn’t any different this day – in fact, because this was the first truly nice day of the spring, the station was more packed than I had seen it in ages. Throngs of sailors, families, more sailors I had no problem sharing the seat to my right.

The gentleman who sat down was slightly different from the masses. After some quips back and forth between him and his posse who had filled in around me, we were all exchanging our ideas about the city. I had given him suggestions of things to do with his buds. Ed Debevics, skip the Sears and hit the Hancock tower instead (different views from each side). So, they can hit Hooters in the lunch hour, and Eds at night.

I had learned he was 31 and had just enlisted in January for his first tour. He graduates from boot camp next week and is here at this base until Dec. I asked him, “Why now?” He said he was a service brat and it’s always something he wanted to do and would probably re-enlist after he got done with this 6 year term unlike his comrades that probably wanted to explore life on the outside for a while. He had already done that. He had been playing golf since the age of 5 and eventually became a golf pro participating in the Nike tour and then didn’t quite make it to the PGA tour as a player, falling short by 7 spots, but went on to be a PGA tour coordinator instead, then an instructor. We shared stories of our lives and laughed a lot. It was a nice trip on the train. Probably one of the more enjoyable 1 hr and 20 minutes I’ve had. At the end of our conversation, we finally introduced ourselves. His name was Jude. Funny, other than the actor, hadn’t met a man named Jude before. I hope his day was as fun as mine.

After a fantastic fresh quesadilla from the bell, I made my way down to MI via Madison, stopping to take the obligatory pic of my fave building. State was calling and I was able to find a few cute summer clothes in some of the many chain stores. Somehow the selection in Chicago is always better. Goal completed. I also discovered the lost Baskin Robbins on Garland & Washington that I always seem to forget about. I waited on the cone though….but shouldn’t have because I never got back there. Goal failed.




Upon heading north, there was a commotion at one of the corners by the Apple Store. There was a step-van giving out dozens and dozens of ice cold coca-cola bottles to passersby. What a treat! I hung outside on the street for a while (as many were also doing) to finish my refreshment before my obligatory visit to the Apple Store.







Here are a few pics from my walk up Michigan. I call these two ‘The Mosaic’ and ‘Alphabet Soup’. The reflections were beautiful and the second just looked like letters. It had to be captured. The signature concrete cauldrons on the sidewalks were just sprouting with the tulips that would sure to be in bloom on a weekend I couldn’t make it in to admire them. It always happens. I miss the ‘window’ between the planters looking glorious and them ending tired. A metaphor perhaps. My allergy eyes confirmed my belief that spring has indeed, sprung.

The Mosaic….



Alphabet Soup….




I continued to be the walkerazzi I am, clocking nearly 5 miles before even realizing it. Shopping helps break up the hits on the pavement. As I walk, I think of the inevitable blog inside me, making mental notes of things I’ve seen.

I made my way back to the Park and on the way, I got serenaded to ‘When the Saints go Marching in’ by one of the many toothless old street singers. In perfect Randy-speak, I should’ve said ‘Dawg, that was awfully pitchy all over the place”, but didn’t. I made my rounds through the maze at the park and sat for a while to people watch, Sunday I stopped for about an hour and read my book, finishing it. Goal completed. Then, as I calculated the time I had left before making the journey back to Ogilvie, I made my final stop at the ramp between the Bean and the Fountains and selected my spot of terra firma and jotted down some notes for my blog and proceeded to take the afternoon nap I had been thinking about all weekend. Many others regaled in my same thought.







A little girl and her dad out for a day. A couple in their own paradise they call the park bench, several people doing business via phones, people being comforted, and many people sleeping the day away.











At 3:20, the vibrations started. I could feel it from the tip top of my clavicle down to the bottom of my tailbone. The El. I found it funny that I had never felt it through my Nikes (even upon being near) like I did feeling the roar of it through the earth I was lying on that day. I felt truly connected to the city at that moment. The song playing on my ipod was ‘This Day’ by Micah Dalton. How perfect. Goal completed.
The El….





The clock read 3:45 and that meant that I had to start making my way back to the station in order to make the sparse Sunday train schedule. I could tell it was Sunday and thus the end to my wonderful weekend. My walk back was stopped several times to cop a squat in the sun at the Chase Plaza (which I call the ‘Stairway Jungle’ and is packed with financial hotties during the lunch hours on weekdays) to soak up as much heat as I could before delving back into the cold shade of the skyscrapers. An omen. Back to the Metra. Back to reality.

The Stairway Jungle….



I make my train and begin to reflect on the weekend. I had started with 7 goals, and have completed 5 of them. No ice cream, and unfortunately no beer on the way home. Another day I guess. I was able to walk nearly 10 miles this weekend, got some great pics of some new things, purchased some great summer clothes, was serenaded a song, had my nap, started my book on the Sunday trip in and finished it in the park. Although I didn’t get the cone or the beer, I made up for it at home and had my beer on Saturday night and fulfilled my need for some naïve-girl porn in the form of Matt Damon kicking ass as Jason Bourne on screen in a tight black Tshirt.

There’s something tingly about a sailor not much younger than I am saying “Ma’am, it sure was a pleasure. Enjoy your taco bell” in that fine southern Navy drawl as he tipped his hand to his cap to me as we exited. Gentlemen do exist, and apparently, so do nearly perfect weekends.

My kind of town....Chi-Ca-Go

My kind of town….Chi-Ca-Go


I’ve been meaning to write this for a long, long time, and always stopped because I couldn’t find the right words to say what I was trying to convey to the average layperson. Nothing I wrote sounded right, or expressed the feelings I wanted. I knew how I FELT, just couldn’t quite explain it.

Anyone who knows me, knows that when I say ‘the city’, I’m talking about Chicago. I have so much I want to say, so forgive me if this comes out jumbled and just, well….wrong. I won’t pretend to know everything about the city I love so much, exactly the opposite. I write what I know, occasionally bullshitting with the best of them, but never EVER will pretend to know first-hand what it’s like to be an actual Chicagoan. I should be so lucky. I’m just a suburban middle-class housewife who longs with her whole being to live in the greatest city in the world.




My earliest experiences with the city came back when I was a little pintsized firecracker of about 9 or 10 when I would get the privilege to go to work with my dad (my stepdad, but my daddy since I was 5). He was born in 1927 in the city and grew up in the depression. He would tell me stories, many of which I’m blank to right now and make a mental note to take down some of the information more tediously, as I’m sure others would love to hear them. My Grandma Kunkel was a short little round polish woman, squishy to the touch and impossible to get my arms around. She and my dad both used to teach us polish phrases and sentences and unfortunately for those who knew polish, they weren’t of the clean variety. “Smells like shit” was one of the prized jewels that my 3 year old sister was taught and variations of the like. When one learned a particular phrase, you only need know additional verbs to ‘insert here’…..

My dad lived in the city for most of his early life and transplanted in his 30s to the north burbs of Pistakee Highlands in McHenry/Lake County. He built several homes, raised kids, married and divorced, twice…..but remained a true Chicagoan through and through. He worked downtown and amidst the suburbs every day delivering heating oil via truck, then later only in the winter, started his own paving company, then sold it and began working for Troch McNeil Paving Co. in Elk Grove Village until he retired in 1990. One of my fondest memories is always the smell of fresh asphalt for it brought me back to dad and our days on the truck in the summer together. I was with him when he paved Rosemont Horizon with his company. I would watch him go back and forth while laying on the stairway and learning the plans overhead, then hopping in to make another run to the plant to get more asphalt.

So, I would say my experiences really began when I was about 10, but really got to see the culture OUTSIDE of the truck at about 13. That was my first trip to Eds. Ed Debevics for the non-natives. The only place in the city where they welcome you to be rude, although at the time, I didn’t know that to be the case, but it didn’t bother me either way. It was jus neat to be there with the dancing, and the shiny barstools, and the crazy costumes.




Unfortunately for the next 20 years, I really didn’t get down to the city so much, so how wonderful it was that upon my 2nd marriage, my husband and I started to partake in the city more often, he having been there many times visiting with old friends from the Quad Cities to those large corporate bars, and I’m sure some of the smaller dives too til the wee hours of the morning. However, those trips became further and further between and now together, we only venture in once or twice a year to go to our favorite spot, Howl at the Moon. It is the perfect blend of piano culture and drunken mayhem. What can I say, it’s my perfect environment.

In 2005, I ventured in with a friend after discussing we would bring our bikes on the Metra (the best invention for us stuck in the hicks away from the city) using the 5 dollar all weekend pass and then bike as far as we could home along the lakefront, and hopping the train when we got tired. Although upon discussion, opted that we were too chickenshit to drive our bikes in downtown to actually GET to the bike path and decided to hook up with a fellow co-worker who was hanging out down there in the Prairie Loft District neighborhood near 18th and would meet us for lunch and some cocktails. Hell, drinking in Chicago sounded like the next best option. It WAS. Good times, until we had to ride the train back and I had to do a photo shoot that afternoon while fighting a little hangover. Not good, but the pics were stellar.

Since that visit, I have make the trip whenever possible. At first, I would bring the camera and various lenses taking picture at every opportunity. Later, just got tired of not being able to venture where I truly wanted to go because of the equipment hassle and just decided to people watch and do all the things a native would do without assuming the persona of a tourist. Just BE.

To BE in Chicago is a challenge. You have to act like you know where you’re going (and I’m sad to say, I still carry a fold out plastic map with me at all times for fear of getting lost) and have some attitude, all while enjoying the new splendors the city hands you at every visit. I don’t pretend to know the neighborhoods but have walked to several to get pictures – Lincoln Park, Humboldt & Wicker Parks, the Loop of course and I’m sure many others that I have passed through and gone to actual establishments, but don’t know the ‘technical’ neighborhood boundaries or names off of the top of my head. I’m still trying to learn the attitude without coming off as being a suburban bi-otch.

Chicago is my drug. Every time my metra train rumbles towards the station, I get this rush of emotion that is indescribable. I see the buildings and I just crumble. I am completely, hopelessly addicted to her. That sounds crazy, but anyone who loves the city and gets to live there, knows exactly what I mean. I literally swell inside when I get to see the different facets she lays out for me. I could sit for hours and hours (and have) at millennium park and the fountains just watching people. I have gone to the beach and felt comfortable there with about 50,000 other people. I try and think about what each person does during the day they are not where they were currently. I never see anything negative about the city. I guess I’ve been lucky, because of course I realize crime exists, but keep my quiet guard about me when walking like my daddy always taught me. Attitude and eye contact keeps me pretty safe. No one would dare mess with a pissed off redhead anyway. I’m feisty and my aim is good. Just because I’ve been burbed doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself. Cab money isn’t a bad thing to happen and don’t get me started on how sexy I think the El’s potential could be. To be down and dirty in Chi-town. A real native….maybe someday I’ll venture and learn. After all, the city has many more places I’ve yet to explore.




She’s unassuming, yet not arrogant. She is secretive until she knows you are worthy for appreciating her correctly. Too many people take the city for granted, and thus maybe karma keeps those people in check. Hey, what goes around comes around, and no city needs that kind of hassle. She is the best kind of host, and is open to sharing her with everyone who dares give her the respect a good city deserves.

I watch that HGTV program called “What you get for the money” and Chicago is featured many times in the higher price point ranges of $400,000 to $750,000. I see them explore a beautiful contemporary loft – my dream house – and their many amenities and when they show the price tag that is nearly 15 times my annual salary, I find myself justifying to my brain that ‘that’s not that bad’ or ‘I could come up with that’ not realizing that I’d have to sell a kidney and a couple of children in order to have that REALLY happen. I snap out of it when I realize that the property taxes alone would be my salary and the cost of one of those places I love so much are 5 times the value of my current home that I will own in approximately 26.2 years, free and clear.

After that revelation, I’ve been just resigned to the fact that the only thing I need for a good day in the city is a good book, comfortable walking shoes, my iPod and and a 5 dollar metra ticket. Everything else is provided for me by her majesty.

I’m lucky the natives let me share her with them. I’m honored and positively addicted, and for this I hope I am never cured.