Saturday the Sun was shining...

After spending the night on daughter's dorm chair/couch, I decided to head up to one of my favorite places in the city, the Chicago History Museum, formerly the Chicago Historical Society on Clark at North Avenue. For those of you who know, if you start off at Congress & Michigan, you've got a long way to go. The morning was cold but sunny and a stroll up Michigan Avenue is a joy on such a day. My walking shoes were cowboy boots which normally are quite comfortable believe it or not. My pace is more like a commuter clip as opposed to a tourist stroll so off I went. Before I knew it I was at the river, hands freezing, feet getting a good pounding from the pavement. When the sun bounces off of the magnificent Gothic structures that line Michigan Avenue at the river, the affect is spectacular. Forget that the wind was living up to the legend, there is little that can prevent you from enjoying the sight except maybe one excruciatingly sore foot. I knew I had to give in and either find a bus or grab a cab. Not knowing the bus system well enough I opted for a cab. Thank goodness because I had a few miles more to walk to the museum. The museum is currently celebrating Bicentennial of Abraham Lincoln so the permanent Lincoln exhibit was even more extensive with one of the 5 handwritten copies of the Gettysburg Address. Wow. Also on hand was a stunning exhibit entitled Chic Chicago with gowns on display from the late 1800's to modern day. Gorgeous! I could just picture Bertha Honore Palmer in her finery aching to be as well thought of as the grand dames of New York society instead of queen of the barbaric and uncultured Chicago rabble. A widely held view of Chicagoans by New Yorkers in the 19th century (probably, still).
My yen for Chicago history temporarily satisfied, I was brave enough to set out once again on foot but knew I wouldn't last long. The sun was bright but that wind off the lake was slicing right through me. Yet, I walked. The Cardinal lives in the neighborhood so I wandered past his historic red brick mansion wondering if he was in town. State Street starts up there and its a great neighborhood of old brownstones and mid rise, mid century apartment building and hotels. Now if I could just get daughter situated in this neighborhood I would visit frequently. She needn't worry tho, its not in the budget! OK, feet are throbbing now. But after going through my cash fairly quickly on cab fare, I resist. A couple of more blocks gets me through the posh shopping district where you might find Oprah or Michelle. Suffering now, I head over to Michigan Avenue knowing I can get a bus in front of Water Tower to get me down to Randolph and the train station home at least that was my regular route 25+ years ago. And who should exit the 151 at Randolph with me but Memoir Girl. (See her very own blog entry at theLtracks.blogspot.com) Success and the aroma of train station popcorn greets me. Why does that smell so darned good?! Cheesy popcorn fingers for the ride home.

living for the city

Anytime I actually visit Chicago, I must report because it's always different. For starters, I've finally figured out the significance of my title, vintagechicago. At first I thought it would represent Chicago memories of myself and others. Since hardly anyone reads this blog, it has really been about mine. So vintagechicago is actually me I guess, an aging fragment of an earlier time with roots in and occasional recent experiences of that grand city.
I must say however my last visit was at times, heartbreaking. It should have been an uplifting early spring, Easter weekend. Realistically tho it was mid April in Chicago which could still mean snow. Not to forget the Easters of my youth that were spoiled by having to wear a winter coat over a perfectly wonderful new Easter dress. Especially fabulous was the year all three of us sisters had -get this- new dresses with matching coats, matching hats, lace tights, new shoes and probably white gloves. How the parents pulled that all off I'll never know, must have won the lottery that year. Bleak, gray, rainy weather aside, I got to encounter some equally bleak aspects of city life up close.
Daughter was desperate to find off campus housing so we enlisted the help of a professional who promptly told us what I already knew. To find an apartment for the paltry sum that we had budgeted would land her in a seriously sketchy neighborhood. (To qualify here, $1200/month-shared by two, is not paltry by any means, unless of course you're talking big city real estate) Not suburban sketchy which we are more accustomed to, neighbors that maybe don't cut the lawn as frequently as they should or park too many vehicles of various types on their property. No, we are talking seriously sketchy as in probable gang activity.
After an afternoon of viewing "apartments" carved out of 100 year old buildings which probably were never meant to house a normal sized human being, we regrouped and ventured out to the magnificent Opera House to enjoy a contemporary concert by local musical genius Andrew Bird. Funny how the two of us fret about what we will wear to such a special event. Obviously from the looks of the crowd, few others gave it any thought at all. I MEAN, you are partaking of a not inexpensive night out at a glorious historic venue. Give it the respect it deserves. Same goes (even more so) for the disappointing crowd at Easter Sunday mass. PLEASE PEOPLE, what rates a little effort anymore?! Are ratty jeans and a lame tshirt the new black?
Now by Monday time was running out to find daughter somewhere to lay her precious head for the summer and next school year. Consequently Mom heads over to the housing office to plead daughter's case even though she missed the application deadline by a mere month. They take pity and find her a spot in a 5-story vintage building which has actually been rehabbed to be inhabited rather confortably from my point of view. Daughter is upset since her dreams of being let loose to live the authentic city life have been derailed. Mom however, will be sleeping a little easier. She runs off to edit a film that is due and tells me through her tears she will be at it for hours and that I shouldn't hang around. Ya, right. I am not leaving my daughter in such a state. Five hours to kill downtown is nothing I tell her, I will see her at dinner time. Those next five hours are a story in itself.....