I Remember the First Time I Drove Through Indiana**

My favorite day this week could have been the day we followed the GPS and exited right off the freeway which took us to Gary, Indiana, a place I've only heard about in a song. It isn't much of a town, but it brings to mind the song, which is from a movie that makes me think of a city in Iowa, which reminds me of my family (specifically my grandparents) and I'm most certain they're two of the greatest people that ever lived. I snapped a photo of this sign that says, "The People of Gary Welcome You" at the stoplight, but as you can see, it didn't turn out so well. Sorry, Mom.

It could have been the night we ate at Lulu's Dim Sum and Then Sum. The name alone is reason for happiness. Their Pad Thai, same story.

Or the night I sat in a crowded house and listened to some dudes sing Led Zeppelin while I ate Cadburry Mini Eggs (three at a time) next to a boy in scarf the same shade as his eyes. When I upturned my cup (which I thought was empty) and spilled on the wood floors, I looked around to see if anyone noticed. He smiled a smile worth one million dollars.* Then he helped me locate the napkins.

My favorite day this week could have been the day we discovered an extra package of Thin Mints.

Or the day I arrived home to find a map of New York City in a yellow envelope with a secret message.

But my favorite day this week was the day I sat in the basement in the early evening and listened to a small piece of writing about anchovies. Yes, anchovies. The piece on anchovies was followed by a small recitation of "The Song of Cool Things" which led to a discussion on writing and then love, which is how I feel about the person who brought up the anchovies, which started the whole discussion in the first place.

Indiana was pretty cool though. I mean, just look at that picture.
Talk about happenin'.

*Also worth one million dollars: knowing my friend was plotting a reason to walk across the room and talk to the same dude with the million dollar smile.

**Lyrics to another really great song about Indiana by a band from Colorado.

The Windy City

In a redbrick cottage in a house just outside Chicago in a room with yellow walls, I fell asleep between a blanket with big red flowers on the four poster bed with the pineapple finials. In the morning there was grapefruit and peanut butter toast and a walk to the train station, passed bare oak trees, stark against the winter sky.

In the city there's the river, dark and winding, rolling under bridges and between buildings tall enough to mingle with the clouds. And always the sound of the train rushing by, clickity clack, clickity clack.

On an unusually warm day, I took in a 365 degree aerial view of the Second City, 36 stories up, thanks to a great connection at an award-winning architecture firm. I asked questions about buildings. He answered with dates, fast facts and names of famous films. We could see north towards the suburbs and out across the Lake.

Saturday, we drove to Michigan, stopping for an early lunch. At night, we went into town for dinner. While we waited for our table to be called, we strolled the streets and stopped in shops to keep from freezing. Sunday there was a blizzard. All six of us sat snug inside while the wind howled and the snow fell in record speed. For dinner, there was salmon and mashed potatoes and bite-sized chocolate chip cookies for dessert.

We woke early Monday. It took at least a half an hour to unearth the car from all the white. The roads were slick and snow-covered. Cars inched cautiously towards their destinations. Trees and power lines lay flat like soldiers in final surrender to Winter's War.

Back in the City, frigid white waves rose up from the lake 10 feet high. They hurled towards the shore, relentlessly crashing then pulling out again. I bundled up and went for a run in the neighborhood by the University, getting lost in the symmetry of the old houses: porticoes and broken pediment facades, secret alley ways, brick paths to courtyards lined with box woods and planters tangled in frozen ivy.

After a short walk into town, I ate soup at a local bakery and watched shoppers file in and out, stomping snowy boots upon entry. For dinner we went to a small trattoria and shared gnocchi while Dean Martin sang sweetly from the speakers and white lights illuminated the frescoed walls.

In the room with the yellow walls, I packed my bags, stacking fabric samples and sorting catalogs to be shipped home the following morning. I got a ride to the train station where I dragged my bags from the platform one at a time. We met for lunch in the lobby and I caught the train for the airport. I watched the cityscape turn from stacked skyscrapers and clusters of apartments to sprawling suburbs before the train dipped underground and up into Terminal 2. We lifted off into blue sky.

one day

Yesterday I went to visit Grandma. Her house smelled like cinnamon. I found her in the front room in her slippers. She had blanket across her lap and her eyes were closed. She was listening to love songs from the 1940's. I touched her hand and she opened her eyes. It's Martha, I said. She told me how lovely I looked and that my visit was a special treat. She told me she'd been listening to love songs all morning and asked if I would join her. I pulled one of the velvet chairs with the scrolled arms up next to her chair. I turned the dial down so we could listen and talk at the same time. We talked about traveling and Grandpa and the beautiful things in her home from all over the world. About the tea cups she gave me from Germany. She told me I'm going to be famous one day, which made me laugh. I'm not sure for what, Grandma, I said, but thank you.

form and function

This morning I dug deep to unearth my purple ankle boots from the barracks of my closet. They seemed like the perfect punctuation to my black coat with the buttons on the back and my black matchstick chords. But, as soon as I zipped them up I knew they were a bad idea. Sure we'd be sitting at a table for a good portion of the morning, but come eleven we were bound to be trudging through mud on-site. Shaking off all sensibility I chose fashion over function and let purple reign supreme.

Table topics checked off, we drove to the house. It stands bare-boned in the winter sun, no doors, and windows only having arrived last week. Plywood planks are the temporary driveway to the east of the house. Six eyes examined six different shades of brick, and all agreed on one.

We walked the inside of the house, checking measurements, talking electrical and pluming, duct directions and porch pillars. I was scribe, the only one with a pen and paper, my hands and feet freezing by the time we got to the back patio. I came home and soaked my feet in the tub for 15 minutes. I'll be grateful when those ducts bring hot air down through the vents and when the mud dries. Next time I'm choosing function over form.

he listens to schumann and likes to eat with chopstickcs

In the restaurant with the red door and the black and white checkerboard floors, the one with the patio covered in white twinkle lights and umbrellas in summer to shade the sun, there were scallops and chopsticks and creamy mashed potatoes scooped up slowly with a fork, one bite at a time. There was sourdough bread with chilled butter wrapped in foil, and a boy in a black t-shirt and grey chinos. We sat at the oyster bar and talked finance and red Ferraris. He ordered Sabayon with berries in a goblet for dessert. We took turns, eating with the same spoon.

Rosy Cheeks

Our sweet Mimi was sick this week. She had a fever of 102, but you wouldn't know it from this picture. She was happy as can be waiting for the doctor. She loves the paper on the exam table. Pretty sure she's the cutest.