the one with the bridge

Great things happen at the Market Street Grill. The one with the bridge across the creek. Like the time we saw someone famous in the lobby. We joked about going up and introducing ourselves, but he was out the revolving door before we mustered up enough courage to do anything about it. We trotted across the bridge (you have to trot, or run; it's so much better that way) and found the semi-famous person right by our car. He had locked himself out and needed to borrow a phone. He used ours and then struck up a friendly conversation which lasted until his manager brought him keys. He opened his trunk, filled with cds and gave us one to say thank you.

And then there was the time that I ate crab legs. The last time I had crab was in San Fransisco and everyone got so sick we spent the night in the hotel puking our guts out. But, it's amazing what you'll do when a very handsome man tells you you're going love it (especially when he's buying you your most favorite steak in the whole wide world, plus dessert.)

And then there was last night. We sat right by the windows facing the bridge. We watched people walk back and forth the whole night. Friends. Families. Husbands who made the bridge wobble so their wives had to hold on tight to their arms or else they'd lose their balance. Mid-meal, we laughed so hard about a really great story that I smacked the table, which made the plates and the silverware rattle and everyone stared, which just made us laugh harder.

When we got outside, the sky looked like rainbow sherbet and the clouds were fluffy like angel food cake. We decided we had to drive west towards the sunset until we got to the Great Salt Lake, or until it got dark, which ever came first. We took pictures with my phone, because that's all we had.

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.

in the works

I've been working on a project for my creative writing class (Did I mention I'm in a writing class? I needed some words to balance out all the numbers from calculus and physics class.) I'm not sure what the project will to turn into, but I've been on the hunt for abandoned houses. This weekend I think we found a diamond in the rough. We were afraid to go inside. As soon as we did we knew why. There were dishes still in the kitchen, a computer on the desk, and a bright red chair in the hallway. This place is begging for someone to tell its story. We'll see how far I get. For now, a picture (or two) is worth a thousand words.

Catch a wave and you're sittin' on top of the world...

While I'm playing around on Flickr, see more photos here.

{Above, in order of appearance: Big Red, Cole, The Kid}

au retour

I arrived home this evening, weary but oh so happy; grateful for adventures, friends (old and new), surprises, food, art, work (which was more like play) family, and, as always, happy to be home. There's no place like it.

Travel log to follow.