I opened the fridge that Monday evening. It was a very long day, starting with an early a.m. workout, blood donation at lunch, besides putting in a full day at the office. I was hungry and tired, as I pulled out the makings for chicken tacos: chicken (prepared on Sunday in the slow cooker), cilantro, shredded cheese, salsa, sour cream and flour tortillas. I grabbed tomato and lime from the counter fruit basket. Yes, this was going to be good. For I was cheating on my Noom diet. So far, I’d been successful: 8 lbs in 8 weeks. But tonight was different. Something in me said: Eat. Noom always says: make it good eating. When you’re gonna cheat on your diet, go big or go home. And so I did.
Dessert was next. “Can we open those bakery boxes you picked up yesterday?” I asked my husband. He assented. I pulled out both: one apple, one blueberry. I chose blueberry, cause… well, just because it’s so darn good.
The pie looked extra delicious set upon my blue and white china plate with 14K gold etching (inherited from my Great Aunt Evelyn). I took a bite. And another. Just then, my daughter returned home and spotted the pie. She took a slice of her own and sat on the living room sofa, enjoying every last sweet morsel.
“That bakery really perfected the science of pies, hasn’t it?” she called from across the room.
I put down my fork. “Yes theyhave, my dear,” I dreamily replied. “Yes, they have.”
I sat on the Metra train this morning, trying to conjure up a writing idea for another blog post. What to write; what to write. I thought back to 2017, when I met a topic challenge put forth to us by our ChicagoNow editor: “Write About Your Tomorrow.” And so I did… see story here.
I thought that story turned out well. But at that time, I had other people to write about — the stories of rank and file members going about their days, tending to business. Watching them make a determined effort was inspiring to me, and I thought it all made for a good story.
“So what’s so compelling about today?” I thought to myself.
Boring. Take the train to the LaSalle Street station. Walk approximately 11 blocks to the office. Again, Boring.
Lo and behold, I’m learning that each day does present itself with something new. In other words, there is always something to write about. Just as we sit around the dinner table each evening and my daughter asks “How was your day?” We all have something funny, peculiar, irksome, outstanding to report.
So here I will describe for you: my walk into work. And I didn’t stop to take pictures. (I know, you all love my fuzzy photos from my old phone.) Hopefully, my writing will bring pictures to your mind’s eye.
HERE’S WHAT I SAW
I watch a young lady walking down LaSalle Street, wearing an evergreen maxi dress. How cute she looks. Plus, she’s expecting – even cuter.
A food truck sits in front of City Hall. Two fellas are handing out samples of Diet Coke; I stop and try the blood orange-flavored one. I decide to take a free can of the Blueberry Acai Diet Coke.
“I’ve never had a bad Diet Coke,” I tell one of the vendors. He smiles, “Hey, that’s a great quote – we’re gonna use that today,” he responds. I walk away and actually hear them calling out my creative quote to other passers-by.
I walk along, wondering to myself: Why can’t I get a paid writing job??
THE WALK CONTINUES…
“Good morning, good morning!” sings the gentleman in a wheelchair, setting up his usual spot on LaSalle and Washington Streets. Each day he’s there, singing to passers-by. He has his usual folks, who stop to chat with him.
I’m not one of them.
I reach Randolph Street. Since it’s payday, I decide to pop into Walgreen’s to buy Lifesavers orange mints for my desk. I make a short stop at the lotions and decide to try the product on my wrist before purchasing. Yes, I’m that person – the one who unscrews the cap and tests the product first – usually frowned upon in the drugstore.
Onto the candy aisle, where, as usual, there are no orange-infused mints. Instead, I grab the regular peppermints and a bag of Hershey’s dark chocolate nuggets. My co-workers will love me.
Upon exiting the store, I’m greeted with “Do you have any spare change?” Except I keep walking, heading toward the north section of the State of Illinois building, where the CTA terminal is housed.
There are various smells wafting from the CTA trains both overhead and from the subway below. Added to this mixture are sticky floors and the smell of popcorn, and I’m immediately reminded of the old movie theatre on 69th Street where my sister, brother and I watched Saturday matinees for a cut-rate ticket. Funny how smells will immediately spark memories.
I admire a woman wearing a black dress, amped up with a gold chain belt. My, how smart she looks.
Next I’m behind a woman wearing a worn black parka. Our weather is already in the low ‘70s and she must be pretty warm. But what other choice does a (seemingly) homeless person have? They must wear or haul their belongings everywhere they go.
She trudges along, shuffling her feet in black sneakers. Her right hand is shoved into the coat pocket, while her left arm balances her uneven walk. She walks into traffic, against the light and ignoring oncoming cars. I hold my breath.
She makes it.
Here, in the matter of seconds, I go from envying a woman in a black dress to feeling uneasy over a woman in a ragged coat. Funny how we can run through a wide range of emotions in a simple morning commute.
Meanwhile, the WALK light is flashing a warning. How many seconds left do I have to run across the street? 4 – 3 – 2 – 1… Nope, I’ll have to wait for the next green light.
The light turns green and I continue, hurrying past the woman in black parka who is working her slow gait. Not even two seconds later I’m distracted by a young man wearing a black t-shirt with “Sasquatch Brewery” written across the back. His single stud earring catches the morning sunlight, and his tattooed, tanned biceps flex themselves as he unlocks the back door to a pool hall, while assiduously glancing back toward Clark Street.
Focus, Heidi. Focus…
Next corner is Clark and Wacker … last street to cross before reaching my office building. This part can be the prettiest, as it crosses the Chicago river and the views are outstanding. It can also be the worst, since crossing the bridge in lousy weather is enough to make me want to turn around and walk all the way back to the train station.
But today is beautiful, and out of the corner of my eye I see a photo shoot in the making. You see, this particular spot along the bridge is popular for tourists and professional photographers. The river water is a dark green, and it’s flanked on either side by stunning Chicago skyscrapers. The water taxi glides along the water, carrying passengers, and one may even spot a family of ducks taking a morning swim. (Click here for a stunning photo I took a couple summers back of the Chicago River.)
A young girl stands on the bridge, posing for a photographer who stands across the street, taking her photo. The waif model holds onto one of the maroon-colored steel beams and patiently waits for her instructions. Her ankle-length dress has a silver sequin bodice, while its full skirt is a sparkly red chiffon. Her long dark blonde hair blows in the wind and she wears bright rainbow–stripedstilettos.
And that reminds me. I really want to go see the new Elton John movie this weekend.
I took another ChicagoNow Blogapalooza challenge and selected the topic: Write About Your Tomorrow.
Many of us may initially think it’s just another typical day: work, school, run errands, etc. But each of us does have something going on tomorrow. It might be something that we’re looking forward to, or perhaps some decision-making needs to be done. Or maybe we’re planning on making a phone call to an old friend tomorrow or even step out in the evening for an ice cream cone before the end of summer hits. (Do I hear Rainbow Cone anyone?)
My tomorrow is unusual since it’s my last two days as an alternate Grand Jury member. For the most part, we the jury hear about crime that one reads in the newspapers or hears on the nightly news. It can be monotonous as there’s a lot of time spent listening to repetitive narratives from the assistant state’s attorneys.
But at least it gives me a break from my usual day of commuting downtown and working in a very beige office 5 days a week.
I just about have a new routine of driving to the criminal courthouse at 26th and California. My stop includes a medium black coffee at Dunkin’ – a special treat to myself for doing my civic duty. As I continue north on South Western Avenue, I honk my support at the striking auto mechanics at the various car dealerships along the way.
At the courthouse, the fellow jurors and staff are friendly. Being from Beverly, it’s typical to run into someone who went to school with your sister and/or dated your next-door-neighbor. Done.
(And, no… she’s not a criminal… she works at the courthouse. C’mon, people!)
And there’s been drama at the courthouse. The first day I filled in as a juror, someone was leaving the building, got shot 2 blocks away, and drove back to the courthouse seeking help. The scene was taped off and the TV news crews camped out all afternoon. Unfortunately, the victim died later at the hospital.
Some of us left the building that day visibly shaken, yet at the same time somewhat unfazed. Sadly, this is all too common in our fair city.
My drive back home always takes longer – another unfortunate trait of Chicagoland. I’ve learned no matter where you spend your day, it takes at least one hour – usually more – to get home. I can also advise everyone to stay off Archer Avenue while road construction is going on. Not good.
Finally, tomorrow starts our time at home without our daughter. She took off today to start a new job in a different state. It seems as though we’re always driving her to an airport and wishing her well. I packed her a turkey sandwich for the plane and we hugged good-bye at Midway. That’s what I get for raising an independent, driven daughter.
But tomorrow I’m also grateful. I have great respect for the staff who work in the criminal justice system and still have positive attitudes. I have a full-time job to return to next week. My commute to work is expected to be reasonably safe from gunfire or other crimes. And our daughter is happy to get started in an exciting career, putting her college degree to great use.
So although tomorrow may seem humdrum, I’ll bet each of us has something to look forward to about Thursday, August 31. And the day after that. And, if you like, comment in the box below (scroll down, down, down all the way to the bottom) and tell me about your day.
PIZZA FOR BREAKFAST 