Chicago, Chicago...

I walked into the hotel, and a well-dressed woman took one look at me, dripping wet, and turned to her husband. “We’re taking a cab.”

Chicago didn’t live up to the horror stories about the weather, on the whole. It was sunny and bright most of the time, and rained instead of snowed the rest. And in other aspects, it more than lived up to its rep.

I got off the plane and went straight to the opera. Taking the L through the city, I was amazed at how beautiful it was. Shiny pretty buildings and bridges, and the river winding through them.

Chicago Lyric Opera is in a big, gorgeous Art Deco building that, I am informed, was built to look like a throne. It’s certainly very palatial, incredibly ornate without feeling overwrought, and the performance (of Puccini's Girl of the Golden West) was outstanding.

Somehow as I arrived and left I completely failed to notice the Sears Tower, which you’d think would have been tricky, given that it’s almost the tallest building in the world. But that’s why I hope never to witness a crime,--I am well aware that my powers of observation are not exactly at the Sherlockian level.

From there I met my friend Julie and we headed off to see As You Like it at the Navy Pier--also excellent. First thing next morning was the Art Institute, which practically left me breathless. They have outstanding examples of...everything. El Greco, Rembrandt, Monet, Manet, Cezanne, Pissarro, Seurat, Van Gogh, Turner, Constable, Whistler, Sargent, Kandinsky, you name it...

Due to loitering in the art institute for too long, I missed our appointment at the Robie house. Which ended up being fine by me, as the cultural marathon was impinging upon our eating time, so I took some time to have lunch and go shopping. Chicago has great shopping. It’s amazing what you never knew you wanted until you’re in a place with great shopping.

The food situation kept looking up that evening, as we had pizza at Giordano’s, which absolutely lived up to the reputation. A big, chewy, symphony of crust, sauce, chese, and sausage. We followed that up with jazz at the Green Mill. The doorman’s welcome (with a rich Chicago accent) was along these lines:

“Cover is 12 bucks, no talking, no moving, no flash photography, no cell phones, no texting. The first set just finished, and people are moving, so you might find somewhere to sit. If it isn’t moving, sit on it.”

We actually found great seats in a booth with a local couple, and listened to a fantastic band that converted Julie to the genre. We failed to find Al Capone’s table, or to be involved in a shoot out of organised crime bosses, but I was only a little disappointed.

Sunday was when the rain started, with considerable enthusiasm, it seemed. We got soaked every time we stepped outside the building, but still managed to fit in (besides a nap and tea at the Drake) a visit to the Contemporary Art Museum, which was a fun mix of adult playground, clean and creative artwork, and taking-one’s-art-way-too-seriously pretension, followed by thin crust pizza at Pizano’s (delicious, but we voted thick crust as the winner), followed by take-home cheesecake at the hotel, which we ate with much giggling using coffee stirrers as chopsticks, because the waiter didn’t put in any forks.

Julie was a delightful travelling companion, and put up with my teasing and childish humour admirably:

Me, cocking an ear: Ah, the classic Chicago song.

Julie: Isn’t this “New York, New York”?

I loved the trip, but once again found that travelling never seems to allow me to check a place off the list for good. I want to go back to Chicago. Maybe next time I’ll make it to the Robie House. And look up and see the Sears Tower.

My Nan

We called her Nanny Alice because my brother Anthony was the eldest of her grandchildren and that’s what he could say. So my toddler brother’s lack of articulation created a name we all used.

She helped me learn to appreciate shoes, learn to vacuum, and make the most of life. She was resilient and positive and adventurous and funny and honest and strong. She taught me to whistle, and then told me that whistling wasn’t ladylike. She had my cousins and me to stay over on weekends, made sure we swept and helped to clean before going out, had the excitement of going on buses, took us shopping and to lunch and bought us gifts for being well-behaved and patient. I’m pretty sure she was the patient one. She let us spend hours trying on ridiculous clothes that we thought were fabulous. She made us knickerbockerglories and let us stay up late for midnight feasts, although I’m not sure that we ever made it until midnight. She let us try on her jewellery and dress up in gorgeous fabrics. She prayed by her bed and prayed with us.

She wrote poetry, and worked hard, and believed in being glamourous and in getting her hands dirty. She served others endlessly. She was unshockable.

My nan lived in Bristol during the war, and dealt with air raids and shelters, and rationing, and all that goes along with war. Our favourite story was the one about the bomb crater. Nan was on her way to work one day, and... fell in a bomb crater. Being Nan, she climbed and and carried on to work, scratching and bleeding--but when her supervisor heard, she sent her home for the day.

She loved flowers, and colour--I once painted her kitchen twice in two days because the first colour we tried was less of a primrose and more like the sun had walked into the room and was outstaying its welcome. We went with a pleasant blue after that.

When I was in college and not brushing my hair ever, she sat me down, took a comb to me, gave me a neat parting, and suggested I keep it that way. I was about twice her size by then, but I knew who was in charge.

She loved children, and was happy with them, even at the end when she had difficulty talking to adults. Deafness and dementia are tough barriers to communication. The dementia made her irascible, suspicious, and irrational. It’s a horrible thing to happen to a brain. But there’d be moments when the real Nan would show through.

The last time I went to visit, she was delighted to see me, and made a fuss of me. We chatted, she showed me pictures of my cousin’s baby, and she said she was sorry she didn’t have chocolate to offer me. I always tried to wear something interesting when I saw her because I could guarantee she’d notice and like it. She told me I looked lovely. I remember her once telling me I wasn’t a pretty girl--not in an unkind way, I think her point was that it didn’t really matter and I had other, more important qualities. One of her favourite things to say about me was that “I was always the same.” I’m happy to know that, instead of meaning that I wasn’t growing or developing as a person, she valued consistency and the qualities she loved in me. I always knew I was loved by my Nan, and she was a wonderful person to love and be loved by.

Lena is Extremely Courageous

Walking out of the changing room might have been the bravest thing I’ve ever done.

OK, honestly, it probably wasn’t. But IT FELT LIKE IT.

Cindy invited a few peeps up to Lava Hot Springs for New Year’s Eve. It sounded like a great idea to me--I’m not generally a big New Year’s fan. I’ve gone to parties, gone to bars, stayed home, gone to dances, gone to city centres, gone to bed...and it’s never been as thrilling as it looks in the movies. I always feel like I should be in the middle of a glamourous party, wearing a fabulous gown, kissing the man of my dreams whilst confetti rains down upon us, having the absolute best time of my life. It can’t possibly live up to that image. Plus I seem to have something of a grand tradition of people dying or relationships ending around this time of year, which can also put a dampener on things.

But I liked the idea of the hot springs. Simple, relaxing, good company. It’s just that, standing in my bathing suit in the changing room, it seemed less of a good idea to go outside practically naked knowing that it was, like, dozens of degrees below freezing out there. And then knowing that, in the unlikely event that I were to survive out there, I’d have to walk back through the cold to the changing room, but this time dripping wet.

But I did it. Several of us did it. We so crazy! And once we were in the pools, it was rather fabulous. I’ve never been so simultaneously hot and cold at the same time. Our hair frosted over, our ears burned, our eyelashes became heavy with frost, I had icicles at the back of my hair, and if I left my shoulders out too long, they’d frost too, and would tingle exquisitely when I submersed them again.

We stayed there a few hours, and then headed to Cindy’s house, where we ate late night fries and other delicious snacks, and we toasted each other at the stroke of midnight, and played speed scrabble, sat around and chatted, and finally fell asleep in random areas of the floor. where Cindy’s extremely hospitable mum had put blankets. Cindy’s dog kissed or wagged us awake the next morning, and Boyd made us crepes, and it was all pretty great. I barely even noticed the lack of George Clooney to snog.

Happy New Year!

The Heat is On

Hey, I have a blog!

It’s been a good summer. And now, as the leaves have turned to flame and are starting to fall, and the warm evenings turn to crisp ones, I would like to discuss a topic near and dear to my heart. That of how I’m going to keep myself warm this winter. Actually, we’re going to discuss an area a little south of my heart because I want to tell you about my heated seats.

So I got a new car. Which is very exciting, and I kind of love it, even though I feel like a tiny bit of a sellout for driving a brand new car instead of a clunker that says, “I don’t care about appearances.” Maybe if I never wash it I can send the same message. I can do that!

I had just a couple of requirements when looking for a new car. It had to be reliable, get good gas mileage, and have heated seats. That’s all I wanted.

The first time I experienced heated seats was in my teens. My parents had just separated, and my aunt had to pick me up one morning for some reason related to that--I honestly can’t remember the details, I don’t think it was anything dramatic. I do remember trying not to cry though, and it was a really cold morning, and my aunt turning on the seats, and it feeling like a warm bath. It was immensely comforting.

So apparently that’s led to some deep-seated psychological issues about seats.

I also hate being cold, and I especially like having a warm back. As a kid, coming in from the cold I’d sit with my back against the radiator to warm up. Again, comfort food for my temperature receptors.

As it turned out, once I test drove a couple of cars, I found that I also wanted responsive steering, decent acceleration, and nice looks (shhh). And then I found that the car I loved didn’t come with heated seats. Not an option.

But I found someone who’d install them after market. And my life is...well, a lot MORE complete. I adore them. I pretty much turn mine on as long as I don’t actually have the air conditioning going. If you see me sucking my thumb and clutching a teddy bear in my car, we’ll start to worry about the psych issues, but hey, maybe it’s therapy.

Mexico Pics

A few minutes before the storm hit.
During the storm.
I feel I should point out here that Jessica is perfectly capable of holding her head up, but for some reason likes sleeping in that very uncomfortable-looking position.



I don't know what these are, but my mum kept trying to get me to pet them. She didn't pet one herself, however.

Anthony deciding what to wear for a night out. Um, my brother doesn't always look this sweaty and homeless, by the way. It was very humid.


Our hotel.

Home again home again, jiggety jig.

Tonight we had dinner at the Mexican restaurant at the resort. Yes, you would think they'd all be Mexican, but remember--MexiDisney? It was delicious, and Jessica stayed wide awake through most of it, which is unusual for her. I think she knew we were leaving. So we went for a walk in the grounds, and down to the beach, and listened to the waves (and the disco down the beach playing Lady Gaga and Neil Diamond), and watched the stars and a lightning storm, and thought deep thoughts.

When we arrived, I thought ten days of this would be too much. Now it’s flown by, and I’d be quite happy to spend a few more days doing nothing. My sis-in-law says that means I’m finally unwinding, but probably need another week or so to really do the trick. She might be right, but my plane ticket says otherwise.

Ocean Dive 3. Certification Day.

Whereupon Lena learns to love diving.

This was the day when diving officially became fabulous. It was a beautifully sunny day, and the sea was relatively calm, despite the red flags still on the beach. I’m starting to suspect they’ve lost all the other colours.

This time it was Ryan, a kid called Brandon, a Spaniard called Oscar, who was also certifying that day, and me. We headed down, and my ears were being a lot more cooperative. We did our “skills” on the ocean floor--fin pivots, regulator removal and replacement, mask flooding and clearing (I hate that one), and there was a decent current, which made it a little challenging.

Then we got to swim and have fun--and see a Moray eel, lots of little blue fish, more Lion fish (“very very poison” said one of the staff later), and a mermaid. Ha! I was just kidding about one of those.

It was just beautiful, and relaxing, and fun, and Ryan very kindly grabbed my foot and pulled it out of the way of more fire coral (where was he when my hand was getting ravaged the other day?). We did “out of air” testing on the way to the surface, and then we were done. I was the last to do my “out of air,” and it involved going down and up again, while the current made us drift, so we had to hang around in the water for a while afterwards for the boat.

It was glorious not to feel at all queasy, but just to float and enjoy the sun. So we got on the boat, and unhooked all our equipment, and Ryan made the announcement that both Oscar and I had certified today, and everyone clapped, and then they threw a bucket of sea water over each of us.

I decided to buy the video of the dive, and Tomas offered to edit in turtles and sharks as we didn’t get to see them today, but I told him I liked the original version. Although it was sort of tempting to see if he could CGI me onto the back of a dolphin or something. I'll see if I can upload it. It's rather soothing to watch.