The Kids Aren't The Same

I sat down with Josh and his girlfriend Bridget - whom I was meeting for the first time - and told them in the plainest terms that the best part of my day had already happened. Whatever was about to happen couldn't compete. It was a good conversation starter. We had agreed to meet that evening for a drink in Andersonville - a happy neighborhood that sits happily between our respective ones.  I had left Rogers Park early and on foot in order to get both exercise as well as to sit reading for a while. Of course I forgot to bring anything to read, so walked along Clark Street looking for something. The box holding Chicago Reader magazines was empty, as was the next one. Not great for my attitude. The weather was cool, overcast, and suggesting rain: typical of this June. This is Pride Week in Chicago, something easily forgotten given the tiresome Autumn-like weather interrupted by a handful of days of choking heat. Irritated with myself, I strolled around looking through store w...

It's June 2018. Last weekend, the weather was absurd -- which is to say that it rained for days and, when the rain abated, low temperatures and fog took its place. That's the weather we had during my mom's visit to Chicago. The visit went well until it did not. Visits from mom fit that general description: they go well until they do not. I'm tempted to give my side of the experiences, to lay out an argument that absolves me of any blame, to make a tortured explanation of why the maximum duration of an uneventful visit seems fixed at three days. But I won't do any of that. I will, however, say how terrible it felt to walk away from her without saying "I love you." We made it to Union Station a good amount of time before the train departed. I found the lobby, confirmed the departure situation with an attendant, then sat mom down in a seat close to the door through which she and the other exiles would board the machine back to Michigan. After explaining the t...