Having grown up in New York and lived in Boston for more than half my life, I love having a connection to Chicago. It was circa 1996 that my stepson, Josh, moved there to marry his law school sweetheart, Jane. Today they live in River Forest with their daughter, Claire, a precocious second grader with a big heart.
Aside from enduring the discomfort of post 9/11 air travel, Dennis and I always look forward to our weekends in Chicago, and wish we got there more than once or twice a year. For Dennis, the Art Institute of Chicago is a must.
On this particular visit, the high point for my husband is making a collage with his granddaughter at the Institute’s Ryan Education Center. A beautiful sunlit space looking out at Millennium Park, the children's art room is perfect for shooting photos in natural light. I hesitate posting any of the ones I took with our new Nikon D3000 amid concerns Claire’s parents may not want her image to appear on the Internet.
Here are my own highlights of the weekend:
(1) Brunch at The Gage. Despite reports about this being a noisy restaurant, it's delightfully quiet at 10:30 a.m. After selecting the mile high stack of ricotta limon French toast, I order a basket of scones and muffins for the table. My better judgment suggests that I cut the scones in quarters so we can each taste everything. The white paper strip covering the white tablecloth where I do my handiwork immediately develops an enormous grease spot – proof positive of a deliciously high butter content.
My favorite is the asiago cheese scone. Which is not to say I don’t savor the blueberry scone sprinkled with sugar crystals evoking childhood memories of sugar cookies from Horn & Hardhart -- except that these are a thousand times better. A zealous calorie counter, I also sample the pumpkin muffin with little gobs of cream cheese filling, and the apple caramel muffin.
(2) A 5-Mile Run Along Lake Michigan. My penance for pigging out at brunch is to run until my Polar heart rate monitor says I’ve burned 600 calories – regardless of how my knees feel. The air is a bit chilly, and since the serious runners are resting before the Chicago Marathon, the path along the beach is wondrously peaceful. The water is greenish blue, and were it not for the signs, I could be in Barcelona -- that other city of signature architecture -- running along the Mediterranean. Knowing that I put up with Boston’s brutal winters because I can spend the warmer months rowing on the Charles, this run helps me understand why people put up with Chicago winters.
(3) Visiting Hanig’s Shoes. I'm on a mission to find a Moncler down coat that won’t make me look like the Michelin Man. But as I leave our hotel on E. Delaware and head for N. Michigan, I get side-tracked by Hanig’s, whose selection of high end, good-looking comfort shoes puts Harry’s and Tiptop in New York to shame. Not needing anything is different from taking pleasure in beautiful things. I try on a pair of black Mephisto loafers that will work beautifully with jeans or a pantsuit, and also a pair of high black, fake crocodile, waterproof boots by La Canadienne. Counting my pennies, I have the items shipped to avoid the sales tax.
(4) The Saks Experience. Still in search of my Moncler coat, I begin with Nordstrom’s where a thoroughly likeable sales woman helps me sort through several different styles, none of which seems quite right. At Saks, I encounter a “just what’s out there” saleswoman who seems irritated that I have the audacity to ask for the location of the Moncler collection – while she's helping another customer. But when I ask if she’d hold one of the quilted Moncler’s just overnight, she volunteers that Saks is about to have its 25% off, Friends and Family promotion.
After scouting out Bloomingdales, which is about to start a 15% off promotion, and Neiman Marcus, which has no promotion, I return to Saks less than 30 minutes later. This time I notice a black, non-quilted ¾ length Moncler with fur trimmed hood and a belt. Had I seen the indifferent saleswoman I encountered on my first Saks visit, I surely would ask for her help. The truth is that there's no one in sight.
At the exact moment a different, perfectly pleasant saleswoman appears and starts helping me remove the coat from its hanger, Ms. Indifferent makes her epiphany. Proclaiming me her customer, as though for life, she dismisses her colleague. All goes well until I ask her to ring up my sale. Writing down my credit card info and shipping address on a scrap of paper, she says company policy mandates that nothing be rung in until the sale actually begins. Had she given me something quasi official looking, I'd feel better. Does the opportunity to save 25% on a coat listing for $1475 make it worth putting up with Saks’ diva in residence? I think so, provided the coat arrives by mid-next week.
(5) A tour of Claire’s room. Although I could end this mini-travelogue with dinner at Hugo’s Frog Bar and Fish House or drinks at Jilly’s Piano Bar, where we meet pianist and cabaret singer Nick Russo, I’d rather talk about spending time with a very literary seven year old and fellow blogger. By way of background, last summer Claire was a guest blogger, reporting from Zoo Camp for Animal Crazy, the Orlando Sentinel blog that just happens to be written primarily by my daughter, Daphne.
A child of privilege who’s surprisingly unspoiled, Claire insists that I see her ultra girlie room with white furniture and a collection of Madame Alexander dolls, some of which have passed down from her Aunts Julia and Melissa, some gifts from Grandma Anne. I suspect they gave her the dolls because she understands they are fine, decorative objects, not toys. Though Claire tells me the American Girl dolls are too delicate for serious play, she takes them from the toy box where they’ve been tossed, and gets special pleasure telling one of them can’t see me until she puts the doll’s wire-rimmed granny glasses on.
Halloween is approaching. Would you be surprised if I tell you that Claire has decided to go as Annabeth Chase, a fictional demi-goddess with a Yankee’s cap that can make her invisible, a sword and shield, and a Camp Half Blood t-shirt that will hopefully provide cues to trick or treaters who haven’t been initiated into Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson and the Olympians series?
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