I was on the phone tonight with my Mom when she mentioned she was looking at the most incredible sunset, a sunset with pink clouds. I ran out into my back porch and told her I saw the same colors. I mean, of course, right? There’s only one sun and, therefore, one sunset but it felt kind of special to be sharing that together, right then.
And they really were pretty pink clouds.
My Dad loves Chicago as much as I do, maybe even more. His Dad grew up on the South Side and some of my favorite memories as a kid are of them recounting times they had in Chicago together. My Dad passed their love of the Windy City down to me by bringing me here as often as possible when I was young and it totally worked- my love of this city borders on obsessive.
When I’m on my way to or from work, wandering around or doing something fun, I’ll sometimes snap pics on my phone and send them to my Dad. Judging from his email responses (the above pic was deemed “the best one to-date” this morning), I think he gets a kick out of seeing what I see every day. We don’t get to see each other as often as I’d like and I love this way of connecting on that day-to-day level that, as adults, most of us don’t get to have anymore. I’m very close with my father and living in Chicago makes me feel even closer to him, particularly when we’re talking about one of the pictures I’ve sent. Shared vantage point, I suppose.
I also think he likes getting the photos because he knows where his little girl is and that she’s safe (I don’t think I’ll ever get too old for him not to worry about that).
Chicago has always felt like home, in that down-in-your-bones, 100%, deep-breath-kind of way, even before I lived here. Maybe that’s why- because Chicago was home for my family way before I was ever a part of anything.
“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love, generosity and devotion exist.”
No “G Family Christmas Kickoff” would be complete without heading to State Street to check out the holiday windows at Marshall Field’s, errr, Macy’s so Papa G, my step-mom, Ryan and I bundled up on Sunday morning to see what the theme was this year.
The theme this year is the famous editorial that appeared in The Sun in 1987 answering a letter titled “Is There a Santa Claus?”. I have always loved the “Yes, Virginia…” response because it speaks so beautifully to the necessity of belief in the unseen, in faith.
And after all, isn’t that what this time of year is about? Faith in love, faith in family, faith that a Savior was going to arrive in Bethlehem, just as promised?
I’m so happy I was able to share this holiday tradition with my family, people I always have faith in.
I don’t know if I told you but this weekend is the “4th Annual G Family Christmas Kickoff”, also known as one of my favorite weekends of the entire year. My parents arrived this morning and already, lots of traditional festivities have taken place (like eating at Dao Thai, shopping on Michigan Ave), as well as some new events (like bed building- they got Ryan and I a lovely bed for Christmas!). Still on the agenda? Filene’s (my step-mom is an expert shopper- she does not take prisoners when it comes to Filene’s and finding great stuff at a great price), drinks at the Omni and dinner at somewhere Italian; anywhere Italian was the request, actually.
This time of year makes me feel so nostalgic, so aware of the importance of ritual and tradition. I love making new memories but there’s a lot to be said for the comfort of old ones. Maybe that’s why I love creating new traditions with the people who hold the old ones. Comfort and creation. I can’t think of anything better.
Exhibit A: Hazel Wegrich. 93. Grandmother. All-Around Amazing Lady.
My 93 year old grandmother got on a place for the first time in years and ventured from Florida to Chicago this past weekend. A good dinner at Volare (minus the rave that was happening across the street- strobe lights and glow sticks don’t exactly say “welcome to Chicago, let’s have a nice, classy dinner”), lunch at Luxbar, brunch at Flatwater and a kitchen clambake at our apartment made for a lovely weekend.
I love to cook. Feeding the people I love is, to me, another way to love them. With my mom and grandmother in town, it was only fitting that 3 of my best friends came over for dinner. I am so lucky to have people in Chicago who are every bit as family as those as I am related to by gentics. It’s also a lot of fun to be in a relationship with someone who loves entertaining as much as I do. After flipping through The Barefoot Contessa Cookbook, Man-Friend and I decided on a Kitchen Clambake–potatoes, kielbasa, shrimp, clams, mussels, salmon and crab steamed in white wine and, because Man-Friend got creative, Miller Lite.
Exhibit B: Our pot was not big enough for the mass amounts of seafood we bought. So we improvised.
Since we have yet to put together our 4th kitchen table chair, we brought over the ottoman and all crowded around the table, digging into the caprese salad, cracking open crab legs, reaching for more mussels, breaking off pieces of delicious crusty bread.
Exhibit C: Finished product.
It was my favorite kind of meal, the kind that are filled with people I adore, tons of food, wine, “remember when” stories and last for hours. It turns out that exactly 6 years ago, Corey, Amanda, Mike, Linda and I were in car on our way to New York City. It was an amazing time in our friendship, a time when we were still young enough to have nothing else to do but be together. That trip will forever be one of my favorite memories. It was really special to be with those same people (minus Married Mike), celebrating the exciting changes that have happened recently in our adult lives and belly laughing over being 19 and stranded in Long Island at 4am.
There’s a month left of summer and I want it to be filled with nights just like last Saturday- cooking, story sharing, glass toasting and being with family–both the one I was born into and the one I have been lucky enough to have become a part of along the way.
Reason #3498 why I love living in Chicago is that there is Caribou Coffee here.
Yes, I know–there are Caribou Coffees pretty much everywhere but there wasn’t one where I grew up and when I would visit friends in the Detroit area, I would beg them to go get a Light White Berry with me so I totally enjoy being able to get a $4 coffee now whenever I want.
Chicago’s temperature hit 73 degrees today, which is obviously deserving of an iced coffee. I am the clumsiest person on the planet so I was in need of a napkin in case anything was spilled. When I went to get one, I grabbed what I thought was a napkin that had been written on. There was writing on it, albeit engineered by the Caribou thinktank most likely, and it was titled “Life’s Too Short For:” and then had a list.
“Life’s Too Short For: Grudges, fake anything, putting profits before people, crabby people, over-roasted coffe and waiting for change to happen.”
Spot on, right? Every day, there are a million little (or big) things that jar us into remembering what life is too short for. We might not always be fully present to notice them but they’re there. For me, life’s too short to not be real with the people I love and the things in our lives that are important to us. For me, life’s too short for every single person I love not to know it. For me, life is to short not to belly laugh. Or to notice giggly babies or dogs that are so freakin’ happy to be out on a walk. And life is definitely too short for me to wear shoes that hurt my feet.
I’m grateful that it was a silly napkin from an overpriced coffee factory that reminded me of these things today but when events happen that make it all too clear what life is too short for, I thank God that I have a family and friends to weather those storms with.
Life is too short for _______ (fill in the blank).
My family came to Chicago this weekend, which was such a treat. My mother was in on Friday on her way to visit my dear grandmother in Florida and my Dad and step-mom were here on Saturday and Sunday. Lots of great food, lots of warm talks, lots of quality time together. Holiday or not, any time I get to spend with my family always feels so special. I am so lucky to have people I truly like, not just love, as parents, if that makes any sense. We didn’t do a traditional Easter yesterday–we had Thai food instead of ham and deviled eggs and the only hat I wore was a Cubs baseball one when I went running later that night. But I spent the day with my parents, walking around the city I love, laughing about old family stories and catching up on the details that don’t quite fit into phone conversations. That, to me, is my Sunday best.