This is my 2nd visit to the Windy City with the Indianapolis Museum of Art Volunteers and Docents. As a lowly volunteer, I was delighted at yet another opportunity. I invited my co-worker Barb to come as my guest, and we had a great day away from the office.
We went to the Chicago Art Institute to see the Winslow Homer and Edward Hopper exhibits on display. It was really awesome. Now, I’ve been a fan of Hopper since my college days. I like the simplicity of his style and the pensive mood that some of his pieces create. But I didn’t know much about Winslow Homer, and yet, I also enjoyed his work, too. He primarily painted in watercolors, and I was struck with the precision and skill it must have taken to paint in such detail as he did using only watercolors.
We also toured through the Impressionist galleries, where I tried to take digital shots of each and every Renoir, Monet and Seurat on display. I also thoroughly enjoyed the Thorne Miniature Rooms in the lower level of the museum. I even bought a book about the rooms to review them in more detail. Very impressive stuff!
After our tours, we headed out doors (in the rain – see my Monet umbrella) for some lunch and a bit of sight seeing. We walked a bit through Millennium Park. I loved the fountains and the fascinating bean. Love the bean!! We then took a cab (see previous post) and went up Michigan Avenue for some shopping. I wanted to check out Crate & Barrel, Chicago style.
I still need to plan a full weekend trip there to really see all the sights, enjoy the riverboat architectural tour, walk along the lakeshore, see Navy Pier, visit the other museums, take in some special cuisine, do some city shopping, etc. Yes, I need to make a point about returning to Chicago and getting to know the city better. All in good time and as money allows, I guess.
**UPDATE: I failed to mention where I got the fabulous Monet umbrella I am toting in the photograph. It was a bday present from my beloved sister. Isn't she just the best?** Sis, was that subtle enough?
How I have made it to 34 years old and have never ridden in a cab before is a mystery! Well, it’s not really a mystery--I never needed to take a taxi until yesterday. I was in Chicago with my friend and co-worker Barb. She suggested that since it was raining we could hop in a cab or take a bus to get around downtown instead of wading through the puddles.
I said, “Well, you know I’ve never ridden in a cab before.”
She gasped and went to the curb and got us a cab. “My treat,” she said laughing.
So I have officially ridden in a cab now...a downtown Chicago taxi to be exact. It was not quite as thrilling as I thought it would be, but it was another FIRST for me, and something I can now check off my list of things to do. HA! WOOHOO!!
I've had my AT&T U-Verse service for a week now, and I am loving it. I have far too many cable channels. I've been so busy (and addicted to Facebook) that I think I finally made it through the whole round of them just today. HA! If you don't have HD, you don't know what you are missing. It's just incredible!
I had to have a service guy out again today to check things out because I've been losing my internet connection when I am on my phone. Turns out it is actually something to do with my 2.4 GHz phone. WHO KNEW?? So, I'll probably be investing in a new phone for my place.
Anyway, the same cable guy that was here last week was back again today. His name is Jonathan, and it was like having a friend back for a visit or something. Is that weird? I love how I can make more conversation with a perfect stranger than I can with some people I have known for years.
Anyway, last weekend he had asked me about my weekend plans. You know, just making conversation while he was hanging out at my place for 3 hours doing the U-verse installation. Well, I had told him my friend Lisa was coming for a visit. So this week, he asked me how my last weekend was with my friend.
NEWSFLASH: He's attentive, friendly, funny and HE LISTENS.
Don't get your hopes up here, people. I think he's taken. And truly, I just think he is the kind of guy that can walk into a room and make friends with anyone there. He's THAT guy.
Oh well! It was still one of the best random conversations I've had in a while, and it made me smile.
The guys came and installed it on Friday afternoon. I'm loving it thus far. Far too many channels, and so I find myself just madly flipping through. I'd really be stuck if I didn't have a handy dandy guide to get me through. HA! The music channels are in the 5000 channel range. What the heck!! No, I don't have 5,000 channels. I only have 260...so I didn't get too carried away. But 260 does give me plenty of channels to enjoy and keep up on my cultural research.
I also got high speed internet on the same plan, which is wonderful. I've missed not having access at home. It's about time I got on Facebook and joined the rest of the world again.
Anyway, Lisa O. arrived for a weekend visit soon after the 2 AT&T guys left my place. I told her that she had just missed a most rare occurrence. Had she arrived 5 minutes earlier, she would have caught me home alone with 2 men in my apartment. Can't say that THAT has ever happened before! [sigh!]
I played an hour of tennis last night with my friend Becky. It was my first time swinging a racket in 12+ years. It was a lot of fun and a tremendous workout. Neither of us are headed to Wimbledon or the U.S. Open, but we both had some fun chasing the balls and trying to get some serious volleys going.
I woke up this morning with a strange malady however: "tennis heel." No, I didn't get tennis elbow or even tennis knee. I wound up with tennis heel. I could barely get out of bed to make it to the phone, call into work, down an Aleve and waddle back to bed for an hour. An hour later, my alarm went off again, and I was feeling much better and well enough to come into work for sure.
Weird things like this always happen to my sister and I -- like the time she fractured her ankle just walking on the sidewalk. It is not only medical oddities...it's other stuff too like boiling eggs without water or getting melted plastic transferred from your curling iron to your bangs.
In our defense, my sister and I usually say: "It could happen to anyone." But her husband, Jonathan, usually replies, "Yeah. Especially if you are a Bennett sister." No, Bennett is not my last name, but you get the drift. I've changed my name to protect the innocent. So maybe we aren't normal...but then what is normal?
My parents and my Mom’s siblings have put my Grandma’s house and property and most of the contents up for sale at an upcoming auction later this spring, and for some reason it has me a bit sentimental. I don’t usually get all that sentimental about my Grandma. She is a wonderful woman, and I love her dearly, but I don’t get warm and fuzzy feelings about my Grandma. To me, my Grandma stands for strength and resilience.
My Grandma has always been a strong woman. She grew up in the depression era on a dairy farm in southern Illinois, moved to Michigan with a cousin and worked in an auto plant where she met and married her first love – only to lose him to World War II, raised her 2 young girls on her own until she remarried a few years later, farmed 14 acres with her 2nd husband, raised chickens, canned and froze thousands of fruits and vegetables, quilted numerous quilts, made clothes by hand and machine, taught junior church for 40+ years, and survived her 2 subsequent husbands on the farm. My Grandma is no shrinking violet!
When I think of my Grandma, I always think of her doing something. She didn’t want to sit idle. Whether it was canning creamed corn (which was always wonderful when Grandma made it), making rhubarb jam, hoeing for hours out in her garden or shelling nuts in the basement, I never saw much of my Grandma just sitting. She’d make wonderful homemade meals like real fried chicken with mashed potatoes and homemade gravy, fresh green beans and corn on the cob, tomatoes and pickles, etc. There was always plenty at Grandma’s house.
My Grandma was a story teller and always had something to share. Her stories always started out on 1 topic but wound around into a jumbled set of 5 or more other stories. She’d get sidetracked and tell us something else about what she picked up at the market or who she ran into in town, and I recall my Mom always gently guiding her back to the topic at hand. Sometimes, she would tell a story with a new twist from what we’d heard before, and we’d quiz our Mom about it on the drive home. .
As I think about going back to Grandma’s house, I think of my hours spent roaming her “woods.” It seemed like the woods to me, but it was really just her side and back yards complete with some tall trees and long grass. I’d meander along with my thoughts, talking to myself or making up adventures as I explored her property. When we would stay the night at Grandma's, my Mom and Grandma would open up the sleeper sofa and start making up the bed for my sister and I. We’d jump into bed and say our goodnights. I’d always try to stay awake so I could hear what my Grandma, Mom and Dad were discussing in the kitchen away from our little ears. I knew it was a juicy story or something I would want to know, but somehow, sleep would always win out, and before I knew it, it would be morning, and I’d hear Grandma busy making breakfast in the kitchen.
Our visits to Grandma’s house were always hours longer than expected. My Dad would send us out to the car when it was time to go, but we wouldn’t be able to leave right away. Grandma would want to send us home with a packed car full of fresh green beans from her garden, canned peaches and pears from her basement stockpile, or something else she just had to share. She was very generous. Then as my Dad would start the car, my Grandma would think of thirty more things she had to tell my Mom. We’d pull away and start waving from the backseat, and I’d often catch a glint of a tear in my Grandma’s eye. She was a strong woman, but she didn’t like goodbyes.
For the last couple of years, as a result of several strokes, my 92-year-old Grandma doesn’t do much except sit in her chair in my parents’ living room. She gets around slowly with the use of her walker, and for the most part, she responds to yes and no questions without much more interaction. There are occasions when you can catch a flicker of the woman beneath the strokes, like when she laughs at something one of us has said or when she plays with her great grandchildren. But for the most part, the active, talkative, generous woman of my childhood is gone.
It's hard to grow old. It's hard on everyone. Hard on the person who is losing their health, strength and faculties; and hard on the family members who are just standing by, wanting to help but not always sure what they can do. I don't like it, but it's part of growing up, I guess. Realizing how precious every moment is.
This is my 2nd visit to the Windy City with the Indianapolis Museum of Art Volunteers and Docents. As a lowly volunteer, I was delighted at yet another opportunity. I invited my co-worker Barb to come as my guest, and we had a great day away from the office.