I just returned from a four-day trip to Illinois, home to my favorite city — Chicago.
Patty and I have seen a lot of Chicago in recent years, what with our 25-year-old daughter Brooks having endured four or five rounds of in-patient treatment for anorexia at a residential facility in Lemont, IL, west of Chicago.
Brooks is on the upswing, and we hope she’ll be back home by February. In the meantime, we’ll keep making that jog east over to either St. Louis or Hannibal and then north to Chicago. (I think my next political campaign will be a push for an interstate between Kansas City and Chicago.)
This trip I made on my own. On Friday and Saturday nights, I stayed with friends in Downers (no apostrophe) Grove, also west of Chicago, but on Sunday night I went into the big city. Driving in the snow, it took me more than an hour and a half to traverse the 25 miles miles to downtown. I arrived a few minutes before curtain time for an excellent play called “Tribes” at the Steppenwolf Theatre on Halsted Street.
I spent the night at the Days Inn on the Near North Side, and on Monday I went to the Chicago Art Institute to see the museum’s fabulous collections of Impressionist paintings.
I thought about attending the Monday night football game between the Bears and the Cowboys but bowed out when I learned the temperature was going to be in the single digits.
The weather wasn’t too bad Monday morning and early afternoon, but about 2 p.m. an angry and frigid south wind started blowing. It came up while I was enjoying a deep-dish, sausage and mushroom pizza at Pizano’s on Madison Street. After lunch, I bucked that south wind and walked as fast as I could to where my car was parked, got on I-55 and headed out of town.
I spent Monday night in Springfield, where I’d never been before, and explored some of the Lincoln haunts before returning to Kansas City.
You know the saying, of course, “A picture is worth 1,000 words.” Well, I’ve written about 350 words, and I’m going to let the following photos take care of the remaining 650…