Big Ups, Big Downs

I saw Mikhail Baryshnikov dance last night. At 62, he is still amazing. The venue was fabulous, the seats were excellent, the company lovely, thank you very much. I got a free glass of red wine & some grapes and brie to boot. I would love to wax poetic about what a sublime experience it was, because it really was, it really, truly was, but this week has been bogged down by bad news. An old friend of mine, who I once worked with as a vet assistant but recently lost touch with, has died.

She was 5 weeks away from turning 33.

The news just took the wind right out of me. She will never eat avocados again, or rock out to 80s punk, or take great care of sick doggies, or have a baby boy to name Diego, or any of the other things that she loved, loved, loved with such uninhibited passion that it makes it even harder to believe that she is gone. How can someone so young, and so full of life, just not be here any more?

I've lived long enough to know that it's pointless to look for sense where there is none, but God, the knowing of that doesn't ease the sting. I just hope that the spirits of all puppies and kitties that she cared for in this world enveloped her in her final moments, leading her soul to a peaceful place.

Goodbye, Michelle. You were so loved.

-C.

Culinary Observations

1. While I never really crave steamed veggies, once I start eating them I really, really enjoy them. The same is true of writing and going out when it is cold.

2. I follow the 3-second rule in my house. Well, more like a 5-second rule.

3. I once forgot to put the flour in my oatmeal cookie batter before I baked it. Despite the fact that it was a gelatinous mess, it nonetheless made a delicious dessert when topped with French vanilla ice cream. Proof that most mistakes can be turned around if you are creative about it. (And also, that ice cream can fix just about anything).

4. As with wine, there is a coffee, a tea, and a beer to go with just about any cuisine. And as with wine, coffee, tea, and beer, it matters less that it is "right" one than it be one that you enjoy. So if you want Folger's instead of espresso, or your red wine on the rocks with your fish, knock yourself out.

6. That said, you should try an espresso at least once before committing to your Folgers, and try the red wine at the proper temperature before you insist they bring you a glass of ice. Reserving final judgment until other points of view are examined is just good sense. (And please, just admit that a chocolate martini is not a REAL martini).

7. Don't be too committed to your likes and dislikes. I didn't eat salad before I was 14, didn't like broccoli until I was 22, or eat hard-boiled eggs until I was 34. Last year I tried Brussels sprouts again and love them. Giving things a second (or third) chance keeps that door open to new experiences.

8. If there is such a thing as too much garlic, I haven't gotten there yet.

-C.

Stargazing

I went to see "Stars of the Lyric Opera" at Millennium Park Friday night. Once a year, the Lyric parades out a few of their featured singers of the season with their orchestra in this free-to-the-public concert downtown. It used to be at the Grant Park venue, but since the opening of Millennium Park in '02 they have performed at the far superior Pritzker Pavillion. These concerts are always super-crowded, but I attend virtually every year. I've had season tickets to the Lyric for several seasons now, but there was a time in the not-too-recent past (Remember Bennigan's? I try not to.) when all I could afford was a free concert in a park. A big part of what brought me to Chicago was what it offered to me in the realm of the arts, and watching and listening to singers like Renee Fleming and Ben Heppner in the fresh air, grass under my toes, surrounded by a few thousand fellow Chicagoans, helped tide me over to the time when I could afford a ticket to the real deal.

I was sitting, this past Friday, on the Great Lawn of the Pritzker, under a massive metal lattice that holds the sound system, listening to excerpts from "The Barber of Seville" (one of my favorites!) and "Tosca" (which I'll get to see in November). A couple of my friends had joined me. The lawn was not too damp, and the chill in the air present but not overwhelming. At one point, as a duet from "La Boheme" rose from the stage & filled the air with the achingly sweet sounds of Mimi & Rodolfo's doomed love, I looked up at the sky, and a thought occurred to me.

I'm just about done with this place.

Because, at that moment, it wasn't the Chicago skyline I wanted to see. I've spent countless moments looking up from downtown and seeing the magnificence of the Aon Center, the Hancock Building, that curvy Streeterville high-rise whose proper name I can't ever remember (but I do know that there, a 450 square foot condo costs 1.5 million dollars), and now Trump Tower cutting its own way through that swath of steel and glass. At that moment, with Puccini's brilliance swimming through my ears, I wanted to look up and gaze at the stars, to take in the glory of the heavens, not the swaggering of man's puny creations. And do you know how many stars I could see from my spot on the Great Lawn of the Pritzker Pavillion in downtown Chicago at 9 o'clock at night?

Three. Just three. The city lights, well, they just drown them out.

I'm about ready. I've been there, done that, bought the T-shirt, got the autograph. I am just about ready to take this, all of this, the memories of concerts and ball games and cab rides and broken hearts, of museums, parks, street fairs, Lake Shore Drive, of dreams that died, dreams that rest, dreams that awoke in me new as babes, of boats and green river water and the bridges, the bridges that rose, that fell, that burned oh so bright as I lit them behind me, and carry it all with me somewhere else.

Some place where I can look up at the night sky and, without straining, take in the stars.

-C.