As summers go, this past was not as historic, nor as creatively productive. We won no basketball championships, directed no
productions of Shakespeare, attended no
theater festivals, nor were we present for
the nomination of a tyrant.
I wrote no
new plays.
But summers are important, they always have been and for different reasons. I still work, to be sure, but this is when vacations are had, and my wife and I do strive to make the most of those brief moments as we can. Once it was because our children needed attention and occupation, and now it is becoming increasingly apparent our summers with them as children are running out.
And she wonders why I am depressed this week.
The first major journey was to attend, and in my case,
to officiate, a wedding for my wife’s cousin and his beautiful bride. Perhaps you didn’t know I am an ordained minister, but seriously, who isn’t these days? I needed to register with the state to conduct ceremonies in Ohio, in Illinois they don’t ask. Are you in good standing with your church? Well, you better be, that’s the only thing they have to say about it.
We turned this delightful event, held in Aurora, into an extended stay in the Chicagoland. Funny, I set one of my recent works in suburban Chicago, though I’d never really spent any time there. Just research. Passing through and investigating those sites I thought appropriate, I was not disappointed. I tried to imagine my characters there. They must have been happy once.
The weather in Chicago was perfect, we did the architecture tour, saw the
Neo-Futurists, spent a whole day at the
Museum of Science and Industry. I had my own memories of that place from when I was a kid, I was probably there more for myself them for them.
In July, I bought a new car.
Our schedule fell out so that we needed to be in town by August 1 for my daughter to begin soccer practice, so we barely got
Boy Camp in before it was time to leave for the east coast, this year spending several days in
Salem, MA before continuing on to Friendship.
Between the
Art Institute back in Chicago and the
deCordova and
Peabody Essex in Massachusetts, we spent much leisurely time at art museums, both indoor and out. Our time in Maine, however, was brief. Before long we were heading back, a stop in Concord to meet friends and check out the
grave sites of famous authors before making our way back home.
Throughout the summer there were macaroni and cheese topped burgers at the
Speedtrap Diner, deep dish at Navy Pier, drop-dead ramen at
Kokeshi, and our favorite waiter at
Congress Bar & Grill. Also, I developed a strange obsession with
Oh Hello, On Broadway on Netflix, which I watched at least three times.
After Maine, we still had all of August, which ended up being something of a blur, driving back and forth across the state. The truth is, a cloud has been hanging over us since the very beginning of the season, on what may have been the first unofficial day of this summer. It was a Saturday in late May, the kids were on a year-end, school-related Cedar Point trip, the wife and I had the day to ourselves and witnessed
Rooms to Let in Slavic Village, the first of our many art-related summer explorations. It was while waiting for the kids to return on the bus that we received the call.
It’s personal. It’s family-related. I don’t want to go into it right now. It is enough for now to say I have been looking at things more closely at things this summer, and finding them horribly beautiful.
