Travel Stories
In 2009, I traveled to Chicago for a yearly convention, one that I had attended in previous years. This time, I arranged to be in Chicago for three days prior to the convention, which was out near O’Hare.
With the extra days, I took the tourist approach to downtown Chicago. I was magical. Walking architectural and public art tours, dinner cruises on Lake Michigan, and visits to various museums and galleries.
The highlight for me was the Art Institute of Chicago as many of my favorite works of art live there. It was a day of many joyful tears, the kind that come from finding beauty and reveling in it.
I stood in awe of Seurat’s A Sunday on La Grande Jatte, overwhelmed by the scope and scale of such a surprisingly intimate portrait, as the little girl seems to be the only one aware of our presence. I marveled at the diminutive size of Magritte’s Ceci n’est pas une pipe, the unironic name of the painting of a pipe. It is a glorious painting.
There were many other works of art, many of which tugged at my heart and reminded me of childhood visits to museums with my mother, who valued beauty above all else. When she first showed me a photo of Jackson Pollack’s Greyed Rainbow, I told her at the ripe age of 3, that Pollack had painted this just for me. In 2009, I stood in front of this amazing artwork, one which would cover an entire wall in my home, and wept. It was so beautiful, so magnificent, and I firmly believe Pollack painted it for me, long before I was born.
The wonder of those three days was the best gift I have given myself.
My beautiful husband, Craig, and I went on the Alaskan cruise out of Seattle. We had as our travel companions 22 members of Craig’s family. What a great way to connect with so many people and share delightful experiences.
Because we had such a large party, we had three tables assigned to our party in the dining room for evening meals. The maître d’ of our section figured me out that first night. After we were seated and presented the evening’s menu, he leaned down and whispered, “The chef for this section is Italian and he’s making Spaghetti Carbonara for staff. Do you want me to bring you a plate?”
Far be it from me to ever, ever turn down Carbonara at any time in my life! When he delivered the dish to our table, everyone’s eyes got wide and he ended up bringing family platters to our tables. It was delicious!
Each night, at the start of the dinner hour, the maître d’ leaned down and whispered whatever magical Italian dish the chef was preparing that evening. We welcomed the platters of pasta and don’t get me started on the tiramisu!