Mean Jazz

One of the reasons that I moved to the corner of Michigan and Roosevelt was so that I could walk to the Jazz Showcase. I've been delighted to become a regular there - saving the monthly calendars Joe puts on the tables each month and highlighting every performance I've seen.

They have been terrific.

But New Year's night, I went to see Roy Hargrove. I caught him at the JS last year, and was blown away. Besides enjoying the music, it was one of the tightest sets I'd ever seen. To me this speaks of a group that cares about professionalism and performance values - and I loved it.

You may have read Howard Reich's review of the first night of this year's set. If not, it was a rare rave from a man whose tastes don't always match mine and you can read it here:

http://articles.chicagotribune.com/2010-12-30/entertainment/ct-live-0101-roy-hargrove-20101230_1_trumpeter-roy-hargrove-hargrove-and-alto-saxophonist-montez-coleman/2

So I just KNEW I was in for a great evening of music. And the first set was extraordinary - everything I'd hoped and more. I wasn't thinking I'd write about it, so I didn't keep a set list, but they did several of Hargrove's own tunes. It was terrific.

There were so many people who had reserved for the 2nd set that I was afraid I wouldn't be able to stay, and when I got a seat I was thrilled.

I knew something was odd when Roy came up with a brownie in his hand and spent a few minutes talking about it. But you know, whatever. On the first tune the drummer, Montez Coleman , seemed, well, shall we say EXTRA PUMPED? And I noticed that the pianist, Sullivan Fortner, and the drummer were having their own private joke - trying to catch each other's eyes and making faces and laughing. Ok, still, the music was good and whatever.

During the 2nd tune, Roy left the stage. He came back up to take a solo and then introduced the terrific young Chicago trumpeter, Marquis Hill. Here is a guy that is probably thrilled to be sitting in w/the group. As he starts playing, the drummer decides to abandon the drums and begin to clap in rythym instead. When Fortner joins him, of course, so does the audience. It was odd, but Marquis acquitted himself well. Towards the end of the solo, Coleman jumps back on drums - again with a volume and intensity uncalled for by the tune, but insuring that Hill would leave the stage to great applause.

He was followed by a Justin Robinson sax solo. Coleman is obviously not finished with his joke and begins clapping again. This time Fortner starts to add off beat claps which of course distract from the solo, but not absurdly so. Until they mess up. Now it is just a couple of guys cracking themselves up, and Robinson stops dead in the middle of a phrase. He turns to Coleman and gestures his anger by grabbing his crotch.

Not sure how, but the bass player, Ameen Saleem, was the only one to keep playing, to hold the whole thing together. Of course Coleman and Fortner are able to jump back in at will, and do. Hargrove and Robinson finish out the tune.

At this point I see that Hargrove is having a really hard time opening his eyes. No problem, he plays a ballad - flugelhorn at the ready. I can't recall what the tune was, but its a standard we all know from the American Songbook. It is gorgeous, and as he finishes Saleem starts a bass solo. Hargrove, as is his custom, goes upstage to sit behind the drummer. Suddenly I hear someone talking. It is disturbing and takes a minute for me to see that Coleman is laughing and that Hargrove is shouting out chords to Saleem, who has a frozen smile on his face as he tries to finish while not losing concentration.

At this point, I leave. I'm reminded of Neal Tesser's comments a couple of weeks ago about Ravi Coltrane's set - that Coltrane seemed to be working out his ideas on a live audience. Tesser felt that when an audience pays for a show, they should get a fully realized show - not a woodshed experience. I think I am stating his thoughts correctly, but you can read them here:

http://www.examiner.com/jazz-music-in-chicago/ravi-coltrane-s-disapppointing-chicago-sojourn

At least with Ravi, there were ideas, though not fully developed. Hargrove's disrespect for his audience, for the Showcase, and for his fellow musicians were totally offensive. Perhaps this is part of the reason that he is not playing concert venues - perhaps he and his bandmates while musically mature are too personally undisciplined to pull off the excellence of which they are obviously capable night after night.

And it left the impression that Hargrove thinks his audiences are not savvy enough to recognize junk when they see it. I'm with Robinson.

Jessica's Going to College!

When Linda was going off to college I wrote her a letter. Today is your party, Jessica, as you leave for college, and even tho you are my niece and not my sister and I never went away to college as you are about to, today I felt like I wanted to write you a letter too.

The older I get, the less I am sure of, and the less advice I try to give. Actually as I think about it, the letter I wrote to her was because I was so scared. She was the first to leave and go away, and as much as our personalities clashed, she was doing something that was terribly frightening to me.

And Jessica, I was the oldest; I don’t know if you know that….I rarely mention it.

Allright, I mention it all the time. But you know what that means, right? Even tho nobody told me that I was responsible for my brothers and sisters, I felt I was. So I guess I thought she needed my advice.

But you are a totally different story. When I look at you I am not frightened for you. You have grown up with the best parts of your mom and dad, and I am so proud to be your aunt. You have your head on straight (do people even say that anymore?) and you make good decisions. You are so smart, and funny and clearly comfortable in your own skin that I am excited for you but not scared.

So no advice for you today Jessica. Go off – do good – enjoy this time of your life. You are going to do great and nothing is going to hold you back. Get outta here you knucklehead!

However, as long as I am writing this I do feel like there might just be a few things I could share that might be helpful…

First of all if you ever need anything don’t hesitate to call me, because whatever you need I will get for you.

Except money. If you need money I think you would be better off going to Jeff or David or somebody. But other stuff. Of course it might be better to call your mom and dad, but it you need anything that your mom and dad or Jeff or David can’t provide, call me ok? Or somebody. Call somebody. Why do you think you have a cell phone anyway? To talk to your friends? You call home, Missy.

And, don’t play any of these choking games I’ve been reading about. You wouldn’t do that anyway. But don’t. Actually no games. Don’t play any games at all. Not even cards or Monopoly. Just study. That is what you are there for, for God’s sake, what the heck are you playing games for anyway? Is that what life is all about for you Miss Rogers? Games? Do you think it will be all fun and games when you get out here in the real world? No, my friend, it will not.

Now it seems obvious from recent family history that you will probably need your appendix taken out at some point. So just go over to the med center and introduce yourself so when you go there in the middle of the night some snowed-in weekend in February they will know who you are.

And no snow blowers. That goes for the whole family. No more snow blowers. Have I made myself clear?

Let’s talk seriously and realistically about drinking for a minute ok? No drinking. Ok that’s covered.

Because here is the thing about drinking. You have one drink and before you know it you are looking like me at the end of Sue’s wedding. Or David’s wedding. I don’t know if you were there. Unfortunately I am not sure what all happened, but there is evidently a picture of me in a cowboy hat I’d like to get back. Anyway the point is once you start drinking you buy a ticket to Hot Messville. And, Jess, that is a bad look for anybody (... and everybody has a camera!)

Have I mentioned no ladders?

You know Jessie-girl, life is like a box of chocolates. I never understood what that meant, but it sounds good. Actually I think life is more like a spider web. I’ve been thinking about them a lot because evidently spiders just LOVE high rises. I have no idea why, but I have 30 or 40 spiders on the outside of my windows. And these are big old dudes with beards, not the itsy bitsy kind. And they are furiously covering the entire windows with their webs.

Here is the weird thing. There are no other bugs up here. So what do they think they are going to catch? Are they doing some artistic wrap of the building? Or is it just my apartment? Are they trying to encase me in here? And they are making so much noise!! It sounds like roaring almost, like war, like….wait, is the Air and Water show today? Anyway, you work hard all your life and you end up in some Twilight Zone episode where the spiders are coming to get you and you can’t find your drink…

You know J-dog, now that I think about it, life is like an Air and Water show going on BEHIND you, so you hear all the roaring and you keep getting distracted and snapping your head to see NOTHING because it is behind you and life is like that with all the distractions that seem important at the time, I mean you could really hurt your neck if you don’t figure out that all those noises are just noises and nobody is going to crash into your building and anyway if they did they would get caught up in the magnificent spider webs that are now covering your windows…

Look Boo, I gotta dip. So let’s review.

Stay in your room except to go to classes, and only talk to teachers. And the people at the med center. And be good to spiders cuz they talk to each other and these guys are clearly really mad at me.

Let me know when you graduate, ok?

Father's Day - Finally!

Over 20 years ago, my Dad wrote his eleven children and their families a letter. No more Father’s Day celebrations. He saw it as a “stupid Hallmark holiday” and he asked us to please forget about it as far as he was concerned. He loved us, he knew we loved him, let’s not feel obligated to tell each other so just because some Sunday in June rolls around.
He was serious. And when Dad is serious, even tho his letter was warm and funny, we listened.
See, when my father believes something, he lives it. He’s never been a go-along, easy way out kinda guy. When he commits to something, he sticks it.
100% Irish, he never wore green on St. Patrick’s Day because if you were REALLY Irish, you didn’t have to show it.
A strong Catholic, he was never a meek follower. He “got involved”, which for my father meant leading the way.
And as a parent, if Dad decided, no amount of pleading, whining, cajoling, crying, arguing or “three act plays” would change his mind. Once Dad believes he is right, Katie bar the door. Go pound sand.

Which is not to say he decided issues in some knee-jerk fashion. He thinks things out, measures consequences and costs, and prays about the important decisions beforehand. So good luck to you if you think you are bringing new information to the table when challenging him on one of these beliefs.
Brings to mind the Sunday at church when Dad was at the lectern announcing a fund raiser that he was chairing (Dad was in the lectern often, either leading prayers or doing readings or in some other way living his belief that the church was people, not the Vatican, and that people of faith needed to be involved to keep the church intact and relevant) and some rather conservative parishioner had the temerity to stand up and challenge the idea of the fund raiser because it was going to include “gambling”.
When I say the earth stood still, you have to understand this was in far more conservative times and NOONE had ever stood up in church to object or even question anyone on the altar. Not too many years before, the altar hadn’t even faced the congregation and the whole service was in Latin. But here was this guy, pretty righteous in his manner, taking on my Dad in front of a Sunday morning crowded Mass.
My mother and all of us were, as we were every Sunday, in one of the front pews off to the right. Actually we were probably taking up two of the front pews. There are lots of reasons why we always sat in the same place, but it is interesting when I think about where it was. Up in front – you bet. Fully participating, absolutely. But not in the middle. Not in the prime attention getting or statement making spots. To the right. Out of the way but not out of the picture.
Anyway, Dad answered the guy. He never hesitated, never broke stride, and calmly explained why this made sense. The guy never knew what hit him.
But as time has gone by and Dad has had his Father’s Days free of Hallmark cards and bad ties, I’ve been less ok with the ban.
As much as Dad never minded leading; the Army troops he was in charge of, the parish he belonged to, the family he spawned, the business he created; he is actually a very private guy who doesn’t enjoy public personal attention.
But there is another side of Dad. He loves opportunities. Maybe he was so successful as a salesman all those years because he just loves finding and then thinking about how to take advantage of an opening, how to fix a problem, how to surprise the people he loved with remodeled kitchens, bicycles, or chocolate doughnuts.
Maybe that is why he has always watched the sales flyers and the coupons that come in the mail. Maybe there will be an opportunity too good to pass up.
Well, for me, that is exactly what Father’s Day represents. An opportunity. It isn’t important who gave me the coupon, but I have a great big one that says for this one day a year, it is absolutely ok to risk everything and stand up when you are supposed to be quiet and risk embarrassing Dad by saying how much I love him, how much I respect him, how often I judge my actions by what I think he might say.

I’m sure he will have a very well-thought out response. But luckily, I am my father’s daughter. And this is what I believe.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad, with all my love.

We had to leave the John Prine concert early to catch the last train home, which sounds like the beginning of a John Prine song. We didn't get to hear the last few songs or the encore. I would have liked to hear it all, but what I heard and experienced was food for my soul.

I am one of those folks who were "folkies" back in the 70's. I was underage and faking my way into Earl's and The Quiet Knight. I wondered if I had only imagined how wonderful and profound it was, and how simple.

"Day time

makes me wonder why you left me

Night time

makes me wonder what I said

Next time

are the words I'd like to plan on, but

Last time

was the only thing you said."

Waukegan, where we saw the concert, felt a little like Mars. Nothing open except the theater, and we were smack dab in the middle of downtown Waukegan. After we ate at Fong's, we started over to the theater and while there may have been 10 or 12 cars on the street, we didn't see any need for the police to block the road in front of the theater. But they did. Inside we were overwhelmed with assistance. Ushers (mostly elderly, it must be said) were so helpful it made you feel as if they were setting you up for some very strange goings on.

"Come right in - just go right in - we'll get you all in real quick" spoken in rushed and slightly panicked voices with the subtext of "WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO WITH ALL THESE PEOPLE?" Maybe this was a larger than normal crowd. Maybe they were concerned about us. Maybe this was Mars.

In our seats the lights dimmed for the opener, Iris DeMent. Big applause. The audience seemed very excited to see her.

But evidently in Mars, when everyone is in their seats, there's a custom that as soon as the lights go down, you get up and leave the theater in groups. I have never seen anything like it. Up and down and out and in and groups of 5 guys and couples and they were all in a hurry. It got to the point that I was sure I was missing some give away in the lobby. Then we were in intermission and people were literally hurling themselves out of their seats to get - well, I'm not sure where they were going or what they hoped to find there but they were determined to get there NOW. We'd been sitting there for 45 minutes, tops. Maybe there was a bomb scare we hadn't heard about. Maybe they have extremely weak bladders on Mars.

Finally - lights down, stage lights up and forget about Mars, I was home. And so was everyone else. With no introduction John Prine walked onstage with his bassist and guitar player to a tremendous ovation. And this crazy, unsettled, attention deficit audience became laser focused on his every word, motion and note.

I've been to lots of concerts, seen alot of live music. But there was something really special in this room. In the middle of a song, as Prine hit the lines that break your heart, people would applaud or scream out their appreciation. His songs aren't exactly upbeat if you aren't familiar with them. Best known is probably Angel From Montgomery. When he got to the lines:

"How the hell can a person

Go to work in the morning

Come home in the evening and

Have nothing to say?"

the audience couldn't wait till the end of the song to let him know how much they loved those words and voiced their opinion right then.

I suppose I wouldn't have been surprised if the lyrics had been:
"I'm proud to be an Okie from Muskokie" or
"I'm proud to be an American where at least I know I'm free."

But Prine's lyrics are sad and lonely and cut so close to the bone that it makes you want to inhale like your heart just got a paper cut.

"That's the way that the world goes 'round.
You're up one day and the next you're down.
It's half an inch of water and you think you're gonna drown.
That's the way that the world goes 'round."

Throughout the night, I had a sense that somewhere there was a phantom group of back-up singers. But everytime I heard it, it seemed to stop. I realized that it was the audience, singing along softly. They didn't want to get in the way of his performance, but it wasn't enough to hear these songs, they wanted to share them.

"There's a hole in Daddy's arm

Where all the money goes

Jesus Christ died for nothing, I suppose.

Little pitchers have big ears

Don't stop to count the years

Sweet songs never last too long

On broken radios"

The audience reaction reminded me of the poetry slam I attended last week. Tim was competing in Louder Than A Bomb, the world's largest teen poetry slam. As each one of the young authors got up, the others would applaud in support, as if they were not competing against each other for just a few slots to go to the national bout. And as each performer left the stage the others would rush to their side to hug and congratulate them for capturing and reflecting life so it could be experienced anew. These pieces are rooted in hip-hop rhythms and when they are really good you feel like you can dance to them. Response is built-in and invited and the audience knows and obliges. During each poem, the rapt attention was broken only when the performer put words, rythym, movement and voice together to touch us with images or ideas that were so true there was nothing to do but yell or applaud or stomp feet or slam tables in recognition and appreciation.

That reaction might be expected from a bunch of teenagers. But not at a concert filled with 50-something folks. We know how to wait till the song is over to applaud, to hold our appreciation, to be cool. But song after song, the audience couldn't hold back their feelings. And these voices were mostly male. Grown men sang along in profound recognition of the shared truth in Prine's lyrics.

"Well, I leaned on my left leg

in the parking lot dirt

And Cathy was closing the lights

A June bug flew from the warmth he once knew

And I wished for once I weren't right

Why we used to laugh together

And we'd dance to any old song.

Well, ya know, she still laughs with me

But she waits just a second too long."

Jeanette Winterson, in her book of essays called Art Objects, writes that art does object to "the lie against life that it is pointless and mean. The message coloured through time is not lack but abundance, Not silence but many voices. Art, all art is the communication cord that cannot be snapped by indifference or disaster. Against the daily death it does not die."

Yes. And when we see, hear or read such objections , we are compelled to shout our assent right then. Even on Mars.

Dad is 80

First day of kindergarten, you walked me to school and I got on a bus to come home. Afterwards in the kitchen you and mom, asking over and over again, WHY would you get on a bus? I walked you there, I told you I would pick you up - and you were both upset and I didn't know why I thought I should get on a bus. Finally you told me to go play. But, I thought I saw you smiling.

I thought I saw you smiling but when I turned around you were just looking at me and you said go on now, go play.

I got in trouble in 1st grade and knew I’d be in trouble with you and so I stopped at the candy store and bought you root beer penny candy and you said what is this for and I said nothing and you said what is this for and I said I love you and you said what is this for and I said I got in trouble today and you said we will talk about this later and I went to my room. But, I thought I saw you smiling.

You told me not to go down the Parkside stairs one at a time cuz they were cement stairs and I could go down them one at a time when I was big and I figured I was already big and I went down them one at a time and after you picked me up and after you put spoons on my head and after you bandaged my eye you told me that I should have listened to you. But, I thought I saw you smiling.

We were playing tent, or dress designer, and you flew upstairs and yelled at us WHY was the sheet off the bed and Get to sleep NOW and don’t let me hear another peep and Deb said peep and you came back and yelled again. But, I thought I saw you smiling.

It had been a day and we hadn’t been listening and we had been bickering and nothing seemed to slow us down and mom said wait till your father comes home and you came home and you called us all down from our rooms and made us stand in line and you made me get the phone book and you told us you were looking up orphanages because this kind of thing could not go on in your house and you sent us back upstairs while you thought about it and told us to think about it. And I’m sure I saw you smiling.

I was really mad that we moved from the city, really mad and really unhappy and I cried and whined and moaned and you promised to take me to the library in “town” wherever that was and finally one day you did and I saw that the whole bookmobile that used to come by our house could fit in the lobby of this new library and when we drove home you asked me if I liked it I said I guess so. Oh, yeah, you were smiling.

Plenty of times when I was a teenager we would fight for hours, or I would fight and you would read your newspaper until you couldn’t stand it anymore and neither one of us was laughing then. But there were some times where we would disagree and it felt like playing volleyball and we passed the ball back and forth for awhile until you got tired and getting in a good pass was exhilarating even tho you would slam it back twice as hard. And I think I saw you smiling.

That smile I’m talking about is the one that says you’re getting a kick out of something. It isn’t meant for anyone else to see and it comes with a slight shake of the head. It is equal parts amusement and amazement and it is really, really good and most of us have seen it when you are talking to one of us about another one of us.

I can make people laugh, and when it is just right, when I have put the timing and the words and the tone and the look together just right and everybody roars and I can hear people saying afterwards when they think I’m not listening, she is so funny, I look back. And …I know I see you smiling.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

Lucky

Some of my brothers and sisters may think of the old house as the one we lived in the longest, 1008 Pendleton, in Mt. Prospect. But for me, the old house will always be the bungalow at 2937 N. Parkside in Chicago, where we lived in the 50's.

Mom and Dad didn't own the house, they rented the first floor. There were two bedrooms, a back porch, living room, dining room and kitchen.

It's the first house I remember and we left there when I was ten. I think the quality of attention I paid to everything around me was much greater then, so I remember things very clearly. (At least I think I do. Others may remember it differently, but that's ok, that would be their memories.)

By the time we left that house, there were six of us kids, with one more on the way. (Actually there were five more on the way, who knew?) By this time the back porch had been turned into a bedroom to take the overflow from the kid's bedroom.

I am not sure how long she did it, but for awhile around 4:30 or 5 every day, after she made sure we had taken all of the toys out of the living room and dining room, Mom would stop making dinner for a few minutes and change her clothes. Then she would put on lipstick. And sometimes, she would put on a record of one of the shows that had recently come out. King and I, Flower Drum Song, My Fair Lady. I loved the music of King and I, but the cover of My Fair Lady always gave me the creeps with the god character in the clouds with the strings attached to the humans. Anyway, when Mom changed her clothes and put on the music, it felt like magic. I always thought Mom was revealing what she was really like, not just a Mom, but a beautiful woman who loved music and theater and talking and laughter.

Then Dad would come home and we would all eat dinner. Dad would talk about his day at work. One time he talked about someone getting fired and I thought it was terrible that they would put a man in an oven just for not working hard enough. My idea of the nice office Dad worked at was altered to a terrible dark furnace room. My father was a HERO to go there every day!

As I look back, they were so young. Not just compared to them now, but compared to ME now! I remember Dad on the floor, playing with us, letting us crawl all over him, telling us story after story.

The main feeling I have about Dad back then was that he was sure that he was lucky. I don't know if it was the Dale Carnegie course, or his success at work, or his family or all of it. But he acted as if he felt he were lucky - good things were on the way. He made me feel that way too.

On summer evenings, I remember Mom giving us baths and us getting into our pajamas. I can remember what a great feeling it was to be clean and fresh, ready for bed with the sun still up. As I remember one night, Mom was giving someone a bath when a big pink car pulled up in front of the house. We didn't have a car, Dad took the bus to work. (He also walked huge bags of stinking dirty diapers down the block to the laundromat.) The driver of the pink car was honking and it took me a few minutes to see it was Dad leaning out of the car, saying, "Go get your mother!" We tore into the bathroom to tell Mom. I think this was one of Dad's classic surprises.

The bungalow had cement stairs leading up to the front door. However old I was, and however big, the stairs were too deep and I was not allowed to take them one by one. Eventually I wanted to go down the "grown-up way".

Of course I fell, and got a gash above my eye. Dad was right there, it must have been a weekend day. After the cleanup and the bandaid, Dad sat next to me on the couch. He said that the cut had come very close to my eye. And then he looked and me and smiled and said, "You were very lucky." I remember thinking yup, that 's us. We are very lucky.

I look back now at our family's life. I look at Dad watching his great grand-daughters playing and flash back to that young man rolling around the floor with us, tickling us and telling us stories. I look at Mom's beautiful face, that still reveals who she really is.

No doubt we all have all had our challenges, disappointments and even tragedies. But I still think Dad was right. We're very lucky.

How I Learned To Travel

In England for the first time, to be a godmother to my friends’ new baby, I decided to take one day for myself to see London. Being from Chicago, I figured I could find my way around, and I was eager to experience it on my own.

So I did what any good tourist does, I got out the guidebooks, the pamphlets and the maps, and planned a route with my friends the night before.

They were very helpful, telling me about things I shouldn’t miss, as well as things I should. And I had some of my own ideas, like visiting Charing Cross Road. There was a wonderful book I’d read called “84 Charing Cross Road” about a bookstore there and a woman from New York who grew to love the store and all of the people in it as they exchanged letters about books she wanted to buy during World War II.

Neville thought I was crazy to go there. “You must see the Tower and you have to see St. Paul’s. Really Charing Cross Road is only a shadow of what it was. I don’t think you should waste your time.” Right. We marked out an itinerary that included as many of the tourist attractions as we could fit. If I kept very tightly to the schedule I’d have a full experience of London.

Morning, and I boarded the train. I was used to the whole commuter scene and tried to look very nonchalant as we whizzed by buildings and gardens and signs that were all totally different from home. All of the other people were bored and going to work, while I wanted to yell, “Yippee! I’m in London!”

First stop was Leicester Square to buy discounted same day theater tickets. I was standing on line and began chatting with the lady in front of me. We introduced ourselves, her name was Margie. We slowly began to suspect that we were in line for one of the “fake” booths, which don’t really offer the wonderful tickets to the smaller plays, but only slightly discounted tickets to the “Cats” variety. While she held my place I began to walk around and found the famous Leicester Square booth. I waved Margie over and she and I were having a fine time celebrating that we had avoided a tourist trap, talking and waiting for the booth to open.

In a few minutes, a man from Kentucky named Tony joined in. We compared notes about theater in general and what we would see that evening and in the end all got tickets for the same show. We said our goodbyes and agreed to meet again that evening at the theater.

Almost immediately on leaving them I started to feel very woozy. Enough to sit down on a park bench. Enough to start to worry about what to do. Down the bench from me was a man I hadn’t noticed.

Had I seen a tourist in trouble in Chicago, I’m quite sure that I would have helped. I see myself doing so in a very take-charge way. What was so different about this fellow was how he just sort of leaned in and very casually mentioned what a great day it was. This gave me the opportunity to say something about suddenly not feeling well.

He pointed out a “chemist” as they call drug stores, and suggested that perhaps I had a bit of a sinus problem. So after sitting for abit, he walked me there. Again, very understated, not Chicago style at all.

The chemist recommended a powder that you were to put into hot water. My next step was to find a café so I could order tea. Soon I was in a lovely little restaurant where I could sit outside and enjoy the weather and concentrate on feeling better.

Mentally I was cursing myself for wasting so much time. There went the tour at St. Paul’s Cathedral, and if I caught the next one, I would miss the Tower. But there wasn’t an alternative. I had to sit there and let the medicine do its work in order to salvage any of my day.

I’d brought along my travel journal, and so I dug it out and started to write about what I’d experienced so far, about Margie and Tony and the lovely Scotsman.

Then suddenly I saw myself sitting in the sun on a brilliant spring morning in a small café, sipping this medicine that tasted like peppermint tea, and munching on a lovely pastry. I was watching people go by, hearing snippets of conversation and writing as the inspiration hit.

This was my dream of being in London. Not the crazy rush to see attractions so that I could tick them off a list. But time to actually experience the city and feel its heartbeat. How had it happened? If I hadn’t gotten ill, I would have missed it all - trying to see it all.

After awhile I felt much better. I looked at my map, and realized that I was just a few blocks from Charing Cross Road. I saw the day stretch out in front of me – browsing for books, getting on a double decker bus and sitting upstairs while I watched the city go by, eating dinner in a pub and talking to and laughing with the bartender and then meeting my new friends for a lovely play.

The Tower of London would have to wait, today I wasn’t ready for prison. Today I wanted nothing more than the freedom to find this city on my own terms.

And so I did.