Tastes of Chicago...

It seems as though I am off the blogging wagon.  As I've alluded to in the past, I have no problem blogging all about my inmost thoughts, but when they involve another person, that just seems not okay.  So I'm still trying to figure out what my new blogging role is... but until then, let me give you a few snapshots of Chicago.  I'd been away from the dear City for six months or so, which means my senses have been sharpened and I now see Chicago-ness more acutely and can pinpoint what is so beloved more easily.  For example:

The morning after I arrived in Chicago, my family went out for breakfast, as we often do.  In the summer we walk to The Diner, but when it's 18 degrees, we drive.  I had just rolled out of bed and wore no makeup.  I proudly sported my glasses and raccoon hat (thanks to BF), and settled into the tiny restaurant.  I was overwhelmed with a sense of Chicago-ness when a husky young man in a White Sox shirt brought us some water, and a sassy old woman in a Santa hat and other Christmas paraphernalia took our orders and ordered my brother to smile.  She's the same woman who, when the meal is through, asks if we need anything-- maybe coffee, maybe a kick in the a**...

I went shopping at Jewel with Mom, where the accents were thick and the Bears bric-a-brac abounded.  There were lots of moms with kids who were looking to make the same Chicago-y Christmas treats: pretzel Rolos.  And there were burly men in the parking lot sporting White Sox coats, even in December.

And then yesterday.  I picked up Portillo's for dinner (only the best beef sandwiches in the entire universe), and my favorite worker was handing out the orders.  Tonya always wears a smile and makes up a rhyme for each customer.  "You ready to get out of here, number 1-4-0?  Here you go, little hero."  Then she asked me if I dipped the onion rings in ranch or Caesar dressing.  When I responded in the negative, she waved her hand at me, grabbed some packages, and told me not to get addicted.  I left with a big bag of beef and a smile on my face.

Today I wandered the city by myself and encountered more friendliness than I would have ever expected given the bitter cold.  But that's Chicago-- strangers are still strangers, but they're strangers with smiles, because everyone knows if you're a Chicagoan, you're family.  And people from Chicago love Chicago.  They take joy in their city-- they sport the skyline and the sports teams with pride.

There's a taste for you.  As I sit here with an afghan around me (the kind made by my grandma, not the kind from Afghanistan), staring at the snow that's falling and the neighbors' Christmas lights, I just wanted you to enjoy what I'm enjoying. :)