Good grief, I love Chicago. I had an entirely wonderful weekend staying with Barb. Aside from the opera, we didn't do anything very fancy; we went to a knitting store near her house (where she got yarn and needles to make herself a Moebius. She hasn't knit in years, but she wants one of those scarves), and we went to a local production of My Fair Lady, then out to dinner with some friends. We went to the Southside St. Patrick's Day parade (held the Sunday before the Big One, so as not to compete)in the next suburb over and watched the people for a while, which was highly entertaining. We took her two collies for a walk.

And, you know, what made it so special (aside from hanging out with Barb and her family, which is always a treat) was that it was Chicago. You know, Chi-caw-go. It was fun to look at the architecture in Barb's neighborhood(1), which was probably built in the late '50s or early 60s.(It evokes memories of my Aunt Trudy's neighborhood (2) for me.) (She was an honorary aunt. More on that later.)

As it happened we spent a lot of time going places on surface streets instead of expressways(3), so we spent a lot of time driving through lots of neighborhoods, which was fine by me. I absolutely loved the architecture of every neighborhood we saw. (Alleys! I'd completely forgotten about the residential alleys.) Next time I go I'll take pictures, I promise.

The parade was a hoot, in a very Chicago kind of way. Everyone wore green. (The 6-month-old triplets in matching tartan sweaters were adorable.) Even the dogs looked fine in their bandanas and sweaters and dyed fur. And of course, since the parade took place in celebration of St. Patrick's Day, some people had been drinking since breakfast. (The bars didn't open until after the parade, but that didn't prevent people from drinking: They brought coolers and bottles and cans and Camelback packs . . . ) And please don't underestimate the number of people at this parade. I don't know exactly how many there were, but it was a beautiful day and Chicagoans like a good party. . . . all kinds of people came from all over, and there are a lot of people in Chicago, just generally. It was kind of like a small-scale northern version of Mardi Gras. Makes me want to go back next Saturday for the big parade, when they dye the river green . . .

And of course since people had been drinking all day, by the time the parade ended, a lot of them were . . . drunk. The play let out just around dinnertime, which is pretty much when the parade "afterglow" was breaking up. The traffic was abominable, mostly because Chicago's Finest were out in force, setting up roadblocks and doing breathalyzers on drivers. (The police had been at the parade, too - some of them on horseback, in fact.) It was just so Chicago . . . I can't imagine that ever happening in Ann Arbor or Lansing or San Francisco or even, maybe, New York. (I'm not so sure about that one.) Chicago is such a matter-of-fact kind of place. It's a great big working-class town that, by and large, works. (If it were a university, it would be a land-grant institution.)

And we had wonderful meals out: at a nice Italian restaurant close to Barb's house, in Greektown, and at a local Mexican place. I took some of the leftovers with me to eat on the train . . .

And the opera . . . I loved the music. I knew I would; I've never met a Mozart piece I didn't like(4)). And the sets were inventive, colorful, and fun to look at. I was happy that the music consists mostly of duets and choruses, because those are the parts I like best; I think the blending of human voices is the sweetest music there is. And I thought the story was funny, although it didn't exactly lend itself to movement on stage, which was disappointing. (The costumes and sets pretty much made up for that, though.)

So, that was the weekend. I can't wait to go back. (We're planning next year's opera schedule already.)

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(1) She lives in Oak Lawn, at 107th and Laramie.
(2) Aunt Trudy lived in Elmhurst, which is southwest.
(3) To avoid the Dan Ryan, for one thing.
(4) But I've decided, for what it's worth, that my favorite composer right now is Gluck. (Austria claims him, too, by the way.) That production of Orfeo in Ann Arbor a few years ago rocked my socks . . .