Sunday, January 31, 2010

My Fantastic Day in the Not-So-Windy City

Yesterday was one of those days. You know the ones... The ones that you wish wouldn't end, save for the fact that you are itchin' to go kiss some very specific cheeks and dish out that oh-so-typical request,"Tell me something cute that the kids did!"

We had planned to head to Chicago for the day, but late the night before, we chickened out. Well, we lazied out. We cheap-skated the idea right out of our minds. No, it wasn't a unanimous decision, but Keisha was company, so she didn't really have any buying power.

You might be thinking, "Shouldn't company get to decide?"

Not around these parts.

Hey - wanna come over sometime??

So, we started our day at the beloved South Bend Farmers' Market.

It had been way, way too long. I missed her saurkrautey smell that rounds the corner to earthy, dusty spices. Her unyielding Wintertime optimism made me walk a little taller -- pretty soon, all of the tables will be filled and I'll need not one, but two tote bags to haul out my loot.

If such a thing exists that is capable of injecting culinary courage into the very heart of a girl, it's got to be a good Farmers' Market.

Find thou a market. Braise your creativity in the curiosity you'll discover precisely between the dusty books, the homemade salsa, the hand-kneaded, herb flecked pizza dough. The beets.

As my bag grew heavier, I resolved to go much more often.

Then, it was time for lunch.

Gyros, baby.
Feta, scooped out ice-cream style.

Next, we thrifted.
I never knew how badly I yearn to bake miniature pies.

I gave a good home to some orphaned pillow cases - so soft, with seams slightly askew.

Here's how you know your best friend rocks the world sideways: She lets you go to her apartment and take a nap on her couch. She gives you a swoony pillow and a cozy blaket and she closes the drapes. And then she asks you not to wake her up.

You sleep, with the tiniest grin on your face.

And you wake up and text your Honey and read a book until she straggles out, with bed-head to match your own. You snicker about this and that. You wish Beth were still with you, although she probably wouldn't appreciate the nap thing. You wonder how your sister could possibly still be shopping and why on earth did she pick shopping over a nap?

Then, sister returns and it's nearly 8 pm and you realize that you're hungry.

They aren't, but you are. And you know, you still have that buying power from before.

So, of course, you end up here.

And, as always, the last thing you remember to do, after all of the hours of laughing and sleeping and eating, is capture your very (happy) selves.

I may never Chicago again.