Gershwin and Gyros

Being back in the distinctly American city of Chicago has made me very happy. I am very at home here now, despite the fact that I do not pronounce my o’s like a’s and my a’s like I’m in pain and despite my distaste for deep dish pizza.

What I do enjoy here is the celebration of summer, the two months of heat and stickiness that act as a break from winter. Wednesday night we heard Rhapsody in Blue at the Pritzker Pavillion in Millennium Park. While the orchestra serenaded us, we ate prosciutto-wrapped melon chunks and fresh fruit salad. Tonight we’re going to eat at Andie’s, a Greek spot in our ‘hood, and then perhaps we’ll join the Trixies and the Chads down on Rush St. for some dancing up in da club. That’s not a particularly summery activity, you’re saying, but in Chicago, any evening for which you can dress up to go out without worrying about your toes snapping off and your hair freezing, you know it’s summer and you enjoy it.

The apartment is coming along and starting to resemble some place we both want to live. This morning’s accomplishment was the putting of books on shelves. I was in charge of fiction. Needless to say, I finished in about 12 minutes, and there is no rhyme or reason in the arrangement of our novels, plays, and poetry. On the non-fiction bookcase, there are sections for political commentary, memoirs, and autobiography, among other categories which I’ve since forgotten. At least my shelf looks pretty.

So despite the heat and humidity, I’m not really ready for summer to end any time soon. Bon été à tous et à toutes.