I did a 24-hour in-and-out to see the family in Chicago this week.
The outbound flight from New York Tuesday morning started with an amusing episode. A young guy wearing thick-cup studio headphones around his neck got up to go to the lavatory shortly after the aircraft left the gate. As he strolled down the aisle to the back of the plane, a flight attendant chased him as if every moment used to apprehend the subject was critical. The urgency with which the flight attendant acted briefly rattled customers who failed to notice the infraction that initiated the scramble.
As if the situation wasn‘t already well in hand, another flight attendant took to the public address system and issued a stern directive in a borderline frantic tone of voice. “Ladies and Gentlemen: You cannot move about the cabin until we advise you that it’s safe to do so. We are next in line for takeoff and we need everyone in their seats before we can proceed.”
I looked out the window and there were at least a dozen airplanes ahead of us in the takeoff line. I couldn’t decide which was a greater faux pas. Was it the loopy guy who left his seat during taxi – or the flight attendants who trumped up the seriousness of it all by claiming we were about to go airborne about 30 minutes before we actually did.
The two-day NATO summit had wrapped up the day before I arrived in Chicago. The post-mortem was awfully celebratory. City leaders congratulated themselves and declared organizational perfection. The plaudits for the men in blue were off the charts.
One of the organizations (CODEPINK) involved in staging demonstrations against NATO said the protest movement counted 15-thousand people in its ranks for the event. Even if that’s an accurate estimate, it’s a small number and one the city of Chicago certainly shouldn’t boast about containing.
The deep exhale of relief in Chicago following closed-door NATO sessions attended by heavily shielded world leaders reveals second city insecurity. Why not execute a big event as if you’ve been there before? 1968 is half a century ago. Chicago’s greatness (flaws and all) speaks for itself. Those at the helm of the city that works don’t need to cross their fingers and act surprised when international dignitaries get in and out without trouble.
My two nieces attended their weekly swimming lesson at a pool in Niles, IL while I was in town. This was great fun to witness. After a battery of routines aimed at introducing the novice swimmer to the mechanics of propulsion, the instructor in the pool played a little game. She asked each student to name something they really like. If other kids shared admiration for the item cited by their fellow student, they had to jump in the water from the shallow side of the pool. One kid said pizza. Another said cheeseburgers. Yet another said French fries. When the question was posed to my youngest niece, she thought for a second and said “rainbows.” She then slowly moved toward the edge of pool and jumped in with a helping hand from the instructor.
My brother Tim mixed up his specialty when I reached his house and it was time to wind down. Inspired by his father-in-law, Tim stuffs two big green olives with chunks of bleu cheese and throws them into a short, wide-rimmed glass with two large ice cubes. He then pours a splash of juice from the green olive jar over a generous serving of quality vodka. It’s delicious. It’s tasty on a cold night or a warm night. The cheesy olives are really enjoyable after stewing in the vodka for a half-hour or so.
Before I left, my brother and I had breakfast Wednesday morning at Mac’s in Park Ridge. The corned beef hash had a fluffy consistency. The coffee at Mac’s is solid, too. My brother dropped me off at O’Hare on his way to work and I ended up riding on a bird that had me back in New York in plenty of time to see the Rangers lose game five. They’re on the ropes now but expect a good fight from the Blueshirts before this series is over.
If I can make it through the next two weeks of work, I have a week of stay-cation coming up that will coincide nicely with the running of the Belmont Stakes.
