Things I See

I had to inspect an apartment complex in May. They had this on the wall outside the gym.

It's a fish made of silver colored fish sculptures. It was so cool.

I see things like this and want them for my walls. It would probably be easy to obtain the fish and the bubbles, but I don't have the wall space for them. I never did get around to painting the bathroom. It's still on the "to do" list. Makes me kind of embarrassed to admit it's yet another project I haven't completed when I see awesome stuff like this.

Beverage:  Scottish Breakfast Tea

Deb

It Only Took Two Months

I have some interesting friends. One of them posted a silly horoscope to her Facebook page. I responded by writing something totally off the cuff. She challenged me to write the whole story to go with that sentence.

Immediately, work got crazy. I was traveling every week, sometimes three to four days out of that work week. In so doing, I figured out where the nearest Panera was to my travels.

I printed out the horoscope and pasted it into this journal I was going to use for the collection of quotes from the books I read. (I have abandoned that idea in favor of post-its because I don't want to stop, copy a quote, and read on. It breaks the rhythm. I have the post-its handy for ripping off a sheet and slapping it into the book where it marks the lines I liked.) When I had time to kill, Panera was great. I could get lunch and work on the story and they didn't mind. Around me, people were hooked up to the internet, doing whatever they needed to. I had my journal and my gel pens and I wrote and wrote and wrote.

I was very proud of myself when, after a couple weeks of this, I'd reached paged 23.

No, the journal pages are not numbered. I have to do that myself, but that simple task delivered a great feeling of accomplishment. How far in advance should I number them? Was 30 enough? No. Not even close. 50? I might be half-way through. I'm not sure. I settled on 100.

I wrote in various fragments of time; at the doctor's office at the end of May; at the office when burning CDs or processing data tied up my computer for long stretches. May was cold and damp and I felt the words struggle to flow through my pen onto the pages. Some days, I could barely manage a page. Other days, three and four pages of text seemed to sprint onto the lines. I went through one pack of gel pens and had to buy another.

And then life caught up and all these things I needed/wanted to do called to me and the journal was set aside for a time. I knew exactly how the story would end. I knew the characters. I knew, mostly, the dialog. It was getting it committed to the pages of the journal. I wasn't feeling inspired.

Then, last Saturday, a glorious day of moderate temperatures and warm sunshine, I got the deck into sitting mode.

All the plants are planted, although I need another marigold for one which didn't make it. The statuary is out. There is a table for a drink and supplies, and there is the comfort of flowers.

The geraniums, as I've said, are rather spindly and will be cut back in the next week. This space is inviting now. I don't feel like it needs more than the usual deadheading of flowers. I can sit out here and work on whatever project I have in front of me, be it a book, a cross-stitch, or a story. Of course, my flow gets interrupted by "Hamlet! Deck! Now!" He was so good but has since regressed, although he comes when I call. He's timid, as the girls are, so I probably could let him loose while I finished a chapter or a line of stitching, but I worry and that not good for concentration.

Anyway, Sunday, finally, after two months of off and on writing, I could write "The End".

It's 82 pages in the journal which might type up to 40 pages on 8.5 x 11 inch paper. I changed verb tenses in the last quarter of the story, preferring the ending tenses to the beginning. It made more sense. I'm probably the worst editor of my stuff. I agonize over punctuation placement and whether this word is exactly what I want to use. I didn't do much editing of the raw product but it was hard, when I had to go backwards a few pages to remember where the story was and where it needed to go. Oh gee. That's not the right wording there, and out comes the editor in me.

The next step is to type this up so my friend can read it. After that, I have no idea what I'll do with this, other than mark something complete and move on to the next idea. She mentioned, while driving in the rain one day, seeing a book, pages flapping in the wind, in the median of the road she was on. Did someone leave it on the top of their car and drive off? Or did they heave it out the window during a rainstorm, on purpose? If so, why would you do that to a book? She never specifies the size of the book. So many ideas.

This is a great victory for me. I got the deck set up for a summer of relaxation AND I finished something I'd started. On to the next project!

Beverage:  Water

Deb

The Things I See; A Library's Goodies

Last fall, I had the joy of inspecting a fairly new library in the Albany Park neighborhood of Chicago. What could be more exciting? An English major in a library BEFORE it opens. I had to wander the stacks too because I had to look at the ceiling where the stacks were. I have an observation which was eye-opening to me.

Libraries in multi-cultural neighborhoods need to have books in the languages of their neighbors.

I feel like such a dork for not realizing that. Of course, I don't know which Asian language or languages this is, but there was a whole row of such books. It also made me realize that, although I knew it, lending libraries are global. If you speak Spanish, but your library doesn't carry Spanish-language books, the reach of a lending library means you can get books in your language. This is a head-to-desk realization.

When I was growing up, inter-library loan was a thing. Mainly, it was in the loaning of large print or Braille books. I knew people who would go to the local library and ask for the list of large print books. They had to wait awhile because these came from the big libraries or, in some cases, the university libraries, but they would arrive to our little library in Monona. I remember the librarian let me see one. Whoa! 18, 24, 28 point type. A 150 page book could balloon in page size to double that. You could kill small animals with the size of the book. But the librarian emphasized that people with failing eyesight should be allowed to read, too.

Libraries have had to remake themselves as the world goes digital. The days are long gone where you could wander the stacks of a library, finding treasures in the back; books which hadn't been checked out in 10 years. I loved to look through those, even if I didn't check them out. My local library has removed some of their stacks, replaced by an increase in the display area of periodicals (I'm not against that.), more music and movie offerings; and more classes. I have a cross-stitch club I go to every fourth Tuesday of the month, assuming I'm not traveling. There are more computers available for those without reliable access. But the large number of stacks, which I remember wandering in the 1980's, are gone. It's just the nature of a library nowadays. If I want something, they can get it via inter-library loan, but I do miss wandering and finding something I didn't know existed.

This library in Albany Park, was sparse from a browsing point of view. They are heavily focused into community programs. Being part of the Chicago Library system, there is no need to have a vast amount of paper materials in the building. Instant access in requesting books is provided. You can do it yourself from one of the terminals around the library. They have an outdoor reading area where you bring your own things or books you have checked out. It was quite inviting.

I have great fondness for the library I grew up with. That is probably as much due to the librarian who was very invested in getting kids and their parents to read. It was just assumed you went there. That libraries address the reading needs of their diverse communities should not have come as a surprise to me. I'm kind of ashamed it never occurred to me before I had to inspect one.

Beverage:  Water

Deb

A Promise of Better Things

I have been noticeably absent this space since early April. It's been a combination of things. I have not felt well. The warm spring days were followed by chilly and damp days. I don't do chilly and damp very well anymore. It settled into my joints and I found myself aching much more than usual. My rheumatologist agreed that this spring has been hard on people with joint problems.

Then, our work load quadrupled, which sounds like an exaggeration, but is not. I found myself doing day trips two, three and four days out of a week. I appreciate that fate or God or karma decided last year I needed a newer car because the drives to all these places was ever so much nicer when it was done in a car with adequate heat and windshield wipers, as well as cruise control and the ability to sip, not guzzle, gas.

This became something of a bad circle. I ached because of the wild swings in weather. I ached because of all the driving and walking. I couldn't get comfortable at night to fall asleep and stay asleep because I ached, which made me tired. Weekends have been something of a fog. I didn't have the stamina to complete a project so my house is littered with unfinished things. This made me sad and, let's face it, depressed, which contributes to the uneven sleeping. Everything accumulated making writing a chore. I just felt overwhelmed and unable to put thoughts to paper.

That being said, I've been working on a short story based on a writing prompt a friend gave me. She "double-dip dared" me to write a story around a silly Internet photo; a photo I had made an off-hand comment about. I know how the story ends. I just have to write the lines to that point. Now that the weather has moderated, it's inspiring to sit outside with my pen and write. I bought a journal to use for book quotes, but picked it up to use to tell this tale. It's probably a pedantic sort of tale, but I haven't done anything like this in years so it feels fresh and exciting.

I probably have 8 more hours of writing left to do. In true "Sagittarius mode", however, there are more shinies calling for my attention. That's what can overwhelm me and leave me feeling depressed. I love having projects to do, but completing them has always been a problem. The simple act of setting up the project is exhilarating to me. What do I want to do and what supplies will I need to accomplish this? But I get into the thing and have to set it aside because something else crops up, like the need to have clean underwear, and then I lose the drive to finish. It was extremely acute during April and, now, May. Then, I feel like I can't do anything and you see where this track goes. I'm ever so good at beating myself up.

The weather seems to have moderated now. I had a doctor visit last week where I poured out my frustrations and my rheumatologist was so understanding. She reminded me that living with RA means doing small tasks. "Just finish one thing and celebrate that; dishes, a load of laundry, pick up the living room so you don't see lots of piles." I got the oil changed and tires rotated. I spent 3 hours writing on the story; advancing the plot by leaps and bounds. I did a load of laundry and swept half of the floors. Just those things made me feel as if I could accomplish more.

Memorial Day weekend was a series of small victories which I'll detail below. Each step leads to another step which leads to a feeling of accomplishment. The business of business is still astonishingly hectic, but it appears, like the Tetris game, things are falling into place so I am not quite so overwhelmed. I still have to travel, but it's not in a rushing sort of way.

And then, as if to rubber stamp my sense of worth, I managed, for the first time in 3 months, to carve out time to go to cross-stitch club at the Wheaton Public Library. I haven't felt any inclination to do any stitching on the project since January because I've been coming back from somewhere on the day of the club. I stepped out of the house and headed to the car. There was a small rain shower going on. It wasn't much; more like the last bit of water was being shaken from the watering can. I got to the car and turned to slide in and saw this.

I do not remember when the last time was I saw a rainbow this brilliant. Look at the colors. You can see all of them; red, orange, yellow, green, indigo and violet. Excited, I quickly drove to the end of the drive, got out and aimed my ancient cell phone skyward.

Yes, please. I'll have a double helping of rainbow.

If you've followed me for some time you know I'm not a very God-y person anymore. I believe in an almighty, but I don't feel he pays too much attention to me; checking in on occasion, to see that I'm still hanging in there. Sometimes, he takes pity on me and things align, but most of the time, he smiles and moves on to someone with way more cares than I have. I don't want to make too much of a scientific occurrence, but I think this was nature's, karma's, "God's" way of telling me the storm has passed and, while things won't be smooth sailing, because, after all, it is raining, it won't be quite as bad as it has been these past 2 months. I've come through a choppy time and now there will be quieter seas ahead.

(On a strictly scientific note, I was quite surprised the rainbow was so vivid. We didn't get enough rain to wet the deck all over. It really was simply a sprinkle. Yet look at the colors, how clear and dramatic they are. Everything was at the right juncture to create this scene. Science is fascinating.)

So, dear reader, if you've progressed to the bottom of this post, I can't promise I will be as dedicated to this space as I was at the beginning of the year, but I have hundreds of photos I should blog about. It appears life is on the upswing. Things are, indeed, better. I have a double rainbow to prove it.

Beverage:  Earl Grey tea

Deb

Name Dropped

I had to inspect a Seminary on the south side of Chicago. The building was over 100 years old; typical Chicago brick construction. It had always been apartments with warehousing on the lower floors. Old Chicago apartments have a distinctive design. Maybe it's true of all apartment buildings from that era; tiny rooms with small hallways. The seminary has retained quite a bit of the flavor of the building while modernizing it for priests. There is a communal dining area and a chapel with custom glass designs.

The chapel area was, before the seminary bought the building, an artist's studio. But the large space with the 2.5 story ceiling, was too much to keep up so he sold to the building owner and moved north. The priest who took me around to do the inspection said they rent the space to Russian Orthodox and non-denominational congregations for worship. They are pleased it's being used.

During the course of the inspection, the seminarian walking around with me was excited to talk about the next phase of his studies. He was going to Chile in June, for 3 months, but the 2nd week of March, he was going to Greenville, Mississippi, to help the order down there. They have, he said, a strong presence in that area of the country and all the seminarians spend time working there. I looked at him. "Greenville? I know Greenville." He registered surprise as I don't have a Southern accent, couldn't even fake one if I tried. "How do you know Greenville?" Well, the head of the English department where I went to college was a Franciscan sister originally from Greenville. "Wow. Small world," he said.

The priest with us now turns to me and asks, "Who was this sister? That's kind of specific because we're the only order down there. There isn't a convent." "Her name was Sister Thea Bowman. She started at a Sacred Heart school and joined the convent there. When she went to Viterbo for college, she joined the Franciscans, who, as you know, founded Viterbo." The priest stared at me. "You studied under Thea?" I did. She recruited me for the English department and got, then, Viterbo College, to offer me enough scholarship money that 75% of my college experience was paid for. He looked at me.

"I know Thea. Everyone in Sacred Heart knows Thea. Thea is held up as a paragon for activism. You knew her. I am singularly impressed." I have a pencil sketch of her hanging in my living room. She was the most amazing person I think I have ever met. I will never, in my entire life, be half the person she was.

"Madame, I knew you were a very interesting person when we shook hands. I am convinced of it now. I never had the pleasure of meeting Thea. To know she taught you gives me more respect for you."

I didn't know quite how to react to this. I don't know people I could drop into a sentence. One of the guys from the construction company building the hotel for which I needed to do this inspection, was dropping names left and right. "Well, when I got married, I couldn't have some of the Chicago Bears come to my wedding because my wife said they would upstage her." You know some of the Chicago Bears? "Oh yeah, I'm good friends with...", and then he rattles off 5 names from the 1985 Super Bowl team. He knows this person and that person from Chicago politics or Chicago celebrity.

I am always suspect of such people. Do they really know them as in, could they call these people up and ask them to come meet for lunch? Or, is it a way of getting something because we believe in the power of "Six Degrees of Separation" and we want to be associated, however minimally, with someone "famous". There's no reason you couldn't drop any celebrities name into a sentence as being an acquaintance even if the best you know them is from the Access Hollywood TV show. I have no way to prove you don't know them.

Thea sang at my wedding. I have a cassette tape of it and I sometimes think it would be wonderful to extract that part to have. I wouldn't know where to go to get that digitized. I would never have thought to bring up her name in any of the Catholic places I have been. It was a toss-away remark, made by a young man, excited to further his faith which allowed me to say, with much pride, "I knew Thea. I was taught by Thea." I carry her lessons. When I read Shakespeare's comedies with their sexual innuendo, I can hear her voice say, "Well, we're going to jump over those lines because you're Viterbo students and you won't get the joke." Of course that made us read and reread the lines looking for what was funny.

I also feel the priest was impressed with my skills to begin with. Tara and I kind of have that effect. We have been openly dismissed by men who think we can't possibly know what we're doing and then we do it and, um, yeah, about that dismissal. Father John didn't dismiss me. He said what I did was one of the most interesting jobs he'd seen. But the knowledge of having known Thea added a layer of competency. She gave a lot to her students. She still gives. Wish I could call her and tell her.

Beverage: Scottish Breakfast Tea

Deb

How Do You Like Your Car?

I have been asked this alot lately. It's been six months since the Jeep was replaced. I've gone through every season except spring, but, given the warm air over Chicagoland, you could say we had mini-spring this past week.

I'm driving around Chicagoland on Monday, February 20th, with the windows down and wearing a short sleeved shirt. My photo feed reminds me that 3 years ago, we had 6 inches of snow.

There are things I miss about the Jeep. It was fun to drive, even in traffic, with the stick shift. It sat up higher and I felt I could see more of what was around me. I'm constantly tweaking the mirrors because I don't feel I can see to my left or right, even when I turn to look before changing lanes. Never had that issue with the Jeep. There is one thing the Malibu has which the Jeep did not.

I have information at my finger tips. This was in August. We didn't get a lot of 100+ degree days. We haven't had a summer that hot in a few years. I'm not complaining, mind you. I like hot weather but I think I would feel extremely oppressed if that was the norm, rather than the exception.

On the Monday the above photo was taken, this was the temperature when I got into the car.

I documented this more for the "Oh look. An even number of miles", than the temperature. I haven't figured out the trip meter. I'm going to have to actually read the owner's manual for that. Until I do that, I write the beginning and ending mileage in the notebook I carry with me. The Jeep had a little button I pushed to reset the trip meter.

I also have a tire pressure and oil life indicator I can scroll through. I don't like the lack of a beep or a light if the gas gauge gets low. I have to notice and then set the display for "Fuel Distance". I've come close to being out of gas because I don't have that on the display. (Note to self: you need gas.) Perhaps a noise can be set but I'll have to read the manual to figure out how.

I used the Sirius XM radio free three-month trial and I am NOT signing up for that service. If I listened to classic rock, hip hop, rap, or current popular music, it would pay to have it. The sheer abundance of stations playing that kind of music was immense. I listen to jazz. I had the 1940's channel; the all Frank Sinatra channel; the 'smooth jazz' channel; and a channel devoted to Broadway musicals. Huh? No thanks. When I go cross-country and are out of the reach of my local jazz station, I have a CD player. I can listen to Gregory Porter's "Be Good" or Annie Lennox's "Nostalgia" or Duke Ellington's "Three Suites" or "Ella and Louis Together" or any of my jazz albums, provided I remember to bring my CD case. And don't even get me started on my Scottish music. A station for that? You're nuts.

They have been calling to get me to renew my subscription but don't seem to get that what they offer is not what I like. Last night, I told the guy, "Please stop calling. I won't sign up and the more you call, the more angry I am and the less likely I'll consider your service, period." "But...but...ma'am, you just need to listen..." Click.

As I travel about for work, I've found a number of people who say the Malibu is probably the best passenger car Chevrolet makes. They are impressed I drive one, even one which is 6 years old.  How do I like my car? For once, in spite of the circumstances surrounding the purchase, I got a break from life. I'm happy. It works for me.

Beverage:  Raspberry Seltzer

Deb

What Is This?

I had to do some home inspections at the end of summer last year. These were large homes with a lot of different landscaping. I find myself mentally filing away things that work and things that don't.

One of the homeowners had this plant in pots by the garage.

It was tall, even taking into consideration it was in a pot. I would say it was probably 6 feet tall. The homeowner had put impatiens around the bottom and this was shooting up from the center.

I have no idea what this is. The husband just shrugged and said, "I dunno. My wife finds this stuff." It's so distinctive. Is it invasive? Is it self-seeding? Is it like a dahlia where I have to dig up the tubers to overwinter in my climate? I have not been able to find this in my seed and plant catalogues. I'm going to be redoing a few of my planting beds this year so I'm on the lookout for distinctive plants. The prairie plant bed is getting enlarged. I don't think this is a native prairie plant, but I could be wrong. Any reader have an idea?

Beverage:  Cranberry Tea

Deb

The Things You Learn

Work takes me into a wide variety of structures. I've detailed, in this space, some of the historic structures where I find myself. I've documented the intriguing, the goofy and the "huh?". We had to inspect a Sherwin-Williams paint store warehouse several months ago. It serviced not only homeowners, but also contractors. There were the typical paint store accouterments about the front walls; paint chips, computer for matching colors; rollers and brushes; masking tape; all the stuff you'd find in any paint store.

We headed to the back, into the warehouse, because the job for which we were doing the inspection was adjacent to the back wall. We walked past cans of neutral base. I expected that. There were several different brands of neutral base. I was a bit surprised because I didn't know Sherwin-Williams owned all these different brands. The store manager said different bases have different sheens and have different tones to their colors. That's why they had a 30 foot wall of paint chips. What's yellow in one brand is more lemon in another. It's about giving the customer options.

At the back I saw this.

Rows and rows and palettes upon palettes of 10 gallon sized buckets of paint. These are broken down based on a customer's needs. Certain base colors are for certain mixed colors. They had four industrial mixers, giant red machines where they could make one of these Rembrandt Ruby or Calypso or Quest Gray. They can make large amounts of one color or several gallons of the same color. They service a number of Sherwin-Williams paint stores so these buckets are broken into gallons of base when a store needs more. Plus, a contractor painting all the hallways in an apartment building, for instance, will want 10 gallons of the same color. He can come here and they'll make it.

We've all purchased paint. It comes in a gallon can with a lid whose edge you bend when you have to use the screwdriver to open it because you lost that really neat thing they gave you at the store. It never occurred to me to consider where that gallon comes from. It was fascinating to do my job surrounded by what would become color. Finding this photo reminds me I never did paint the bathroom or the rear entry. I should do that.

Beverage:  Cranberry Tea

Deb

Look Up

How many of us look up? Seriously. When you're going from point A to point B, do you look up, straight ahead or down? I have to admit I tend to look down. I've reached the age where not falling is a thing to be savored so I watch where I walk. And, I find a lot of loose change, but there is so much above our heads which we don't see because we look straight ahead or we are looking down. Here is a case in point.

Is that not a different ceiling? It was in the entry of a building where I had a couple of inspections. The building is over 100 years old. I have no idea if the ceiling is original and lovingly restored, or something from a later renovation. It's just different.

Here is the ceiling of the area outside the elevator on the floor where I had inspections.

I was told this is gold leaf. This is not original to the building but was added in the 1920's. You can see the edges of the thin sheets of gold. 

Finally, this was the ceiling of a room I inspected.

Granted, I would notice things like this because I get paid to look at the floors, walls and ceilings, but it made me realize that looking up gives you more beauty than your narrow down or across focus. I wonder what other ceilings I've missed.

Beverage:  Hot Cocoa

Deb

Things I See - Colored Glass - Part 3

Our final examination of Old St. Patrick's Church centers on the glass. Light entering a church has always been associated with the presence of the divine. You can, however, be agnostic or even atheistic and still appreciate the art of stained glass windows.

It abounds in Old St. Pat's. Transoms above doors bear not so simple Celtic knots.

These are glass, not painted.

They have the defects seen in any stained glass window which has been around for a very long time; cracked pieces and cracking in the leading between the pieces. You can see the tri-cornered design in both of the windows. This is said to represent the trinity; Father, Son and Holy Spirit or Ghost.

When I do buildings containing stained glass, part of my inspection is to record the state of the windows. This means taking full-length views. This is the Annunciation of Mary.

Notice the scrolled design at the bottom of the window.

This is repeated above the main panel.

I like the juxtaposition of the almost watercolor figures with bolder colors on the top and bottom. I could see the circular design at the top of the window done as a rug or a needlework.

Here is the middle of the window; the angel

and Mary.

The faces are painted to give them depth. It's very hard to do stained glass to represent, correctly, the face. Subtle gradations in shade are just hard to do.

I present another window to show the dynamic colors.

I don't remember what this commemorated. It's obviously a priest coming ashore to spread the gospel.

There might have been some identifying plaque near the window, but I don't remember. What I liked about this one was the colorful knots below and above the figures.

Here are the central figures.

Again, their faces were painted onto the glass. The blue and yellow pieces with the color gradients were pieces of glass in their own right. I did not see paint on them.

This is a window in the choir loft.

The emerald green we associate with Ireland is on display here.

There were two side alcoves at the back of the sanctuary. This one contained relics of the saints.

Above it was a stained glass transom.

The south alcove was a mosaic-lined area with a half-dome stained glass ceiling.

There was a sign in front of the alcove giving you a description of each panel and what it meant.

The flash from the camera caused the colored tiles to glow.

Mosaics are amazing creations. I didn't have time to spend to read up on the significance of these panels. I've always wanted to do mosaics. I admire the ability to break a design down to colored pieces of glass and to place those pieces so a larger design emerges.

I do not know if the dome is back lit in any way. It was a bright sunny day when I did the inspection so the colors and intricacies of the dome were clear.

The highlight of the crafter's art was above the altar. In the post below, I showed photos of the general ceiling; the richly detailed painting and the arched choir level with it's multiple paint. The altar area had a massive stained glass panel. It's too big to document in one photo.

These three photos are the middle row.

And finally, the "back" row.

Isn't that just amazing? The ceiling is reinforced and the window is protected on the outside. I do not know if it's illuminated at night. That would be an amazing sight. Imagine sitting in these pews looking up into color.

Imagine being surrounded by color. In times of anxiety, I can see this spot being a place of rest. I sat in the pews for a moment and they are quite comfortable.

This is a "working" church, meaning it has an active congregation. They had redone the basement to provide better lavatories and an acoustic ceiling in their fellowship hall for music.

They serve a multi-ethnic congregation, although it is most Hispanic now. I had to take all this in and do my job before the noon worship service.

The church encourages people to come and be in the space.While I was there, at least a dozen tourists came, walked about and left. I felt a bit conspicuous when Catholics would come in, take a seat, kneel, and start to pray. Here I am, talking into a tape recorder. "Overviews of window number 3 on the wall 3. Crack in the lower left corner of the frame."

And, no matter how often I do it and no matter how much permission I have, I still feel awkward walking behind or up onto the altar area. It's a place of reverence and respect. Although I feel less religious than in previous years, a feel this space needs to be respected, but I have to do my job. Who is this lady with the tape recorder and the camera taking photos of the side of the altar? It's much better when the church is usually closed and I have to inspect it. Then I don't feel that I'm intruding on another's need for worship.

If you are in the Chicago area and are looking for an off-the-beaten path place of history, come here. The church is open at 9 with a noon worship. I managed to finish my work at 11:50. I saw a lot of people going into the church for that worship. The bells tolled at 11:45 and again at noon. There is a school to the north of the church, but you can't miss this since it's at the corner of Adams and Halsted. You can't count on weather in Chicago but if you get a brilliantly sunny day, you won't be disappointed in the windows.

This is one of the reasons I love my job. I get to be in places like this.

Beverage:  Assam tea

Deb