Happiness Is a Familiar Place

In heading off into the "wilds" of Chicago to attend a concert, I am mindful of the timing of things. Evening concerts require that you leave at a certain hour in order to get to the venue and find parking, if you are not taking public transport. That certain time to be out the door can mean that dinner, such as it is, has to be procured by the venue or on the way to the venue. I had to be out the door by 4:30, if I wanted to eat when I got down there. I also had to pick up my ticket at the "Will Call" window and I didn't want to be dashing in at 6:53 and have to stand in line and miss the opening song.

One of the great things about Chicago is the abundance of restaurants. You want a cuisine, you can find it. It might be a storefront place with 8 tables and a waiter who simply nods when you point to something or it could be white tablecloth covered, reservation-only places with a waiter in a tux who raises an eyebrow when you ask for water. In researching the restaurants around the Old Town School of Folk Music, I had my choice from Mexican to Italian to pub grub to American to sandwich and coffee shops to a German place a few blocks up the street.

In the photo in the post below, you can see the Grafton Pub and Grill. This is an Irish-themed pub with traditional and Americanize Irish fare on the menu. It is also, as you can see, about 35 steps south of the venue. I decided that arriving as close to 5:30 as possible would garner me a table, decent food and an easy walk without worry to the School. If there was a line, I could walk 4 blocks north and eat at the German restaurant. But, reality being what it is, when I finally left the house, at 4:35, the Grafton was sort of on the list and the German restaurant way farther down. I knew I needed to eat but feeling 'meh', I didn't know what I wanted.

There wasn't a line at the Grafton, but there was a semi-packed house. On Sunday evening, it appears they have live music and this has a following. Honestly, I didn't want noise beyond maybe music. The noise of people enjoying company and the tuning of instruments spilled out the open windows and doors (It was near 75 degrees Sunday night). I just didn't want to have to be sociable. So, north I went.

I dropped by the box office and picked up my ticket. With this vital piece of paper in hand, I started walking. There was an Indian restaurant on the corner. This one is Mexican. This is a bar with a patio. Here's a coffee shop and there's Starbucks. In my memory, the last time I was here, there had been a deli with reasonably priced sandwiches and lacking in anything more than utilitarian decor somewhere around here. That's what I wanted. A simple sandwich. Just enough to shove the hunger where it needed to be and to get me home after the show. If I didn't run into that deli, I knew, from reading the restaurant link, Subway was around here somewhere.

I passed a thrift store, a bead store, a used book store which was, thankfully, closed. And then, there it was, on the opposite side of the street.

Costello's in Lincoln Square is where I ate. Carole might remember them from when we saw Old Blind Dogs at Old Town. The decor has not changed although the yellow and red paint on the walls is new. Same colors. Same menu and I mean, the same menu. It's a bunch of tables, a window bar and a counter with a cold drink cooler and a soft drink dispenser. You order off the limited menu, which is nothing but sandwiches. I felt a familiarity with the place. This was not going to be weird food. This was going to be good, filling and familiar and the latter, above all, was what I wanted.

"Can I help you?" "I would like a turkey sandwich but there are things in your sandwiches that don't appeal to me tonight." "Well, let's make one up for you that you would like." It took about 3 minutes to place the order. "Do you want smoked, honey roasted or oven roasted turkey?" "Do you want pepper jack, Swiss, American, Colby, Monterrey Jack, Provolone, Muenster or Cheddar on your sandwich?" "Do you want white, wheat, Russian rye, Jewish rye, ciabatta, foccicia, hard roll, pumpernickel, or a wrap?" "Any veggies? We have lettuce, cucumber, onion, celery, carrots, cole slaw, tomatoes and peppers." Choice is good except when you're hungry and just want a turkey sandwich. The gal behind the counter just giggled when I said, "Wow. So many choices."

That's a turkey, provolone and lettuce wrap. I got mustard on it (Would you like stone ground, yellow, hot or German?). They bake it so the cheese melts and the wrap crisps. I don't remember the 5 different sides I could have. I stuck with chips.

Good. Very good. It was enough. There was a group of musicians in the place, too. They were playing folk and old-style country music. Two mandolins, 3 guitars, a banjo and I couldn't see what the one gal was playing. The place was empty except for me and the musicians and the staff. I call this a serendipitous moment. I just wanted a sandwich. I got music with it. It put me in the right frame of mind to fully enjoy the concert upcoming.

Chicago neighborhoods are filled with these kinds of treasures, from used book stores to simple delis. I sometimes think that actually living in the city wouldn't be a bad thing, but I don't think I could make that move. It was lovely to drive in and experience it, however. Subway will make me a turkey sandwich just the way I order it, anywhere, in the entire country. It will be absolutely the same. These kinds of places are fun to experience because the food is good and it may be a turkey sandwich but it was quite different.

Beverage:  African Rooibos tea

Deb

Getting My Scots On

I went to a concert on Sunday night at the Old Town School of Folk Music in Chicago. It's a gem of a place on Lincoln Avenue. If you live in the city, taking the elevated train is the way to get there. If you live in the 'burbs, as I do, you kind of have to drive. Mass transit just isn't a real good option for us. There is a parking lot across the street and some on-street parking but, this being Chicago, finding a free spot can be as much of an adventure as driving there.

I hadn't been feeling very well all day but I've been looking forward to this concert since I got the ticket back in February. I saw The Tannahill Weavers, one of my favorite Scottish folk groups. I stumbled across them about 10 years ago now, right after finding Old Blind Dogs, my favorite Scottish folk group. The Tannies have been around for a long, long time and I've come to the dance late. Even as I wrestled with the idea of just sleeping because that seemed to be what my body wanted me to do, my head kept telling me I would regret not going. So, I listened to my head. It was the right choice.

When I got the ticket, I picked the best seat I could. I honestly didn't know how good my selection was until I got there and found my seat. This is the second row of regular seats, on the end. In front of me were the small tables and chairs they have for sale. It was the perfect spot from which to enjoy traditional Scottish music.

Some observations:  The band used to be 5 members. It's now 4. It doesn't lack for musical power with Les being gone. It means Bill has to sing now whereas, in the past, he used to just play pipes and flute.

They always seem to have a different bagpiper. I don't think I've seen the same guy in any of the 3 other times I've seen them. It's always some cute young gentleman who is 6 1/2 feet tall. I swear. Maybe you can't play the pipes if you're short. I don't know. Roy said Colin, who plays the bagpipes, has doctorates in Zoology and Metallurgy so "If you need your hamster welded, talk to Colin."

The vocals are a bit strained and Roy is showing his age. Some of the songs with notes in the higher registers weren't hit square or weren't even attempted. They played many more instrumental songs than in previous concerts. But, I remember the late Beverly Sills saying, when she announced her retirement, that the spirit was willing but the voice had just aged. It's inevitable. The repertoire changed to reflect this. That means some of the songs I hoped they'd sing, they didn't. But an hour and a half of foot stompin' music with a mix of old and new tunes and I wasn't disappointed.

Roy is really funny. You get the feeling, from the jokes he cracked and the stories he told, that if you got him in a pub with non-stop pints, you would be there for hours, days even, as he spun story after story. They have always played "Jaime Raeburn's Farewell", one of my all-time favorites. In the past, the jokes leading up to this song have been amusing. This year, it was really funny.

"Jaime Raeburn is a transport song. What that means is that Jaime was going to be transported out of Glasgow. We have no idea what he did but it doesn't matter. They sometimes made things up as they went along so you could be transported. See, back then, we didn't have a CSI: Glasgow. Heck, we couldn't have one now. There's no teeth for identification. And the DNA all matches." 

It's infectious music. The venue was not sold out, which is a shame. The crowd was mostly my age, which again is a shame. When you have someone you like, you want people to see and experience it. If the venue isn't filled, will they come back again?

The Weavers played a couple of songs by the man from whom they take their name, Robert Tannahill. He was a contemporary of a certain Robert Burns and is very much overshadowed by Burns. He wasn't as prolific. One of my favorite Tannahill songs they didn't play, The Braes O' Balquidder. I have been working through my pile of magazines about Scotland and had just read a brief biography of Tannahill. I knew the group took their name from him but reading the biography gave his short, tragic life a bit more meaning. Roy said they were so glad he wasn't a "colonic irrigationist" when they were choosing band names.

Scottish life is framed by the '45, the ill-starred attempt by Prince Charlie to take the Scottish crown. The Tannies sang one song written about this rebellion, Cam Ye By Athol. Roy said he grandfather taught him this song and I can see this being handed down verbally since it speaks of riding with Prince Charlie which was treason. Sung Sunday night, it became something of a lament, a sad reminder that the rebellion was doomed from the start and so much of Scotland was crushed with Charlie.

After a standing ovation, they came back for 5 more songs and finally ended with a little ditty by Robert Burns. You know it, but you only know a portion of it. Plus, the music the Tannies use is not the schmaltzy Guy Lombardo-induced strains you're familiar with. "Auld Lang Syne" is on their Best Of 1979-1986 CD and, if you don't have anything by them in your collection, get this one. Just sit and listen to the song. It becomes something else, a good bye to a friend.

I walked out of the concert into a light drizzle and drove home in alternating bands of light and heavy rain. I am so glad I put the "meh" feeling aside. If the Tannies come by you, try to go see them. You don't need to know anything about Scotland or Scottish music to enjoy the concert.

Beverage:  Huckleberry tea

Deb

Unfazed

When I came home from work, something in the yard caught my eye.

The violets that grow wild in the yard were blooming. Why would this be so odd? It is April, after all. Well, this is the time they should be blooming. I have less than an handful of tulips left and the lilacs will be gone by week's end. It's too chilly to put out plants, although I could go get some pansies from those grocery store greenhouses. There's really nothing of color in the yard this year at a time when usually the color explosion is just starting.

Except the violets.

It's quite interesting to me that, of all the flowers that went bonkers during the very unseasonably warm March, the violets ignored that and are blooming on schedule. Perhaps they are light induced, meaning, they will only bloom when the sunlight is at a certain height in the sky.

It's nice to look across the shaggy back yard and see little pinpoints of purple. Zeke will probably mow in the next week and they will be gone although they are quite close to the ground and the initial mowings aren't "scalps". They are higher. Some violets will escape the blades.

It's been such a quirky end of winter beginning of spring that these little smiles remind me there is some normalcy out there. My snow shovel still sits by the back door. I'm not taking any chances.

Beverage:  Huckleberry tea

Deb

When The Power Goes Out

I was sitting in my recliner last night. A load of towels had just finished washing and supper, a frozen dinner, was cooking in the microwave. Suddenly, the microwave stops. Oh good grief. I need to buy a new microwave? It takes me a few minutes to realize, there are no lights which is a good indication of no power. Well, what do I do now? I put the dinner back in the freezer, since it was only partially cooked. I hung up the towels and made myself a couple of peanut butter sandwiches. Hey! I can cross-stitch.

I took my project into the office where the west facing windows allow lots of evening sunshine to stream in. I was able to work on the project for another hour and a half before it got too dark to see the crosses.

I've stitched up the right side as high as the picture will be. I'll be able to finish all except the bottom green without moving the hoop. I like that. It can be really hard to get a hoop mark out of material when it's left in for awhile.

The power came back on at 8. I wrote a few letters in the gloaming before the power came back on. There is something peaceful about being off the grid even if my first response was, "NOOOOO!"

Beverage:  Huckleberry tea

Deb