My mother drove up to Chicago this weekend and I spent most of my time downtown with her. Nice to sleep in a giant double bed and take a bath, that’s for sure. We spent a lot of time just walking through the city, wandering through Millennium Park for the fortieth time or window shopping on Michigan Avenue. I’ve spent enough time here that I know my way around well enough, and it was kind of fun to play tour guide, doing all those touristy things.
Tonight before the Super Bowl we walked to a theater and finally saw The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. About time, really. My parents and I each read the trilogy years ago, and she saw the Swedish film when it was initially released in New York. Didn’t have the time before now to see it, so I’m glad we finally had the chance. I’m a staunch believer that the movie is never better than the book, so I went in with low expectations, but I ended up enjoying myself a lot more than I thought I would. Well, I say enjoy… Enjoyed myself as much as I could what with the sadistic rape, murder and animal mutilation. All the same, outstanding performances by Rooney Mara and Daniel Craig, and I was thrilled by how the film in many ways matched the cold, wintry picture I had in my head the first time I stepped into Stieg Larssen’s world.
Spent the rest of the evening half-heartedly watching the Super Bowl and just enjoying each other’s company. I’m lucky, I guess, when it comes to my relationship with my mother. Neither one of us has a sister, so we’ve always been very close. She understands me in a way so few people do.
She fell asleep as we watched an old episode of Doctor Who. So now it’s just me, listening to Debussy piano solos and sitting by the window, thirteen floors up. It’s after midnight, but the sky in Chicago is never dark. It’s always that dim, dusty tangerine color — the color you only get with billions of watts of manmade light. It’s a bit unsettling, sometimes, as I’m from a suburban Missouri world where you can count the stars. This sweeping expanse of orange makes me nervous. But tonight, as I sit here at this window, it’s not so bad.
Tonight I find myself captivated by the city. All the life and history in this concentrated area — it’s enough to inspire poetry in the most jaded of cynics. Chicago’s a hell of a town. Frank Lloyd Wright said, “Eventually, I think Chicago will be the most beautiful great city left in the world.” And from up here on the thirteenth floor, looking at all these lights under that orange sky, I think I agree with Mr. Wright.
