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Chicago is fantastic in every way.

We left Gainesville on Tuesday morning before sunrise.  In fact, I probably slept only three hours the night before, and Miriam didn’t sleep at all.  We were at Gainesville Regional Airport by 5 AM, and in Chicago by 10 AM (Central).  Midway is apparently the neglected step-child of Chicago airports.  We took a shuttle bus into the city, and arrived at our hotel hungry.

To solve that problem we started walking, past the busy hot dog vendor in the plaza downstairs from us, and ate instead in Millennium Park, which is a magical place.  Many others were there to picnic as well.  The weather was perfect - in the low 70s and breezy with white fluffy clouds over head.  As we ate our hot dogs we listened to an orchestra rehearse Wagner.  From there we crossed the gardens and Grant Park, stopping at Buckingham Fountain (which is enormous), before arriving at the Field Museum.  I had visited the Field Museum when I was a child, but that was so long ago I can recall very little of it.  I doubt I loved it as much then, too.  Everything was amazing, including the T. rex, the plant and animal dioramas, the cases of minerals, and the building itself.  They even had a temporary exhibit about mythical creatures, including the Unicorn, and I got to touch a narwhal horn which was once presented as having come from the mythical beast.  As Jeff might say, I harnessed the power of the Unicorn.

After all that walking we stopped and had delicious iced novelties at a stand along Lake Michigan.  It was the best snow cone in history.  For dinner we took a cab up to the tourist-centric Navy Pier, but I was determined to ride a huge Ferris Wheel, and we did.  It was great.  The moon was rising over the lake, the skyline of the city was spectacular.  It was one of life’s perfect moments.

I spent most of Wednesday with Burt, who, unfortunately couldn’t come to town by train, and had to drive instead, spending what must have been a fortune to park.  But we had lunch together, then took the subway to the Shedd Aquarium and Adler Planetarium.  At closing time we went out and sat on some steps by the harbor.  The weather was splendid, but it was as bright as could be.  The city looked majestic.  Once Miriam was finished with her work activities we all had dinner at Giordano’s, right around the corner from our hotel.  It was delicious, and filling.  Burt had to be heading home, but Miriam and I walked over to Millennium Park again to listen to an orchestral concert.  We heard Respighi’s Pines of Rome.  There were so many people out enjoying the evening, and we decided to do the same, once again visiting the popular sculpture Cloud Gate, which everyone seems to love.

I had the next day to myself, and I spent the morning walking around the Chicago River and taking photos of the architecture.  Our hotel was right near the Wrigley Building and the Tribune Building, and just a stone’s throw from Marina City. Then I rode a bus down to the Museum of Science and Industry, which is on the south side of the city.  Along the way the bus passed by an amazing number of old townhouses with fabulous steps and doorways.  I was impressed how even at such a distance from the Loop district, great numbers of people live in high-rise buildings, each of which must have impressive views of the city skyline or the lake. I had been to the Museum of Science and Industry when I was a child, and I remember at the time looking through the periscope of the U-505 submarine and seeing an old car parked in an alley.  They’ve since moved the captured Nazi vessel to its own subterranean wing of the complex. The tiniest part of the exhibit made the biggest impact on me.  It was a metal identification badge with an eagle on a swastika, above which are the words “GOTT MIT UNS”.  What a disgusting claim.  The museum has the largest, and therefore coolest model train layout I have ever seen.  I played with it for a long time.  Proof that it is a big museum: the 727 suspended above the aforementioned train layout and full size locomotive. I stared at the Foucault pendulum for a long time trying to understand it, to no avail.  Admission was free; bus fare was only $2, and we passed Soldier Field on the way back.  In the evening we went out to dinner, then explored the theater district en route to see Wicked at the Oriental Theater.  It was a fancy place, and I was a bit surprised that I actually enjoyed the show a great deal.  Credit must be given to the lead actresses, especially Annaleigh Ashford who played Glinda.  I can’t imagine enjoying anyone more in the role (except, perhaps, Kristen Chenoweth, but that’s no surprise).  I have seen video of other actresses in the role, and I know I would not have liked the show as much had I seen someone else in the part. In any case, the story and feel were far enough removed from The Wizard of Oz that I never found myself comparing the two, which is good because nothing could live up to that standard, particularly Arlen and Harburg’s music.

Friday, the first day of summer, promised to be one of the best of my life.  I spend the morning doing more walking around, up Michigan Avenue with its lovely planters to the old Water Tower; along the river across its bridges; and to the Merchandise Mart. What amazes me about Chicago is how an Art Deco building like the Merchandise Mart can coexist with the nearby Gothic, French Renaissance, Structural Expressionist, Beaux Arts, Neoclassical and Chicago Style architecture.  Even the horribly ugly Daley Center is rendered less offensive by its proximity to much handsomer structures.  All I can say about the afternoon’s pilgrimage to Wrigley Field is that it was a dream come true.  It seems smaller in person, but is beyond a doubt the perfect place to watch baseball.  For the record, I paid almost $180 for two tickets in section 240, at the end of row 13; the paid attendance was 41,106; the Cubs beat the White Sox 4-3 off a home-run in the bottom of the 9th.  I was glad to call my dad during “Take Me Out to the Ballgame”.  We beat the crowd back to the Addison station and made our way via bus to a store called Penelope’s in a neighborhood near Wicker Park.  The shop girl explained the abundance of young people was due to the relatively low rent (her three-bedroom was $1,000/mo.)  Miriam bought some nice new clothes.  We rode the train back to the Loop and visited the Art Institute, where we saw many wonderful sculptures and famous paintings.  They even had furniture.  We got in one last evening walk before a late dinner.  The city still felt very safe at eleven o’clock, and the weather was cool and the sidewalks busy.

The next morning we met up with an old friend of Miriam’s, drove through the downtown one last time then had a delightful time at the Brookfield Zoo (gallery coming soon).  We stayed Saturday night at a great hotel nearer to O’Hare.  It was a much better value than the considerably more expensive Hyatt Regency on Wacker Drive. We spent all of Sunday travelling home, including what seemed like an eternity at Hartsfield-Jackson in Atlanta.  I was sitting on the wrong side of the airplane to get a good shot of Gainesville as were were descending, but I got this shot of Waldo Road.  We arrived home at six o’clock on Sunday evening after leaving our hotel at 6:00 AM that morning.  It was a tough day.

I love Chicago, and if it weren’t ludicrously cold for months on end I would want to live there.

This year, thanks to the magic of radio automation, I was able to easily get time away from work to visit family in St. Petersburg. Mrs. Hill and I made our way south on Christmas Eve’s Eve.

It was my intention to stop at the Sam Ash store in Clearwater (formerly Thoroughbred Music, a Dana Heritage Project Historic Site), but it was getting too late by the time we reached Tampa to hope we’d make it to that store before it closed at six o’clock. Then I remembered that there was a guitar store or two on Hillborough Avenue in Tampa. I had not traveled down that stretch of US 92 between I-75 and Dale Mabry for well over a decade, and it has changed almost beyond recognition. It was once one of the narrowest four-lane highways in America, with no room whatever for driver error. At six wide lanes with a median, it is now hard to imagine how narrow it once was. The only indication you get is at the bridge crossing the Hillsborough River. While the west-bound lane is a new span, the east-bound lanes still use the old vertical lift bridge I crossed countless times when I was a kid and my dad lived in Seminole Heights.

The Guitar Center is a pretty good store for those looking for new Fenders. I was interested in playing a couple different models, to compare neck finishes and pickups. When I walked in a fellow asked if he could help me find anything. I said, “I’d like to play the ‘52 Hot Rod Telecaster through a Twin Reverb. Lo and behold, they were right before my eyes, one atop the other. He gave me a pick, and I tried it out for several minutes before switching to the Deluxe Series Telecaster and finally the American ‘52 Reissue. The pickups on the ‘52 RI were by far my favorite, with extreme treble. I also really liked the sound and feel of the Deluxe Series Stratocaster, and the beautiful color of the Yngwie Malmsteen Stratocaster. The twenty minutes we spent in Guitar Center were torture to Miriam.

We made it to St. Pete around 6:30, and we treater Marshall and Grandma to dinner at Applebee’s. Our waitress was super nice. I wasn’t sure if I liked the hamburgers at Applebee’s, but it turns out I do. Not as much as Chili’s, but not bad. I couldn’t eat my fries, and we took them home. Back at Grandmas we chatted until after ten o’clock, then went to bed.

On Christmas Eve, Grandma was delighted to receive a series of phone calls, bringing news good and bad, starting with word that my Aunt Julie would be picking my Dad up and bringing him to St. Pete to continue his search for a driveshaft for his BMW. (By yesterday he had found an exact replacement transmission, so he could use his original driveshaft.) We also heard that Uncles Joe and Charlie’s dad had been admitted to the hospital, which is unfortunate. Then Heather called and said she would be coming by later in the day. Indeed she did, and brought Liam and Harper. We hadn’t seen them in two years, and they’re much bigger. Harper enjoyed playing with the same old toys Heather and I had played with when we were children. In the evening, when Grandma went to church, Miriam and went driving around the downtown area of St. Pete, looking at the sites and the lights. We looked at the city from the roof of the Pier. Later that evening we watched It’s a Wonderful Life.

On Christmas morning Grandma gave her gifts to Marshall, Miriam and me. Marshall got a tambourine; Miriam a blanket which Grandma stitched by hand; and I got another selection of old tools that had belonged to my late grandfather and great-grandfather. She even gave me a framed photo of me with my father and grandfather–perhaps one-of-a-kind–but I forgot it when we left on Wednesday. We went to the new home of my cousin Jessica, which is spacious and bright. Plus, she has one of the most beautiful white cats I have ever seen. Back at Grandma’s, I had a great long talk with Dad, then Miriam presented her magnificent eight cheese lasagna, which everyone loved. Grandma showed us the present that Connie and Charlie gave her: two stars named for her and Grandpa.

Wednesday morning I helped Grandma by replacing a light on her car above her license plate. We gave her our old carpet shampooer, and got on the road at about noon. On the way back home, I discovered how the Sam Ash store on McMullen-Booth Road is a pale shadow of its former Thoroughbred Music glory. The weather was warm and nice, but there were many more cars on the road than I would have liked. It makes driving fatiguing. I-75 is becoming increasingly congested day by day, and will soon have far more cars than it can safely accommodate.

We got home around 3:30 and were glad to see Moggie again. A fine Christmas.

Thanksgiving has come and gone, and this one was memorable, if not quite what we all imagined it would be.

It began for me on Wednesday the 21st, when I drove down to St. Petersburg to spend the evening with my grandmother - something I always enjoy. The drive was exceedingly slow due to heavy holiday traffic, which only cleared southbound in Wildwood, where the Turnpike begins. But I arrived in St. Pete eventually, and Grandma and I chatted into the night. I slept comfortably, and, as an added bonus, my cousin Marshall–who is presently living with my grandmother–has an Arctic White Fender Stratocaster.

Grandma and I chatted away Thanksgiving morning, and eventually made our way to my Aunt Julie’s new house in Pinellas Park, which was actually quite a nice place, with a huge back yard and a garage tailor made for Thanksgiving dinners. Of course, it is a custom in my family to sing a hymn in lieu of a spoken prayer, and this year was no different. One of these days we ought to make a recording of it, so that ages hence we’ll remember what it was to spend Thanksgiving at a Hill household.

Uncle Tom, Dad and I gathered around and flipped through Connie and Charlie’s scrapbooks of their roadtrip down Route 66. Miriam would have enjoyed that. But before too long I had to make a road trip of my own, back to Gainesville to spend what was left of the holiday with Mrs. Hill, and help her organize our own Post-Thanksgiving in what ever way I could. The drive back was considerably less congested, and in the absence of traffic, I enjoyed crossing the Howard Frankland Bridge, speeding through Tampa, and passing a favorite old landmark. I even made a short detour as part of the Dana Heritage Project, which I will detail in a future post.

Our premiere Post-Thanksgiving was to have been a happy gathering of combined families, an idea Mrs. Hill had, and she pulled off something remarkable, bringing together over a dozen people whom otherwise would have had no home-cooked meal. Unfortunately, my grandmother fell ill, and my mother had to work, so their absences were felt. But the food was delicious, and Miriam’s efforts were super-human.

My father bravely drove alone in his 1983 BMW 320i, which he loves. But the sudden death of his transmission at the Newberry Road exit spelled the end of his car’s journey under its own power. After some confusion regarding his exact whereabouts–I thought he was at the Red Lobster, when, in fact, he was on the Interstate off-ramp–I met up with him, and we got his car to a safe location in the Borders parking lot and made our way home for dinner. But we had to leave early to take advantage of the little remaining daylight, and attempted an on-location repair with no success. An improvised tool proved ineffectual, and the appropriate-but-pricey Craftsman version was too large to fit in the limited space beneath the car. While I was in Ocala photographing a wedding the following day, Dad worked more on the car, only to come to the conclusion that repair was likely impossible. Sunday the 25th was spent arranging for the BMW to be transported back to Pasco County. The best solution we could find was a trailer attached to a U-Haul. It worked fine, and the fellow at the Gainesville U-Haul even gave us a deal. So, U-Haul is hereby removed from the Axis of Evil.

My father’s automotive calamity was an unexpected expense and frustration for him, I know. On the other hand, I was able to spend more time with him than I had in a decade. And you can’t put a price on that.

My love of trains is well known. But did you also know that I am fascinated by African geography? For instance, the only mountain in the world I am interested in climbing before I die is Kilimanjaro. I was amazed by the NPR story of the runners who crossed the Sahara. I love The African Queen. And I am fascinated by the geography of the Congo.

So, finding this New York Times story about the railroad in Congo with an accompanying photographic slideshow was especially poignant to me. It’s a sad story about a kind of poverty most of us in the United States could not possibly imagine, and yet it is a way of life for millions of people. I’ll try and think about that next time I am upset by traffic, as I sit in my air conditioned car.