We spent the day with friends who have a summer home in Three Oaks, Michigan, absorbing the quiet and slow pace of a small town, eating food from the farmer’s market, engaging in easy conversation, and devouring amazing homemade ice creams (avocado, peach, mint and green tea, lime, strawberry, coconut and chocolate) made by my friend (We all scream for ice cream; Rainbow cone, a memory and a challenge). We were totally satiated, mellowed out, centered, and renewed.
In the evening, when we pulled into our garage at our home in urban Chicago, we were greeted with the following from two doors down (you can also hear my keys opening the back door to the porch and then opening the door into the house).
This was not the neighbor’s music turned up high on the stereo or boom box or blasting from inside some car, but the real thing: musicians, wearing felt and glittered sombreros, playing trumpets, violins, guitars and lots and lots of joyous people enthusiastically and exuberantly singing and dancing to these dramatically performed and obviously familiar corridas.
I love my city. I love my neighborhood.