When Jean called this morning I said, “Guess what I had for breakfast.” “What?” “I’ve eaten three of the Fannie May chocolates that Bill gave me for Valentine’s Day.”
“Rose Mary! Chocolates at this time of day?” “Certainly!” Chocolate is suitable at any time — breakfast, morning break, lunch, mid-afternoon pick-me-up, hors d’oeuvre, dessert, midnight snack . . . You can even have chicken molé made with chocolate for dinner. There is no doubt in my mind that the ambrosia of the gods was chocolate.
Bill’s niece, Lynn, left a message, remembering a cold winter’s weekend in Chicago several years ago with her and her husband, Rick. It was one of those fun — and funny — times that become the stuff of heart-warming reminiscence. No one knew better than Rick how to have fun. His mantra was, “Let the good times roll!”
A dedicated, championship-caliber golfer, he was always up for something new. First we went to the Art Institute. Afterwards, he said, “Let’s stop and have a little drink.” Next came the Museum of Contemporary Art. A “sculpture” called “Hoover Breakdown” featured a wooden, upright vacuum cleaner with its parts laid out on the floor. Perhaps it symbolized President Hoover and the Depression. There was a collection of items that you’d store up against the wall of your garage — stacks of newspapers and miscellaneous stuff. Also, there was a grocery cart. Perhaps it represented world hunger.
Not our idea of great art, but that was the happiest museum I’ve ever been in. After the sublime art of the Art Institute, this stuff struck us as hilarious, and we weren’t alone. We could hear the laughter of others echoing through the galleries and open stairways. After we finished, Rick said, “Time for another drink!”
It being Valentine’s Day, the earliest reservation Lynn could get at the restaurant where she wanted to dine was ten o’clock. The waiter was haughty, borderline rude and impatient. When Lynn and I couldn’t make up our minds about which dessert to choose from the cart he snapped, “Would you please hurry up? ” He received a miniscule tip, and I told the maitre d’hotel about him on our way out.
Thoreau wrote about winter in Walden: “We are accustomed to hear this king described as a rude and boisterous tyrant, but with the gentleness of a lover he adorns the tresses of summer.” As you know, I enjoy Thoreau’s writing and his philosophy. However, in this case, I think he was being overly poetical and was full of beans! I love snow, but I’ve never seen it stay on the ground as long, and I’ve had enough.
The weather can be a major trigger of memories such as the Chicago winters when we attend the Lyric Opera. The streets become veritable wind tunnels. I finally went to Burlington and bought a down-filled coat with a hood. It zips all the way from my ankles to my chin.
We were there on Monday night during the big snowstorm in January.
The reporter on the Tuesday morning news said, “The Dan Ryan is essentially a parking lot. Traffic is at a standstill for miles.” We booked another night at the Club Quarters. Usually we would have gone to the Art Institute, but it was so cold and windy that we ate at the hotel’s restaurant, had snacks and excellent café latte provided by the hotel, read and watched TV. It turned out to be a delightful day out of the loop of normal time.
Each season of my life has had its own delicious flavor: the effervescent champagne of springtime; the brandy-hot passion of summer; the mellow honey mead of autumn; and now I take judicious sips of the full-bodied, complex wine of remembrance that warm the wintertime of my being. Memories of Rick Wiles — his voice, his charm, his humor — are poignant, but he is present in the minds of those who knew him. wclarke@comcast.net