This morning I woke up in New Buffalo, Michigan and drank decaf coffee with soy milk and stevia in the raw with one of my best buddies while sitting on a downtown bench looking out over the local clock post, Lake Michigan and the autumn clouds.
This afternoon I sat on the back patio of a south side dive bar in Chicago listening to live blues with a view of the Sear’s (refuse to call it Willis) tower with another couple of good friends while drinking the worst glass of white wine I’ve had in months.
Tonight I found a pair of Guitar Hero drumsticks in the recycling bin in at my apartment complex. Right now I’m sitting on my couch pretending to be John Bonham as I beat on the couch pillows with said drumsticks while watching the Sunday night Bear’s game. There’s a pot roast in my crock pot and the second half of a pretty good bottle of Spanish garnacha is sitting on my counter ready to disappear completely during the first half.
It’s a great day!
I hope I never start to take for granted the diversity of experiences I get to enjoy on a daily basis in my charmed life. I don’t think I will.
In the week since I’ve returned from my fairytale wedding and honeymoon, one the things I’ve heard the most is, “It must be really hard to come back to your everyday life?”
You know what? It isn’t…
While it’s great to sit and drink rum all afternoon on one of the world’s most pristine white sand beaches in Negril, Jamaica it truly is a bit of a fantasy experience. We all deserve it and hopefully at some point we all get to enjoy it, but those are the easy times really. I mean how hard is it to be at peace when you are in paradise. The secret is making the mundane and everyday a little bit of paradise too, right?
How lucky am I that so many of my regular days have very identifiable aspects of paradise attached to them as well? Very lucky I say.
So about this little dive bar. It’s a place called the Polk Street Pub. It sits next to one of Chicago’s most prolific all nude strip clubs. The interesting thing is that the strip club doesn’t have a liquor license so the Polk Street Pub sells pints and half pints for carryout, most of which wind up next store at the strip club. While I’m sure taking a bottle next door is full of tantalizing excitement, I have to say the few of those who choose to instead stay at the little pub on a Sunday are likely to have a far more unique experience for certain.
You see every Sunday from 3 until 8 pm local Blue’s musicians gather at this run down joint and set up shop on the back porch. They enter through the front door carrying bass guitars. They enter through the alley with with a set of drums in tow. If they could come in through the walls they probably would but the one that thing is certain is that they all come and they play the Blues. They mix and match with friends and strangers. They split the tips. They have you sign birthday cards to members of the band that you have never even met. Women in dresses and cowboy hats get up and dance and get down to the ground leaving too much information on the table. A guy from Philadelphia who wandered over from his hotel eats wings and celery. A couple from Grand Rapids who rode Divvy rental bikes from the loop talks about Obamacare. I just sat there with a view of the Sears (not Willis) tower and drank it all in. I drank in the Carlo Rossi Chablis. I drank in the conversation. I drank in the Blues. Mostly I drank in my life. My wonderful and unique everyday life.
How lucky am I?