As my solo afternoon in Chicago unfolded, the Communications Museum was closed for renovations, but Harry Caray’s turned out to be more than just a martini and sports memorabilia haven. I spent some time in Nitti’s Vault, hidden in the basement of the bar, learning all about Chicagoland mobsters. (See Post #907). I then met my wife for a quick tour at the Chicago Cultural Center involving an interesting display on the Chicago movie and musical. We then headed over to the Chicago Art Institute to see the Rembrandt showing, plus the regular attractions of Seurat’s Sunday in the Park with George (even though it was actually Friday), and Grant Wood’s American Gothic. Speaking of parks, we did pass through Millennium on the way for a quick glimpse of the “Giant Bean.”

Dinner was at Chicago Cut Steakhouse as planned to celebrate the end of my wife’s work week. I think that both my wife and I were surprised to find out that Rembrandt was the artist’s first name, putting him in that exclusive class of one-name-fame like Prince, Cher, and Madonna. It’s actually Rembrandt van Rijn, that we might have learned on our trip to Amsterdam if we had stayed longer than 16-hours and were dressed for unexpected freezing temperatures. Apparently, he’s best known for painting self portraits, but there were only four of his works on display. The promotion of the exhibit was therefore a tad bit misrepresented.

We both had experienced a couple of restless nights of sleep, adjusting to another two time zones, especially after still recovering from our Thailand adventure. As the great band Chicago Transit Authority asks – “Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?” Day and time was certainly very confusing for both of us, as we prepared to lose another hour driving into Indiana on Sunday. In the meantime, there was a controversial Cubs loss to the Angels in the bottom of the ninth and dinner at Nonnina. This required some last-minute scrambling, as our reservation at pricey Blackbird turned out to be a bust. They were obviously overbooked and tried to seat us at the bar, so we gladly moved on. Dinner guests were definitely packed-in like sardines, so we left in an appropriate huff. I was certainly happier with the Italian alternative, and we had a cushy booth rather than bar stools.

We woke up Sunday morning to slush and snow, as I chose to use the treadmill to fulfill my daily mile quota. It was no sunny day in the park, with or without George! We picked up the rental car at Hertz after a free hot breakfast at the hotel. Following several hours of windshield wiper slapping, we had arrived at the assisted living center that houses my 97-year old mother-in-law. She’s always glad for company, and anxious for some Kentucky Fried Chicken to replace her institutionalized dinner. It continued to rain and snow throughout the day, but at least I got to watch the last few holes of The Masters and Tiger’s epic victory. I also got to see the end of the Trailblazer Game 1 victory over the favored Thunder. It’s supposed to get warmer tomorrow, so maybe Monday in the park will be better?