Chicago Italian Ice, Instead of NATO

1068 W Taylor St, Chicago, IL (between Carpenter St & Aberdeen St)

Mario's Italian Ice. Taylor street. This place is a mainstay of Chicago, and Taylor street itself. I have been coming here since I was a teenager-watching the neighborhood shed the Jane Addams Homes (a token building still holds on- there is talk of turning it into a museum...) and don expensive townhouses and trendy restaurants. I found myself there this weekend, rather than in the midst of the NATO summit protests.

Each spring I wait in anticipation for this gem to reopen (they close for the winter), dreaming of the watermelon Italian lemonade (Italian ice) with chucks of watermelon and lemon rinds. The perfect taste of summer and childhood memories. So many memories circle around this place.


I can picture the cars lined up on a hot summer night while my high school friends and I clamor to join the long queue that forms late in the evening. We are all moths trying to make our way to the brightly lighted counter obtaining the nectar, the essence of summer.

I remember heading over there for a treat after Italian mass at The Shrine of Our Lady of Pompeii with Don's (my boyfriend at the time) mother- a lovely Italian momma that took me under her wing to introduce me to all Italian-American- her pastas, foccacias, desserts, Italian language and expectations. She treated me like a daughter throughout, even after her son and I parted ways. I'd go over to her house and together we'd cook and she'd continue teaching me Italian as only a mother can do. She was probably the reason I dated her son for as long as I did.

I remember heading there before the fourth of July fireworks one year when I somehow convinced my family that standing amongst what appeared to be the entire city, and then some, to watch fireworks was a good idea. The line on days like that is thick, but always worth the wait. A calm anticipation keeps order- I don't believe I have ever experienced pushing or shoving even though the three lines are never very clear. It is a place where, while waitng, you can chat with your neighbor who may be from anywhere- people come from far and wide.

If you've never been, you are missing out. Go there, now~ and try a watermelon (or a peach when it is in season). And while you're there, pick up a bag of lupinis. They are a fun addition and an acquired taste, but one worth acquiring.

Here's to summer!

Taking It Slow

Slow moving is not something synonymous with my normal state of being. I tend to move at a pretty good clip, weaving in and out of other slower pedestrians, rushing to the next thing on my ever mounting list of to-dos.


So much is missed in the rush of things. I am sure I will be surprised at how quickly death arrived when I reach it, regardless of whether it is tomorrow or 50 years from now. And my break neck speed is not helping. It is the journey we are supposed to savor, not just the destination.  A mantra.

Now, having just completed my stint on crutches, a good six week endeavor, I am required to walk slowly. My knee will not allow what the rest of me would like to do. Annoying? Yep! But, it has also given me time to enjoy the falling of dusk on my walk home from the train. I have a chance to actually enjoy the birds chirping as night falls upon the neighborhood. I get my daily update on a two story full gut-rehab along my path home- watching the beginning demolition through the installation of new windows. Each day something new. In my normal “bat out of hell” rush to and from the train I would miss all of these changes. Instead of noticing the changes as they occur, I would be surprised at the completed project.

Oddly enough, I am enjoying the slowness- watching the ants journeying to their destinations- on their own missions. I have met neighbors I have never spoken to, let alone seen. Taking time to notice the wild nature that grows so well within its urban habitat, I smile at its ingenuity. Watching my transitioning neighborhood lurch slowly forward, with new shops filling abandoned spaces, I am again excited at the reinventing of the old. New lights illuminating the anonymity of the darkness.

I stroll passed, sharing in the smells of another’s dinner hanging on the evening breeze- it warms me and reminds me that life exists behind the closed doors - each weaving their own stories and histories, which remain secret to outsiders. Maybe I am sharing in their secrets, just a little.

Winding clocks Backward (A poem)

Once we were free,
Without time on our heels
Winding clocks, still mysterious in movement and rhythm
Bees demanded our attention, not world politics
We did what we would, what pleased us
Flitting like butterflies through the neighborhood
With sunlight tangled in our wild hair
Wild as our thoughts and dreams, running
Bare feet touching every other step
In the tall grass of our safari fields
Searching out large and small game
Seeking knowledge not found in books
Or on advertisements
Cupping grasshoppers and crickets alike
Listening to their wise words and sharing our secrets
Knowing our secrets were safe, unbroken
Within the kaleidoscope of perfect childhood wonder
(J.Smith 2011)

flowery delight

With all the beautiful blooms around, I would like to share with you some of them that I found particularly intriguing... I hope you enjoy them as well.

The Carnival

Over the Memorial Day weekend, I ventured out to a nearby carnival. It grew out of a deserted school parking lot looking broken and, yet, oddly glamorous. The flash and glitter of the lights and quick movement of the dilapidated rides caught the eyes of the drivers-by as well any children in its line of view.

Carnivals bring out all walks of life- from the present child to the child within; each sees the magic of the flashy rides and can taste the telltale signs of summer.

As an observer, I enjoyed watching all the young teenagers with their carefree hair and carefree gestures. So wrapped up in just being. There was a time when hanging out meant so much more than doing anything else-believing the world is theirs for the taking. That time goes by so fast it is almost as if it was a dream, a prelude to real life, the adult life. I wish those teenagers well. I wish for them to keep the excitement and the appreciation of just being.