Deborah Stribling, nee Triplett, wife of my brother Jay, mother of my nephews Sam, Dees and Robert, musician, teacher, and more, passed away this evening. Requiescat in pace, Deb.
I will post again after a period of mourning.
Card by Ann
Ann asked me to mail this to her Aunt Deb, which I did on Tuesday, December 4, 2012.
A Christmas card and get-well card, all in one.
April in December
A weather report told me it reached 70 degrees F outside today – only the third time that’s happened on a December 3 since whenever in the 19th century regular temperature records started being kept in Chicago. (Imagine the report for October 8, 1871: just over 451 F, with strong winds.)
Not that I went out to walk around much. Had much tapping work to do at my various keyboards, which is inside work. But I did go out to collect the empty trash cans in the mid-afternoon. It was like April. A good day in April, not one of those miserable winter leftover days. Go figure.
We’re sure to be slapped around by a blizzard soon. That’s what I thought last year, and I was wrong.
Winter Begins With No Bang
Been rugging up for winter lately: heater cleaned and inspected, gutters cleared of leaf debris to prevent ice dams, some tube sand and a snow shovel put in position outside the back door, heavy coats rotated back into easily accessed locations—and what did we get on the first day of meteorological winter, December 1, 2012? Overcast skies in the afternoon, temps in the 50s, and rain in the evening. Today, it was even warmer, nearly 60 degrees F. Early December isn’t always like this.
It is fairly cold at night, however, and I needed to go out into the back yard briefly at about 12:30 a.m. on December 1, and there he was: Orion, riding high in the south, followed by his loyal dog. That mark of coming winter isn’t going to change according to the vicissitudes of local weather.
The mild daytime temps meant I could string Christmas lights on the front yard bushes without freezing any fingers. Out of two outdoor strings with C9 lights—another string is battery-power LEDs—fully 13 bulbs were dead. So I went to a large retailer, looking for replacement bulbs. They had none. I looked fairly carefully to make sure, and found none, but a lot of full sets for sale.
What’s the thinking? Buy a new string, jack. We’ve got quasi-slave labor in Shanxi Province to keep busy.
I found replacement bulbs elsewhere, though not quite enough to replace all my missing ones, since buyers had cleared most of them from the shelves. Seems like there’s still a demand for C9s, despite the movement to LEDs.
South Loop Lights
I went to a real estate event in the South Loop yesterday, at a mixed-use property started in 2007 but delayed, as so many were — and still are — by the Panic of 2008. But there’s been some recovery since then. These days, the property’s in reasonably good shape, with its apartments leased and retail tenants committing for space.
It has a U-shaped layout, with the residential floors on either side of a drive that runs the length of property, and an upscale movie theater at the end of the U, which is open for business.
It’s one of those places that has a fancy bar upstairs from the lobby of the theater, which is where the event was held. I didn’t drink there, but the bar food was pretty good. Fine views of the city from that vantage. The room had interesting lighting, too, which allowed me to take pictures like this one of the small crowd.
Outside the theater, not far from the Seward Johnson statue, shines this array of lights.
Nice to see a spot that isn’t all decked out for Christmas yet. Unless this is Christmas décor that’s trying to smash the prevailing red-green-gold-silver paradigm.
“Caution, Man Contemplating Work”
“Can you see what’s wrong with it?”
A security guard asked me that today. I was looking at this statue, “Caution, Man Contemplating Work” by Seward Johnson, which is in a new mixed-use development in the South Loop of Chicago.
I started looking more closely. Two left feet? A tool held in an unrealistic way?
“It isn’t something hard to see,” the guard said. “It’ll jump out at you.”
I looked a little more and there it was — on his head is a New York Yankees cap. I pointed that out.
“Yeah, it was supposed to be the Cubs,” he said.
A Decade and a Half for Lilly
Lilly turned 15 not long ago. If I didn’t have any pictures, I’d be hard-pressed to remember a lot of her early years. That’s odd, because taking care of a small child is an intense, time-consuming business, but then again memory is a gentleman.
These days, we’re in the market for driving lessons. A risky undertaking, maybe, but also a necessary rite of passage here in 21st-century North America.
What did she want for her birthday? Money. Also a Subway sandwich, which she’s unaccountably fond of.
Skyfall
Cold days, cold nights. I’d say winter’s just about here, but I haven’t managed to spot Orion in the sky just yet. Then again, skies were mostly overcast when I took out the trash last night, except for a hazy, nearly full moon.
I looked at the imdb entry for Skyfall today and under the subsection “External Reviews” there were 440 links. Under the category “News stories,” there are 5,010 listed. So I doubt that I can add anything about the movie. Yuriko and I saw it on Saturday, while Lilly and Ann saw Wreck-It Ralph at roughly the same time. That was at Ann’s request, and Lilly went along with her at our request. I had little interest in Wreck-It Ralph, since I’m content to leave arcade video games in the past.
Skyfall is a deft piece of entertainment, everything a Bond movie needs to be and then some. Not only that, some of it is flat-out gorgeous, such as the title sequence, and when Bond and an assassin are fighting to the death in a Shanghai skyscraper.
Speaking of Shanghai: the establishing spots drove home the point that there’s been a lot of development since we were there in 1994. Of course, establishing shots can distort the reality of a place, but I think in this case Shanghai has been practically re-created since then. (But I’m glad to see that the storied Astor House Hotel, where we stayed, has been renovated rather than destroyed.)
I recognized Hashima Island, which is actually Japanese territory, but passed off in the movie as somewhere not too far from Macao. Not because I’ve been there, but because I’d read about it some years after I left Japan. It’s a ghost town that happens to be on a small island.
Mariano’s Fresh Market
This year’s Thanksgiving meat: beef ribs. We discussed other choices, with the more standard fare rejected, though I wouldn’t have minded brining a turkey again. Obtaining the last of the items for the meal on Wednesday night meant visiting the new Mariano’s Fresh Market at Golf and Barrington roads, which has been open about a month. It’s the latest Chicago-area store by the chain, which is owned by Milwaukee-based Roundy’s Supermarkets.
I hadn’t been there before, but I’ll be back. It can’t quite replace Ultra Foods, since Mariano’s isn’t a discounter, but it’s a good combination of an ordinary grocery (around here, that means Jewel and Dominick’s) and an upmarket chain like Whole Foods, without Whole Foods prices. Or so I thought on first inspection. We’ll see if that holds up. Also, there are plenty of interesting brands I’ve never seen before, so the place merits further exploration.
Best purchase: a coconut cream pie for Thanksgiving dessert. Pretty much like the pies you can get at Bakers Square, but without the ordering in advance for a holiday, and at roughly the same cost. Best product that we didn’t buy: canned Spotted Dick, in the section selling British products. Enough to make me laugh, since I was once a 14-year-old boy, and he hasn’t completely gone away.
Hub-UK.com tells us that “Spotted Dick is a steamed suet pudding usually made with dried currants, hence the ‘spotted’ part of the name, which is traditionally served with custard. Why it is called ‘Spotted Dick’ is not exactly clear. There is a similar pudding called Spotted Dog which is made using plums rather than currants but it would seem unlikely that Dick is a corruption of dog.”
I wonder how I never saw Spotted Dick at the grocery store we used to patronize in Ealing years ago, where I did see Mr. Brain’s Pork Faggots.
Branson Leftovers
Back again on Sunday, as the long Thanksgiving weekend peters out. We will be home for the occasion, since just the thought of going anywhere is tiring.
Branson is full of shows, but Joseph beat everything else I saw for sheer spectacle. Joseph is a South & Sight Theatres production, whose specialty is elaborate stagings of Bible stories, but “elaborate” hardly does it justice. The theater’s enormous, seating about 2,000, with a large stage that accommodates massive sets, large troupes of actors (including live animals, such as goats and camels), and impressive lighting and effects. The sets alone for Joseph—fittingly evoking ancient Egypt much of the time—would be worth seeing all by themselves, but fortunately not all of the effort went into sets and effects. The script tells the story of Joseph well, both in song and dialogue.
Christopher James, emcee on the Branson Belle showboat, told the trip’s best joke. I forget the exact wording, but it was a line about knowing better than to shine a bright light on stage, since too many of the audience would respond by getting up and heading toward it.
Indeed, at some of the shows I was a youngster compared to most of the audience. Such shows were heavily spiked with ’40s and especially ’50s nostalgia. But the showmen of Branson are preparing for the future. At one point, we had to wait for a few minutes outside a theater as the audience emerged from a John Denver tribute show. That is, a show spiked with ’70s nostalgia. The audience looked much younger than at most of the other shows—roughly my age.
No presidents were from Branson or are buried nearby, unless you count Harry Truman up in Independence, Mo. But I did see one presidential item: a bronze of the elder George Bush, as a young naval aviator, at the Veterans Memorial Museum.
We also visited the College of the Ozarks, which is a few miles from Branson. It’s a private Christian school whose students pay no tuition, but rather work for the school 15 hours a week. The fruits of all that work are many: among other things, we saw the greenhouses that grow orchids, a crafts building, the small hotel that the school runs, and the school’s restaurant, where we had Sunday brunch, done as a large buffet. The food was really good. Much of it is raised by students on the college’s farm.
Speaking of food, I had breakfast at a number of other places during my visit, and none of them—not even at the College of the Ozarks—offered grits. I was puzzled. I thought Branson would be south of the Grits Line, but maybe I’m wrong about that. Biscuits and gravy were widely served, but not grits. Odd.