Well, I made it back. A bit wiped out at the moment, though I've unpacked, so that's done and out of the way! (I'm an "unpack right away" kind o' guy.) Focusing my thoughts rationally enough beyond this isn't going to happen tonight (for starters, I initially wrote, "isn't going to happy" -- and when writing this explanation, it was "for srarters" and "initually"), but I figured this short song from Fiorello! should suffice.
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Heading out from Chicago this morning, and back to Los Angeles later today. I may write something this evening -- or I may have too much to catch up. We'll see. The elves taking care of the homestead have been given advance warning, so my assumption is that they'll clean up the place and leave it in the same state they found it. As we said from my days in the park service, "Leave only footprints, take only memories." Though I don't expect to see any footprints. Ahem... The trip has been excellent. I got to see some favorite spots -- the Chicago Art Institute and Chicago Botanic Garden (actually in Glencoe, long-walking distance from where I grew up) -- the Disneyland of Botanic Gardens. And I stuffed myself at my favorite spots: Charlie Beinlich's Food & Tap, Del Rio's, Walker Bros., and Chicago pizza (this time at Lou Malnati's). And of course, the Cubs at Wrigley Field. All a joy to get back to after five years away, because of the pandemic. I also spent a wonderful Mother's Day with my 96-year-old Aunt Joan (who I'm staying with) and cousin, up at the 96-year-old Deerpath Inn for their excellent buffet. Be back soon... Yes, it's true. After five years, for the first time since the pandemic, I am actually going out of town on a vacation. (I did go on a trip that I wrote about four years ago, in the early days of COVID, but that was only spending the night in another room of my home which I set up like a trip away, so it doesn't really count as "out of town.") The main reason for the delay is a wariness of traveling during COVID. And while I know a great many people have been traveling for a long time, I just haven't felt comfortable doing so. And still don't completely. But enough that I made the reservations and head off today. It turns out that traveling is somewhat like a muscle. You have to use it to keep in shape. I'm out of shape with traveling, and all the little things you have to do to get ready, but I think I'm all set. I did have one screw-up, though -- I made a taxi reservation with a mom-and-pop company I like a lot that happily are still around. A few days later, I was checking my notes about something else entirely...when I saw I'm made a stupid mistake, and ordered my taxi for another time I had considered leaving, later than the flight I settled on. Oh-so fortunately, I caught this, called the cab company the next morning, and they were able to move up my ride. So, all's well. I'll be going to Chicago, which I always love, but all the more since I have always gone there once (or sometimes twice) a year, and five years away is much, much too long. I'll be visiting some favorite locales, like the Arti Institute and Chicago Botanic Garden, visiting with family and friends I haven't seen in too many years (though have stayed in touch with, of course), a Cubs game needless-to-say, and eating at some of my favorite restaurants that I dearly miss. I can't wait. Happily, the elves will be able to come here and take over the place while I'm gone. (One had been nagging me for a couple years about when in the world I'd be going somewhere, so they could move in. Temporarily, of course. Oh, yes, he said, though I think I caught a laugh and knowing wink to his friend.) I won't likely be writing as much here while I'm away -- and the timing of posts will likely be different, considering the time zones. But I'll do my best to check in every day. If you have any problems, take it up with the elves. Three weeks back, I wrote here about the devastating Lahaina fire on Maui and having traveled there several decades ago with deeply fond memories. The town, I said, "had a sense of the past and world culture that seemed to be living all around you." I particularly singled out the Pioneer Inn, where I stayed and remembered with great affection, all the more so since it was destroyed in the fire.
"But most of all, I loved staying at the Pioneer Inn. It permeated the Old World with simplicity and warmth, and I soaked it all up, reveling in knowing not only how it fit into the whaling past, but that people like Mark Twain had stayed there. Its wood structure painted white, with wonderful wood slats in the windows, and a Polynesian sensibility crossed with New England sturdiness." I had such fondness for the Pioneer Inn that I'd kept matchbook keepsake from my time there, and embedded photos of it. I had wanted to post a photo of the place itself, but didn't think I had access to a photo I'd taken of the Pioneer Inn -- but happily I was able to find it. I've added it in the originally article. And as an homage, since I figure most people here aren't going to be going back to read it, I include it below If you didn't see Last Week Tonight with John Oliver last night, the Main Story was on the British Monarchy. If you've watched his show much at all, you know this is a topic of great, scathing interest to him -- and he's open about that. But, subjective though the report it, they're clearly trying to be objective and fact-based about the issues. And it certainly lends itself to a lot of scathing humor... With the passing of Queen Elizabeth at the age of 96, after 70 years as monarch, I was trying to think of good stories I might have about meeting your. I ended up with zero. However -- I do have one tale with does deal with crossing paths with her in a way. I've told the story here a couple of times during appropriate World Cup Football matches, originally writing it on June 18, 2014. So, accepting that this is really drawing an incredibly tangential connection, here's the tale again, along with photos as proof. Besides, hey, it's the best that I can do for the occasion. One of the Greatest Sports Miracles Ever Now that the World Cup has started, and the United States has come up with a miracle victory, I thought this would be a good time to tell the story of not only one of the greatest, unknown World Cup miracles, but one of the all-time great sports miracles, period. It's how my family and I got to see the World Cup in London, 1966, And I'm serious. Okay, no, it's not the upstart United States hockey team beating the Soviet steamrollers. Or the unknown Roulon Gardner defeating the unbeaten, invincible legend Alexander Karelin. It's not Kirk Gibson hitting a home run on one leg, or Doug Flutie's Hail Mary. But those are more remarkable physical achievements by talented athletic. This was an act of otherworldly intervention. When I was but a wee kidling, my family took a summer trip to Europe. One of our stops was London, where as fate would have it, the British were hosting the World Cup that year. As maniacal as we know the rest of the world is over soccer, England might be the home of soccer insanity. In a land known for tradition, soccer riots are de rigeur there. If you're not rioting, you're not trying. Nonetheless, my dad thought it would fun to see a World Cup match. (Note: The concept of it being "fun" to see a World Cup match is not relatable for most soccer fans, most especially those who are the aforementioned British. "Fun" is a nice get together for tea, or taking your dog for walkies. Being able to see a World Cup match in England is closer to being life-affirming.) And so, uncaring of the obstacles, my dad found out how to apply to the world lottery being held to get tickets He sent in his form and enclosed his check, and then went on with his life. Meanwhile, throughout England there was national prayer held nightly in homes throughout the country, if only the Almighty would grant them a ticket. We got four tickets. But that's not the story, it's not even close to the miracle. It's just the heavens warming up. Because, you see, we just get four tickets to the World Cup, we got them for...the Opening Match! Which would be filled with grand celebration and royalty. But thing is -- that's not the story, either. Because, again you see, featured in the Opening Match of World Cup 1968 was a team that it was likely British fans -- so knowledgeable of all the great teams in the world -- would dearly would love to see. That team was England. Yes, that's right. By just randomly sending in to the worldwide lottery, we got four tickets to the Opening Match of the World Cup between England and Uruguay, held in London at Wembley Stadium. And here's the thing: no, that's not the sports miracle, either. I should note that we were very happy to get the tickets. Not "mad-crazy-happy, my life has been made whole" like anyone in England would have been to get those four tickets, but certainly happy. But happy as in, boy, this will be fun. I mean, to be honest, one has to put this in perspective. Wembley Stadium is huge, after all. It seats 90.000 people, which is 80,000 more than the town, Glencoe, we lived in. So, the chances of seeing the match very well were small. And not being mad-crazy soccer fanatics, not being able to see the game very well in the nosebleed section would certainly lessen the majesty of the moment. But still, that didn't matter all that much, since I was pretty young and didn't know the rules of soccer all that well. (I can't speak for the rest of my family, though I suspect I knew more than my mother. You kick the ball and hope it goes in the net.) But just being there in the massive crowd, somewhere, anywhere, amid all the excitement, that would be cool. Just to be able to say we were there. Wherever "there" was. Where "there" was turned out to be -- okay, are you ready: mid-field, center line, halfway up, directly across the field from where the Queen of England was sitting in the Royal Box. Okay, that's the sports miracle. Let me repeat. With the entire world of sports fanatics converging on London, England, for the World Cup, we got four tickets to the Opening Match in which the host country England was playing, seated at midfield halfway up Wembley Stadium across from the Queen of England. Seriously. And to be clear, this isn't the fuzzy memory of a little kid recalling things far better than they actually were. Exaggerating for posterity. No, I have photographic evidence. I took pictures. (Sorry for the guy's head. I wasn't great at composition at that age.) Look directly across the field. Do you see that "box" just below the horizontal white line, marking the upper level? That's where the Royal Family is sitting. Directly opposite us. If you look closely, I believe that Queen Elizabeth is waving at you. I told you I wasn't lying. It was pretty remarkable. As I said to my dad just a couple days ago, reminding of the story, if he had decided to sell these tickets it would have paid for the entire trip. "And," he added, "your college education. And your brother's." The crowd, the ceremony, the excitement, the game, it was great. Memorable to one's bones. Absolutely wonderful, historic. There was only one disappointing thing about the match. Ever since I knew we had the tickets, one of the things I was looking forward to seeing was England score a goal amid that maniacal crowd going soul-bursting wild for the home team. (Even at that age, I grasped the concept of such drama.) And the final score of the game between England and Uruguay was...0-0. Zippo. Or as the soccer folks like to say, "Nil." Or more accurately, nil to nil. (More action photos from the collection of photo-journalist Robert J. Elisberg. Notice the compositional improvement after many minutes of experience represented here by the lack of heads getting at least completely in the way. Hey, when you're a little kid, people are bigger than you are.) So, no bursting of massive cheers by the heart-loyal English crowd at the site of the goal for their beloved home team. No cheers over a goal from anyone. On the good side, at least we weren't there to see England lose. In fact, just so you know, the zero goals were not the result of a mediocre team. Indeed, host England went on to win the world championship. They just didn't choose to get any goals that particular day. Hey, that's the way some miracles go. Sometimes, the fates decide to put the miracle in perspective. After all, you shouldn't take the good and miracle for granted. But a dozen years before Al Michaels asked the question of sports fans at the Lake Placid Olympics, I had already been able to answer the sports question. Yes, I do believe in miracles. When I next get together with the Queen, I'm sure we'll swap tales of that day. No doubt it wasn't as much a sports miracle for her -- I'm sure she had an in, or went to a scalper -- but it was nonetheless quite a day of national pomp and circumstance, so I'm sure she had to have written about it in her journal. For all I know, she's got snapshots of me in return. When talking with my dad about this the other day, he noted one other thing. "How did I get those seats??" It was a miracle, dad. The greatest sports miracle ever. At least to some people. |
AuthorRobert J. Elisberg is a political commentator, screenwriter, novelist, tech writer and also some other things that I just tend to keep forgetting. Feedspot Badge of Honor
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