What I’ll Be Drinking for the Rest of the Summer

The dreamy and verdant possibilities of early summer have already melted into the haze and sluggishness of late June.  Instead of charting out a novel, or planning a stargazing trip, my mental energy is focused on simply avoiding a sunburned noggin and counting the days until my neighborhood grocery store reopens.   I’m already at the point where I’ll settle for a few cookouts and a bit of mild, age-appropriate mischief.  At least I already know the most important thing:  what I’m going to be drinking.

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Chicago is, For Me, No Longer Cursed

By the time I lumbered into Union Station late Sunday afternoon, I was exhausted, grumpy, over-budget, sunburned, and, ironically, kind of hungry.  But the moment I slouched down on one of the ancient benches and let myself be hypnotized by the delicate light streaming through the windows high overhead, what I really felt was overwhelming relief.  I think I took care of my Chicago Curse.

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