The Northern Suburbs

Chicago is an October sort of city even in spring. -Nelson Algren

Wilmette - cobblestone streets and stately elm and maple trees

It's been a wonderful opportunity for me to be here in the northern suburbs of Chicago at this time of the year as my book takes place. Worth returns home to these parts (he's been living in New Jersey) after his mom dies just before Halloween. Although I've probably soaked up enough sensory data in my decades of life here to complete the book, it doesn't hurt to be immersed in this sullen atmosphere just as I'm trying to finish my book. 

So what are my impressions? Primarily, I've noticed that outside of the tragedy of losing his mother, Worth would be inundated by the delightful melancholy of the season, the sense of loss and endings and bittersweet release. Sounds depressing, but with the shocking colors that nature provides as a sort of visual compensation and the macabre silliness of Halloween, it's really quite exquisite . . . in a sad sort of way. Sort of a death-as-a-part-of-the-circle-of-life thing, which is one of the reasons that it's perhaps my favorite time of the year (and, not surprisingly, Worth's).

Although not much of it takes place right on the lakefront, the shore of Lake Michigan in autumn has a singular feel. It's sort of an Uber-October habitat, where waves drown out the sobs and the mist rinses the tears off your cheeks. Okayyyyy, maybe I got carried away there. Suffice it to say that it's as enjoyable for me to be along the lakefront in fall as it is in summer.

A thick bed of leaves carpet the ground just as the gray clouds take up residency for the duration

If this sort of desolation doesn't make you weep openly, you have no heart my friend

Can't you just feel the sand in between your toes and cool October wind on your face

Just for shits and giggles, here's a few other pictures I've taken around the 'burbs:

A pier on the lake

Erin on that same pier on a chilly morning

(I had to fight the impulse to move the red chair in line with the others for this picture)

"Glorious Autumn, thy multi-hued leaves are a harbinger of my own impending demise . . . sweet, sweet bummer" (Longfellow?)

New England

The Last Leg Has Begun

An autumn sky over Lenox Dale, Massachusetts

How suddenly the tide can turn. Less than three days ago we were camping next to the beach on the Outer Banks, sunburnt and sandy, and now we have unearthed our woolen hats, gloves and fleeces from the bottom of our suitcases and donned them outside. We are officially in the north country now. The time for sandy beaches and swim suits is behind us and it's all about the leaves turning now. That's right . . . fall color! We are officially that (semi-)despised animal up here in New England: The Dreaded Leaf-Peeper. We stumble around the sidewalks, blocking the way for locals, gawking at historic white churches, picture-framed with yellow and red foliage. We buy maple syrup and drive at obnoxiously slow speeds, pointing at fields, commenting on picturesque stone outcroppings and snapping pictures out the car window.

Right now we are at Jamie and Jodi's house in Massachusetts. Jamie used to live below me at a coach house on Clifton Street in Chicago and they both moved back here to his home state 14 years ago. They have two wonderful daughters, Charlotte and Sofia, the oldest who was two years old the last time I saw her at Jamie and Jodi's house down in Hyde Park. Erin and I were originally going to stop by for only a night or two but it seems like we won't be leaving until after our fourth night (we promise to leave tomorrow, guys).

Jamie, Jodi, Erin and me on top of Monument Mountain (and their dog, Bay, to the right of Jamie)

Jodi, Erin and Jamie ponder . . .

. . . the awe-inspiring view from the top of Monument Mountain

I love natural beauty and history, so New England has always been a favorite place of mine (although I haven't been back here in over a quarter of a century). It seems like every street you drive down has a historically significant house and every town was either the site of a revolutionary scuffle or was the hometown of some great writer, poet or politician. Edith Wharton's house -- The Mount -- is down some side road a mile away, nearby Stockbridge is where Norman Rockwell lived and Monument Mountain, where we hiked the other day, was where a picnic attended by Nathaniel Hawthorne and Herman Melville gave Melville many powerful ideas for a little book he was working on at the time called "Moby-Dick" (Melville was supposedly inspired by the humped shape of the Berkshire hills which he could see from his home at Arrowhead and he later dedicated the book to Hawthorne). When I walked to the liquor store last night to get a bottle of wine, I was disappointed not to see a plaque on the building commemorating something of historical significance. And this picture below is not of an exclusive country club, but the Lenox Public Library (which -- Big Surprise! -- happens to be on the National Registry of Historic Places):

Lenox Public Library

Yesterday we went to Stockbridge to check out the Norman Rockwell Museum. Although Rockwell was never considered a serious artist, I've always had a deep appreciation for his sly and expressive illustrations. I wanted to be an illustrator myself when I was younger and I found his observational and technical skills to be staggering.

One of of my favorite Norman Rockwell paintings, "The Problem We All Live With" is at the museum

And finally, a random collection of clouds and colors:

FUN FACT: The Lenox High School sports teams are nicknamed The Millionaires. Perhaps their mascot could be Pennybags from Monopoly: