Took a trip out to see Mom
yesterday. Brought her a box of Culver's chicken tenders, French fries, and a
small vanilla shake. She ate all of it, which is pretty good considering she
always tells me she isn't hungry and couldn't eat a bite when I call her. So we
had a nice visit. My sister Sue was there and we talked about birds, raccoons,
and possums. In other words, a typical conversation with Mom. One topic we did
not discuss were her feet. For the first time since I returned to Chicago Mom
did not complain about her feet, and best of all she did not pull up her pant
leg, pop off her shoe, and show me her swollen and sore feet. I was very happy that she was feeling good, and happy
to not see her little foot that usually looks like a loaf of yeasty bread that
has risen a bit too far in the bread pan.
The trip out to Tinley Park
was quite an event. I brought one of the dogs along, Scout. Through all the
traffic jams and highway travel, Scout was very quiet. Which I took as a good
thing. It wasn't. Turned out that the stop and go on the Kennedy Expressway had got her
sick and she puked in the back seat. Yes, the Kennedy Expressway. For thirty
minutes, from Western Avenue to the Jane Byrne Bad Idea Interchange, we crept
along at an average speed of -5mph. At least I got to see part of the air show
over on the lake front as I sat there in traffic. As I was sitting there I
thought about the fact that they named that expressway after President John F.
Kennedy shortly after he was murdered. What kind of honor is that, naming
that highway after him considering that the words "Kennedy Expressway"
are usually preceded by the words "the fucking"? And then it dawned
on me. That is the perfect name for that expressway.
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| ...Mr. President... |
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