There's a fire-gutted building on my street that's (finally) getting rebuilt. I guess the Chicago Iron Workers Local 1 got burned somehow in the process, because they're out picketing today. Complete with a huge inflated rat rearing out of a pickup truck. Where did they get such a thing? Union supply shop, or a regular inflated-stuff store? If the latter, who else might need a huge rat? It's not exactly gonna sell a lot of used cars, you know? Maybe an exterminator. . . My point is this: that's a damn robust union you've got there, with some good organization to boot. Good luck lads, I hope you're able to squeeze triple time out of the general contractor, or whatever it is you're angry about.

I was on the train this morning, watching a woman learn the hard way not to read the end of "The Great Gatsby" in public.

Mystery Envelope Thrilling Conclusion! AAAAHHH

Oh my god oh my god oh my god! My mystery envelope owner WROTE ME BACK! This is quite possibly the most Only Happens In A Movie thing that has ever happened to me. Now if I find out that this person is living in the past, or in another dimension, or whatever the setup was in that shitty Sandra Bullock movie, I'll be equal parts amazed and disappointed in the pedestrian nature of the cosmos. I mean, come on, email from the past? Stay out of it, Keanu Reeves.*

As I am in the middle of making a labor-intensive butter sauce for a German chocolate cake, I will tell you what it said in another post.

*If you watch The Soup (on E! at 9pm Fridays), you just got done saying, "Stay out of it, Nick Lachey!" If you don't watch The Soup, you should.

Mystery envelope update

I've just packaged up the card I found at the library last Saturday. I included the unopened envelope, as well as a hand-written letter:

Dear G.,

I was in the downtown branch of the public library this weekend browsing the knitting books, and this card fell out of "Knitting Without Tears." I don't know how long it's been in there, but if you're anything like me (and you must be a little like me, if you're a knitter), it drove you crazy that you lost that card to Mary before you got to mail it. Now you know where it went! Thanks for letting me carry around a little bit of a mystery for a few days.

[my name and email address]
(in case you want to let me know what was in there... or not. Just in case.)

That last bit felt so much like writing to a pen-pal for the first time, all sweaty palms and "please write me back, I'll be ever so glad! Please tell me about where you live and whether you have any pets!" Kind of goobery. Can't help it. This is fun. Updates as they come. If they ever do. This may very well be the last I see of my mystery card.

Today on the train: how is it that I was home sick all day yesterday, and it's only just now, on a massively crowded train, that I have an eye-watering urge to cough? Doesn't this cold know that the key to getting spread around is flying under the radar, rather than alerting all the meatbags around me what's up?

I might be a stalker!

On Saturday, Chris and I went to the massive main library in Chicago, downtown in the Loop. We had to pay some fines give back to our community, then found ourselves browsing for more books to take home. Chris was lost somewhere in the music section, which is conveniently on the same floor as the knitting books. As I was leafing through "Knitting Without Tears," a small sealed envelope fell out.

*DAH DAH DAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!* <-- That there is supposed to be thrilling denouement music. MYSTERY ENVELOPE!

It's got a full return address on it, along with the name "G. Van Moer," and is addressed to a "Mary Chesebro." It's a small card, perhaps of the thank-you variety, and I can't tell much through the envelope other than it's got an illustration of some leaves on the front. Clearly, Ms. G. (I think it's a woman based on the writing) wrote the card and put it in this book, intending to carry it with her until she got Mary's address. Unfortunately for both G. and Mary, due dates are a bitch.

I will find far more enjoyment in sending it back to G. Van Moer than in opening it, so I'm going to mail it in a larger envelope, along with the story of how I found it. I think I'll even include my email address, in case G. has anything interesting to communicate back to me.

Stay tuned, 1.5 readers.

Horto in Urbs (in Horto)

Chicago's official motto, in Latin, is Urbs in Horto, or "City in a Garden." One of its unofficial mottoes, of course, is Daniel Burnham's "Make No Little Plans." I would further like to submit for consideration "Don't Make Any Plans If You're Waiting for an El Train Outside of Rush Hour" and "Make Plans Only if You've Paid Mayor Daley's Plan-Making Tax of 12%."

Anyway, we started our own little city garden here in the Sky Palace today. We planted bell peppers, roma tomatoes, chives, cilantro, and sweet basil -- all from seeds. I'd really like to do hops, as well, but I don't think they're suited for our enclosed deck because 1) I think they need deep soil, rather than containers and 2) they kind of grow really really tall. But I can dream, can't I?