Buy me some peanuts

When you're trying to think of something fun to do with your dad in Chicago, think about going to a Cubs game.

A few months before this trip, we got the idea that this would be a fun thing to do in spite of the fact that my dad is now actually a Sox fan. It was already sold out so we got tickets from an online ticket vendor for a price that I barely want to admit to paying for these seats. They, like our opera tickets, were squarely in the Wrigley Field death zone.

This is the post that we spent most of our time looking at and hoping there were no critical plays at second base.

It was very reassuring to watch it standing there keeping the roof up and, I'm sorry to say, also significantly more fun than watching the Cubs lose a shameful 11-2 to the Brewers.

One of the favorite rituals of attending a Cubs game with my father is after the game is over moving to new seats while everyone else is busy shuffling out and then sitting there are long as you can until they kick you out.

I was at a Cubs game the day before I was born - my parents and their friends used to sit out in the bleachers and have a good old time. Not sure if it was that game, or the many others that I've been to in my life since then, but Wrigley Field always kind of feels like home. But with more peanut shells on the floor.

On the road

I'm in Chicago this evening on a long (2 day) layover en route to the great white north and got to have dinner with my father, step-mother Mykael and step-bros Alex and Justin tonight. Alex leaves Saturday for his first ever trip to Europe which triggered a barrage of nostalgia and unsolicited travel suggestions. My father remembered hitch-hiking through Germany ("when you didn't get a ride by nightfall, you would just walk a ways from the road into the fields and end up sleeping in a ditch or wherever you could find a good spot") and Mykael offered practical advice ("sometimes wine is cheaper than water") and a lot of mini-shampoos and conditioners. There was heated debate as to the appropriate number of pairs of socks to bring on a four-week trip. (I say three.)

At some point, my father wandered off down the hall. (It happens.) He came back with his passport pouch from 1972, complete with international student ID and a handful of now green Kenyan coins.



Wow, Dad! Check out that photo!

Have a great trip Alex!