Somewhere on the north side of Chicago.
Mike and I have been playing house at a one-bedroom condo in Chicago, just over a half mile away from SD and one mile from C-boy and family. It sits in the beautiful north-side neighborhood of Edgewater (or Andersonville, or Winnemac, or Uptown. The boundaries are fuzzy.) The condo allows us to enjoy our own space for a few days, visit the Chicago family, and gather our energy before returning to the heat of Arizona.
I could figure out access to Netflix.
Several television remotes sit on the coffee table and, lacking a technology degree, I need a good half hour to figure out how to use them. Astonishingly, there appears to be no HGTV, my refuge from politics, but tons of reruns. We are freely using the Netflix account that is installed. I opt for what is available so that when I forget to log out of the program before checking out, we aren’t forced to change our password once again when logging in at home.
Unsure of what to watch the first night, we settled on “Bloodline.” A few minutes convinced us we had seen it previously. Neither of us recalling the ending, we continued binge-watching. Unfortunately, the thirteen episodes of season one only add complicated twists with no resolution of issues. Which is probably why we had not completed the first season on our first go-round. I make a mental note to follow up when we get home. Most likely, we will forget we had even started it and pick it up the next time we land in this condo with the free Netflix. Maybe we will remember it the third time around.
My friends and I talk a lot about books. The litany often goes like this:
Oh, I read that! It was really good / I didn’t care for it.
What’s it about?
I don’t really remember.
Who wrote it?
I don’t remember.
Due to much practice, we can recall how to use our phones to access Google, Kindle, and Amazon.
A few pages into a book and I know if I have read it before. As with “Bloodline,” I often keep reading if the writing is interesting. I was startled the other day, however, when more than halfway through a book I recalled the described scene vividly. No part of the book before or after was familiar.
Although story is the most important element of writing according to Lisa Cron, I won’t reread a book that is poorly written. And the great thing about this time in my life, I can enjoy it as though it were the first time. The same with restaurants, music, and almost any other experience including people. Every day is new. Not a bad way to get old.
