What a Wonderful World

I stepped out onto the sidewalk after a brutal day at the office, and before hopping on my bike, just marveled at the weather. That's what we do in Chicago when the weather is fine. We marvel. It just doesn't get any better.

And I said to myself, Why, oh why did I say NO to the ballgame? FD had an extra ticket to see the White Sox and he threw numerous hints at me that I should go, and I said, "No way, dearie, it's Monday." If it had been Tuesday, then it would have been, "No way, dearie, it's Tuesday." Just no interest in the noise, the drive down to US Cellular, the hassle to park the car.

And I'm a North Sider, a Cubs fan. FD's from St. Louis. What does he know?

So I hopped on the bike and on my way home, all of the problems of the world started crashing down. It was worse than missing a perfect night for a ballgame. It became an all-the-sick-people, all-the-sad-people, what-a-lousy-economy, when's-the-next-terrorist-attack, and damn-genocide-anyway night.

And I'm tired and hungry and there's nobody home to join me for dinner. And no energy to cook.

But I like left-overs, so it's okay.

I switched channels on my bike radio compulsively while riding and hated everything on that, too.

And then. Louis Armstrong, What a Wonderful World found its way into my consciousness from the tiny transistor speakers on the handlebars.

And at that moment, as if out of a Blue Cross Blue Shield health insurance commercial, I spy a couple walking on Sacramento Avenue towards the park, probably in their seventies, him with a shock of white hair, her in sneakers and white slacks. Holding hands. And neither of them looked like they'd had any work done from my angle.

The smile's back and I flash one at a kid on his bike who isn't wearing a helmet, and tap mine as if to say, Get one. He smiles back, sheepish, I know, I know. It's what I do.

It turned into a good night, all in all. And Olympic Project Runway was pretty fabulous, so not a waste altogether. At that moment the show was much better than the games.

And when FD got home he said, "Why did I bother with that? Why? Tell me! So much noise, so much hassle. I should have stayed home with you!"

And I said, "Right, honey. You should have stayed home with me. That would have been pretty wonderful."

But he'd never have wanted to watch Project Runway. I'm pretty sure.

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