In full disclosure I should mention the picnics were very uncomfortable for a gangly pre-teen who made the Potato Sack Hop Race look like a Titanic re-enactment (complete with screaming); baseball games were spent in the outfield either scared of losing a tooth or were spent planning an escape; Lord help the wrath of Dad when commenting on the store-bought apple pie.

Still, my childhood was relatively OK.

Like most good worker-wannabe's, I made the 25-mile move into the heart of Chicago to work for both artistic and economical reasons. And though both have been rewarding, respectively, it's the little things of city life that make it so wonderful. No politicking bums but singing ones. One tunesmith stands by my train stop singing the same two songs all the time. The thing is, he's always on pitch, noon or night, and at Christmas he sings the same two Christmas songs. He should record.

We all have our El/train/subway stories, but one that stands out is a clear example of fabulous city life.

An early-morning Saturday (before noon) train travel was interrupted by a man yelling behind us. The voice was that of a Mr. Bojangles-type, complete with rasp and a world-weary smokiness to it. We stared out the window filing the crime report in our heads until we noticed the tone of the conversation; this wasn't any random drunk yelling the tourists, but true-blue city dweller giving Canadian tourists directions in our fair town. He might have lost his “indoor voice” but there was no hostility at that pitch, only an inquisitive “what brings you to Chicago?” and “enjoy yourselves!”

I love the city.

Another time I was walking back to my palatial estate when I noticed what must have been a real estate agent showing a couple around the neighborhood. As I walked closer the real estate agent became most interesting as he was an older man, mustached, professional looking and was wearing a full length brown mink coat. And stunning black heels.

I love the city.

Of course I'm leaving out the times I walked past a doorway only to have the strangest comment uttered in my direction. "No hair and I feel fine!" "If it was jerky it didn't taste like jerky." "He held my hair and took the apple pie back."

Now, does one necessarily see these things in the suburbs? Possibly. I never did, but what do I know. I disowned myself from the town of my youth and adopted a new hometown that had a better slogan.

The point is you get a different perspective of life with a different cross-section of people that you usually don't find in the spread out and supposedly mellow atmosphere of the suburbs. Here, as in life, you can step outside the ballpark to see how the game is being played.

And it isn't just this lakefront habitat that is so striking to me; I just love the city.

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