After receiving a reprieve from work, J. was able to go to Ravinia with me for A Prairie Home Companion. After a brief stop at Treasure Island for supplies and at Bonjour for sandwiches, he graciously agreed to drive, a boon to my knackered back.
Despite the string of slow traffic south of Addison, we still had the time and freedom to make a quick stop at the Chicago Botanic Garden, where the Rose Garden is in bloom, along with with a number of brides. This (the blooming roses, not the blushing brides) was a rare treat for J. because he usually misses them by a few months (see: Work). After having seen flowers covered by hundreds of honey- and bumblebees one day at Morton Arboretum, I was disappointed to spot only a lone bumblebee, who wouldn’t stay still long enough for me to get a good photo. (It doesn’t help that I can’t lean over very well or very long.) What really made my day, however, were the cedar waxwings I glimpsed in the bushes. I spotted one by its yellow tail tips and got a great look at them as they flitted about. One of our most beautiful birds. J. missed them.
After J. took a fruitless spin around the gift shop, we made it to Ravinia just before the train did, and while he picked up his ticket I parked in a spot near the path that catches some shade (when it’s sunny) and a view of the screens if not the stage.
Shade wasn’t needed on this overcast day, which almost became cool enough to require a light sweater. Thoughtfully, J. rented chairs, which I have to admit is a lot easier than sitting on a blanket on the ground. One day into my fifties, and I’m already making concessions to age. I don’t like this.
As usual during the Chicago-centric show, J. disappeared for long periods, to shop at the gift store and to take photos and video before and during the show. He returned, I suspect, mainly to refuel on Pirate Booty, falafel, cheese, tuna sandwiches, and cookies.
With comfortable weather, good music and storytelling, and an obvious dearth of mosquitoes, I could have asked for no more to fend off the post-birthday blahs.