There will be pictures - aka one always remembers the "first time"

Our walk today (just DH and me) was along Michigan Avenue. We toured Millennium Park - saw Cloud Gate (Anish Kapoor's silver sculpture lovingly known as The Bean) and Crown Fountain (Jaume Plensa's spitting images).

We detoured along State Street and hit Target (DH needed a belt) and the art supply store (I always need arts supplies, no?). We stopped for a coffee and watched window washers rappel down a skyscraper. DH had seen the thick ropes flailing at eye-level along the sidewalk and looked up. He knew a rappel in progress from the sight of those wiggling dangling ropes.

We listened to poetry being broadcast in honor of Poetry Magazine's 100th year of publication. Lovely to hear poetry read aloud while walking along a busy street.

We were waiting for the Chicago Art Institute Museum to open.

The sky opened up as we waiting in line outside and, as we passed the standing lions (not lounging like Patience and Fortitude at the NY Public Library) guarding the museum, I thought about my first time.

I believe it was 1975. A good friend was getting married and I was invited to Chicago for the wedding. And it was Christmas time during an extraordinarily cold winter. I made the trip downtown with friends twice. We gazed at the amazingly decorated windows. And we visited the museum.

This country girl finally stood face to face with Van Gogh and Picasso and Monet and Manet. I remember the paintings still. And I visited many of them today.

And, while it was still wonderful to see my old friends of canvas and wood and paint and inspiration, it was not like the first time.

There were tears in my eyes today. Back then I wept.

One always remembers the first time.