Chicago Art Institute reunion and a little bit of panic tipping

I suck at tipping. I mean, I'm not a bad tipper in terms of leaving a generous gratuity, but I AM very clumsy at the actual act of tipping. So, when I went to the bellman this morning to have our luggage stored for the day, tipping anxiety prevailed. Backtrack: I forgot that cash was a thing. Pandemic times are pretty cashless, so I didn't to my usual stock up on bills before I left Minneapolis. In my wallet was four crumpled dollars that have been in there for months. Is four dollars a good tip for a bellman holding your luggage all day? Dunno. So when my worried self handed over my wad of bills, I said a bit too loudly, "there's more where that came from!" Did I mean I was going to tip again when I picked up the luggage (probably so - actually did) or was it a signal that I wasn't done with the tipping and had more bills up my sleeve? If you're new to my panic tipping, please read this entry from my 2017 trip with Alex. Once again, I slinked away, a tip-failer. My pretending to be posh has definitely come to a sad ending.

One of my very favorite places on earth is the Chicago Art Institute. I grew up in the northern suburbs of Chicago, so as a young person, I'd take the El downtown to walk the corridors and dream of becoming an artist. It's been so many years since I've seen that building - 25? 30? Too many years. But today we arted the entire day. O'Keefe, Chagall, Seurat, Sargent, Whistler (but not his mother), and all the others sent me back in time and reminded me of my age all in the same instance. Mom rode in a wheelchair through the museum, saving her walking legs for another adventure. It made for some interesting space negotiation and it reminded me of touring with George in 2019, always looking for the elevator. Thank you art, for existing and for bringing me all the feels.

After more Palmer House loafing (this time as interlopers - we'd checked out in the AM), we headed towards Chicago's famous Union Station to catch our overnight train to New York City. We had to enter a different door than when we were here last, and befoe us we encountered. the grand staircase. Ever seen The Untouchables? There's that scene when a rogue stroller bounces down the very staircase before us. Instead of a stroller, I bounced two suitcases down the whole thing, relieved that unlike the stroller scene, there was not also shooting happening. But one wrong step could have ended our trip half way down the marble staircase. I survived and am now writing this entry while sitting in the lounge, waiting for our 9:30 departure. Phew. Thanks Chicago! See you all in NYC.