Urbs in Horto

This is the latin motto of the city. It translates to English as City in a Garden.

Hmm...

I Will

After the great Chicago fire, the city adopted the motto "I will." Below is an image of a semi-centennial poster for the fire. I find this apropos to our project and something that Maira might hook her ideas into if she lived in Chicago.

Image is from: http://greatchicagofire.org/view-item/620

Further information on this adoption can be found on the Chicago Public Library site.

fragments

I was taking a look at the chapter I am going adapt this weekend, CELESTIAL HARMONY, on the original New York Times Blog...and I decided to read the comments. I came across this one, by Joe.

"I don’t know what it’s about–this hat, collar, Kepler thing–but I do know what it is: beautiful. Thanks for entertaining sonambulists who lie awake trying to put the fragments of similar non-sequiturs together."

Sonambulism is the phenomena of sleepwalking.

I think Joe's comment sums up how I often feel about the book when trying to describe it or articulate why I love it so much. I do not what it is, but it is beautiful. And that's enough for me.

From One Cafe to Another

From one cafe to another, both on Milwaukee Avenue. Starbucks off of the Damen stop where I delivered Mr. Waldron's commission to Cafe Sonori in Jefferson Park of the El stop by the same name. There was a little girl on the train in between with her grandparents. With her red hair and long porcelain face, she looked like a doll sitting on her grandma's lap. She very obviously and very verbally bored with the train. She lamented, saying that she wished she could apparate and disapperate like they do in Harry Potter so she wouldn't have to take the train, aka muggle transport.
I giggled inside.
I listened as she implored grandpa to take a seat so she could sit on his lap. I watch as she dug into grandma's bag for miniature candy cane they had picked up along the way as she told both of them about school.
Grandma asked her if they had done everything she wanted to do in a manner that said she was asking, "see how much we love you?"
When the little girl, who by now I had learned was named Alexis sat down in a newly vacant seat, sans grandpa's lap, I surreptitiously took a picture of her and her delicate face.

this feels like maira

-kat

A Sign...

It was more than just a sign. It was more than words. It was her beacon. It was her own personal lighthouse. "Stay Away From Lonely Places," it read, all lit up with white light. She knew this advice had saved her life. The most beautiful advice.

Quiet Crackle

Each piece has it's own identity. A soft blanket that comes together ever so delicately, merging into one large mass. Fragile. Resilient. A beautiful, unachievable perfection that quickly disappears. It is awaited and loathed. It delights and stifles. It creates beauty and obstacle in it's final destination. Cold and wet. Children make you their weapons and hold you sacred in their memories. Adults push you aside and forget the pleasure you once brought with each new winter.






For the first time in my life I saw the city buried beneath your casual heaviness. I awoke at 6.30am and found a calm, quiet place- the only sound was the faint crunch made with each of my heavy, awkward steps. My street was quiet and covered. Everyone I encountered smiled and laughed and waved. The city was under your spell, binding us all together for an hour, a day, a week. But each day you disappeared. Your perfection faded. The good will dwindled. But I knew you would be back, I just could not predict when.