It's the first day since mid-June that the city hasn't felt like the center of Dantes Inferno and the temperature was in the comfortable low 80's. Cooler in our nosebleed section of the Friendly Confines of Wrigley field. We had a fabulous bird's eye view of the boats on the lake, passing el trains, empty rooftop clubs and the growing crowd in the bleachers and the expensive box seats. As you can see from the clock on the photo, the game hadn't started yet, and before the stands filled with spectators, I asked a nice couple to take a picture or our little family of 3 with my camera (a spotty tradition dating back to when our son was a baby). The fellow did a great job. Turns out they are moving from DC to LA and visiting major and minor league ballparks en route to their final destination. Of course, I returned the favor with their camera so they would be together in their photo.

We also had a great view of the Braves creaming the Cubs but still had a wonderful time in a place that was part of the fabric of my childhood. For some reason a lot of intense memories surfaced today. A few stand out.

For a time the Cubs had a quaint dollar promotion, "Ladies Days", on Wednesdays. When I was a youngster my mother took me to one where we were the only other spectators if you exclude the little old man who kept sidling up to her. And she held the program over my head to protect me from errant foul balls (none of us have good depth perception). 

And there was the summer, as a teen that I spent several Saturdays on my friend Anita's roof, drinking warm cokes and watching the Cubs lose. This was when the buildings around Wrigley Field were cheap rentals and my friend, who I met at my summer job in the plastics factory, lived in a one bedroom apartment on the fourth floor with her mother and eight smelly cats, a few flights down from those free roof top seats. I got sunburned and charred my butt in scorching hot metal folding chairs, as their feet sank into the mushy roofing tar, leaving telltale pockmarks that nobody seemed to care about.  Anita, her mom and the janitor kept the door propped open all summer long.

It's been a year since my last visit, but the day was glorious in spite of the score. En route, two sublime el rides -- we chose the Brown line because I like riding above ground. And were fortunate enough to share our car with about eight exhuberant passengers from Italy -- all with cameras, all taking in the spendid sights of our city -- I must have heard "bello!" about a dozen times as we crossed over the Chicago River. They disembarked soon after on Chicago Ave. chattering in Italian about Water Tower Place...