Tuesday, September 9, 2008


Oh hi hello gentle readers. I am back from a long weekend in Chicago. As you might have gleaned from my infrequent posts to my neglected blog (sorry!), my dear husband is a photographer. Granted, he does sports and corporate photography, but most of our gigs are weddings, and we had a wedding this past weekend in a suburb of Chicago, called Geneva.

Y'all it was charming. That is really the best word to describe it....charming. It was not a contrived town like Las Vegas, when you turn your head and all you see is set design on a grand scale. It is charming without being hosed in Thomas Kinkade preciousness. I would totally live there if I did not have to work for da man.

So we drove in the scary, car-sliding rain to Illinois (since we had a ton of gear it just made sense to drive). The wedding went absolutely fine. The sky was perfect blue with fluffy clouds, and the temperature was a high of 72. The reception was fun. Gotta love an open bar - it makes for relaxed pictures - except when people abuse the open bar and are idiots, but everyone behaved at this reception. The couple gave favors to their guests; fancy wine bottle stoppers for the men, and pashminas for the ladies. There were a bunch left over at the end, so I now have three (tiffany blue, pink and burgundy) and the generous bride gave us a bottle of champagne when we left for the night.

So that was Saturday, and Sunday was all ours. We drove into Chicago proper and stayed at our usual downtown hotel. We walked around for many hours, lounged under a shady tree in Millennium Park, and ate deep dish pizza at Pizzeria Due (owned by Pizzeria Uno, but cuter). That evening we went to a niiiiice dinner at a restaurant next door to our hotel, the Capital Grille.

On Monday we conducted a bit of business, and we were back on the road to Nashville. I spent 85% of the trip coughing and sneezing, and somehow managed to get another cold, EVEN THOUGH I HAD ONE JUST A MONTH AGO. So effing unfair.

And here I am, high on Dayquil, warm with a pashmina on my shoulders, working for da man.

I left the champagne at home. Damn.

No comments: