Ely Allington

Picture it: Summer 1993, Las Cruces, New Mexico, the moist, green grass of the north mall of New Mexico State University smelled as good as it looked. I was 14, lanky, long haired, too cute for my own good and way too "smart" for anyone's good, especially my own. And what thought would enter my "oh so cute, oh so smart" little head that fateful day? I wanted to spend time with a boy I had met only the previous day at church. He was fun to talk to and nice to look at and charming to boot. My cousin told me a fair few things about the boy: he was 18, just graduated from Mayfield high school, played soccer and football, and had been dating a girl named Connie who was away for the summer. My grandma had always told me, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder, for somebody else!" So, abiding that notion, I set to work on my plan: Operation ELY ALLINGTON. I was visiting my cousin, Angie, and her family and spent most of the summer in Las Cruces that year. Ely was the primary reason for my extended stay. He was sweet and handsome and fun and attentive. When he found out I was only fourteen I thought he would lose interest. He was visibly disappointed that he'd be entering college just as I'd be entering high school. It was a scandalous age gap at the time.
That day at NMSU went something like this: Angie called Ely, asking him if he'd like to join us at THE PIT, a place where college bands played for small audiences on the grounds of the university. Next thing I knew he was there, in the flesh. His black hair glimmered in the sunlight. His tan skin seemed to glow beneath his faded blue shirt. He took his hat off and swept his hair out of his eyes. I was done for. That very day we walked about hand in hand as if we'd been doing that forever. Being with Ely felt natural and right. But how could it be? I wasn't even allowed to date until I turned sixteen. Besides, wasn't he dating this elusive Connie that he never seemed too anxious to talk about? Beyond these complications was the fact that he still had a two year mission to serve, probably abroad, and I had four years of high school ahead of me. Odds seemed dismal.
Ely worked at Baskin Robbins. Suffice it to say I've tried at least 31 flavors in my lifetime and at least 24 of those flavors were sampled that very summer with Ely. Ahem, this is not a metaphor, for those of you whom I know are reading into my words here. No, no, he really let me sample just about every flavor. Well, at least the ones I was interested in.
The summer went by way too fast. There was lots of ice cream, holding hands, long phone calls and even slow dancing involved. I found myself really liking this boy. I felt torn and upset about the fact that I'd have to return to my parents' home in El Paso and start high school.
After weeks of mournful stewing I was somehow able to convince my parents to let me live with my cousin and her family in Las Cruces! I registered for my classes at Mayfield, moved virtually all my possessions into my cousin's bedroom that we'd be sharing, and commenced planning my future with Ely. What I hadn't bet on was Connie's return and what that would mean.
Needless to say things didn't work out with Ely. Connie came home, they broke up after she heard about me, Ely became withdrawn as he prepared for his mission to Japan, I started dating someone my own age (that made Ely seriously upset), and I eventually moved back to El Paso after less than one semester at Mayfield.
I never forgot my darling boy in the pink Baskin Robbins collared shirt. I would sometimes picture him as he was on the night he got his Eagle Scout: stalwart, serious, bold, handsome, and masculine. I remember crying about it one night on the bottom bunk under a sleeping Angie, just pleading with God to somehow bring us together when the time was right. Who knew it would take nearly 20 years?

TO BE CONTINUED...

Truly Truant

In high school I went through a phase where I thought attending school was optional. I didn't categorize it as "skipping" or "ditching" class. I just didn't always think it necessary to be in class in person. I'd rather walk across the street and smoke cigarettes at the café, write in my journal, or read morose poetry. Sometimes I'd manage to convince someone to while away an hour in my company. We might walk to the golf course, interview old people at the donut shop, or shop for bunny slippers. Sometimes I would just walk straight home. My mom might be there and I'd ring the doorbell. "What are you doing here, Kristin?" She would ask puzzled, and perhaps a little worried. "Don't feel well. Plus, my bra broke." My poor teenage body insisted on growing at an outrageous pace in those days. Days when my socks and my shoes were an ill-fitted match I'd just come home. Like when I tried to wear loose socks with my clogs and the socks kept bunching up around my arches and slipping off my ankles and heels. On days like that I would just walk home, socks in hand. I didn't see the point in suffering through a class or a day with bunchy socks, asymmetrical breasts, or a hankering for a cigarette. Other days I just felt like talking and not listening. On those days I would try and get a companion. Sometimes it was Ryan Markel, long time friend and fellow writer, artist, and smoker. We'd discuss the state of public education and all the ways in which it made us ill, or maybe we'd talk about sexuality and whether anyone could safely define themselves conclusively as either "homosexual" or "heterosexual". Such is the audacity of youth. Sometimes we'd plan our lives. I'd end up making millions writing commercials or singing jingles or being a one hit wonder. Ryan said he'd be happiest working in a restaurant and reading as much as he possibly could without distractions or demanding time constraints. I wanted to live in a hacienda palace. He wanted nothing more than a simple apartment. Ryan's palaces have always been fully furnished in his mind. Girls like me lack the imagination to feel secure in the mind's eye alone. I seem to require comforts the senses can enjoy "hands on". But it was fun to sit around or lie around chattering about nothing and everything all at once. Sooner or later my blasé attitude about school attendance came to a head. I had just taken a long hot shower after an exhausting half day of school. I was home. My mom knew I was there. All was right with the world. I donned my eggplant tarry robe and swirled a hair towel around my royal teenage head and stepped out into the hallway. "DING DONG!" Doorbell? Who might this be? I peeked through the peephole. No one I knew. I opened the door a crack. A short Latino gentleman in his latter fifties stood on the welcome mat, eyes greatly magnified behind thick lenses. "Are the parents of Kristin Marie Ferrell at home?" "Maybe. Who are you?" "I am a truant officer for the Ysleta Independent School District. Kristin has been truant more than ten times this semester and this is an official document explaining the legal consequences to both her and her parents…",

"Sir, excuse me, but are we in Russia? Did I miss something here? I am Kristin Marie Ferrell and I have some very good reasons for not always making it to class." "Well Miss, you may have to explain that to a judge." "Right. I'll take that document. Thank you and good day. SLAM!"

"Who was that, Kristin?"

"TRUANT OFFICER!? What kind of trick is Dad trying to pull this time?!"

Explanation: My father has a flare for the dramatic. He's been known to make a point using some very unconventional methods, sometimes involving police officers, lawyers, teachers, counselors, and judges in his dramatics. How was I to know this was legit? Well, it was. He was a real truant officer with a real legal document. My Dad must have had a tet a tet with the judge because we never went to court. He did, however, agree to attend afternoon classes with me for a few days. I never seemed to miss my morning classes so those were safely attended. I'll never forget it. There was my Dad in Algebra, Geology, and Photojournalism; my Daddy, in his tailored Texan gray suit and shiny alligator boots, briefcase, mustache, stern expression. I loved him in ways I couldn't articulate for years hence. He came to Hanks High School to make an impression on his wayward daughter: school is important. Learning is worth some drudgery, some discipline. Sometimes in life we just need to be in the right place at the right time. Do what 's right, even when it's hard. I learned those things and many more from my father. He valued education and the opportunities it afforded. I graduated from high school, went on to college, graduated with high academic honors from The University of Texas at Austin, and have been gainfully employed ever since. I owe my successes in great part to my father and mother who supported me financially, emotionally, and spiritually through my younger years. I'm glad they stressed the importance of school. I'm glad I turned out to be a pretty decent member of society, one who still loves interviewing people at the donut shop, reading morose poetry, buying bunny slippers, but one who detests cigarette smoke.

A Meditation on Miracles

Sometimes, when I'm listening to a song, it has to be a certain kind of song, I lose every ounce of my ego and I get completely lost. It's an ecstasy like nothing else, like a communion. I feel that way when I listen to The Trapeze Swinger by Iron and Wine. It breaks my heart in all the right ways. It's seriously, deliciously soul crushing. It's the words. It's the cyclical verses and how they go and go and go, same, same, same like a meditation, a chant almost. It's the layering of instruments: chimes, guitars, voices layering, little percussion, big percussion, piano, words, words, words, true little daggers hitting it right on the head, right in the heart, bull's eye. It's ethereal and yet logical, artistic and yet intellectual. How? I don't know! I don't know! But it is. It's the best worst thing for someone like me, all that truth and beauty in one ironic verse after another. Like my life, almost. One dance with irony after another. Do I seek it? Is it my fault? Do I have something inside me that draws me toward impossible things on purpose? Am I trying to fool myself? Convince myself and everybody else that I really AM trying? But time after time only going for things that I know are doomed? It's possible. But how does one stop? Apparently I am a sucker for lost souls. This manifests in a myriad of ways. I date people who are addicted to harmful things. I date people who are emotionally unavailable. I date people who don't believe in God. I date people who don't work. I date people who don't like themselves very much. I date people who are in love with other people. What am I doing? And more important still, why am I doing it? Am I one of these sad persons who loves hopelessly arduous challenges? Oh, poor little girl. I hope not. I am generally a happy girl, full of effervescent bubbles over just about anything. My default is laughing. I am most myself in a laugh. But I do such unfunny things so often. I find myself admiring the most unsuitable partners. No joke. Can't laugh.
I had a talk with one of my favorite men in this world last night. He is my friend and confidant. We were talking about my latest love interest. I was sharing my hopes a little bit. He said some of nicest things I've ever heard. I can't share it all due to the sacred nature of the material but I will share this: he said he wanted me to be happy, truly and purely. He told me I was such a good girl and that he sees me as such a fearless sort of person, navigating in a world where it would seem I don't really belong and doing so with absolute grace. I just kind of wanted to fall down dead asleep right then and there and just call it a day so that nothing else could intervene and ruin a perfect day. This friend of mine is so sensitive a guy, the gentlest, strongest, purest kind of person, full of actual love for others and so clear and expressive about it. He was concerned about my crush. He said I was the most emotionally expressive and honest person he knows and that he hoped I'd end up with someone of that caliber. This person I am crushing on seems a most unwilling character, emotionally anyway. That conversation got me thinking, what would it be like to be with someone absolutely harmless, I mean truly guiless? What in the world does that feel like? Someone without any secret agendas, no lies, no names to call, no girls on the side, no secret debts that I'll have to help pay off, no colossal ego issues? What on earth would it be like to have something honest and sweet and just kind and pure and then have it actually last? I know these guys exist. I know them. Some of them are married. Some of them are related to me. They really are that way, just unabashedly lovely, loving, generous, attentive to their wives and children and friends, me included. My band is composed of such individuals, I am happy to say. Because of this unique union we are able to enjoy playing very honest and moving music, without wit, without wanting credit, without vanity. The world can be so vapid, so substanceless, so irrelevant, mechanical, crude, and meaningless. When these moments of meaning unfurl, often unexpectedly, it can be so renewing, energizing, and inspiring. I'm just grateful for how often I get to experience these moments and how the friends I've been blessed with, the people I've chosen to be mine, offer such treasures with such regularity. May I never become so spoiled I forget to notice my miracles.

Please listen to The Trapeze Swinger

Trapeze Swinger lyrics

Please, remember me, happily,
by the rosebush laughing
with bruises on my chin, the time when
we counted every black car passing
your house beneath the hill, and up until
someone caught us in the kitchen
with maps, a mountain range, a piggy bank
a vision too removed to mention

But please remember me, fondly,
I heard from someone you're still pretty
and then they went on to say that the Pearly Gates
have some eloquent graffiti
like: “we'll meet again” and “f*** the Man”
and “tell my mother not to worry”
and angels with their great handshakes
but always done in such a hurry

and please remember me, at Halloween
making fools of all the neighbors
our faces painted white, by midnight
we'd forgotten one another
and when the morning came I was ashamed
only now it seems so silly
that season left the world and then returned
and now you're lit up by the city

so please remember me, mistakenly
in the window of the tallest tower
call, then pass us by, but much too high
to see the empty road at happy hour
gleam and resonate just like the gates
around the Holy Kingdom
with words like: “lost and found” and “don't look down”
and “someone save temptation”

and please remember me, as in the dream
we had as rug-burned babies
among the fallen trees and fast asleep
beside the lions and the ladies
that called you what you like and even might
give a gift for your behavior:
a fleeting chance to see a trapeze-
swinger high as any savior

but please remember me, my misery
and how it lost me all I wanted
those dogs that love the rain, and chasin' trains
the colored birds above there runnin'
in circles round the well, and where it spells
on the wall behind St. Peter
so bright on cinder gray in spray paint:
“who the hell can see forever?”

and please remember me, seldomly
in the car behind the carnival
my hand between your knees, you turn from me
and said the trapeze act was wonderful
but never meant to last, the clowns that passed
saw me just come up with anger
when it filled with circus dogs, the parking lot
had an element of danger

so please remember me, finally
and all my uphill clawing
my dear, but if I make the Pearly Gates
I’ll do my best to make a drawing
of God and Lucifer, a boy and girl
an angel kissin’ on a sinner
a monkey and a man, a marching band
all around the frightened trapeze-swinger

nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah …

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a8aPyBr-_S0

Guess What? I'm Angry.

It's an incredibly complicated world. There are things I simply don't understand and then there are things I wish I didn't understand but experience has taught me too much already and denial seems impossible. Like, for example, how so many men are mean to women because they are so insecure. Where did this all begin? I have experienced it again and again. Those who want you and say all the right things and then humiliate you the second they don't get what they thought they were due. Whether it's another date, exclusivity, sex, or your wallet, many men don't take disappointment well. Which brings me to my next concern: ANGER.

Why is anger a man's default so often? It manifests in a myriad of ways: jealousy, passive aggression, subtle mind games, and all out rage. I've seen all of these. Sometimes I look back at my dating life and I can see these patterns of such intolerance and even hatred for certain things women do. Specifically me. What do I mean? I mean the way they compete with me in their own heads for attention, status, power, jobs, money, everything. How dare you have talents, job offers, friends, and attention from the opposite sex? How dare you succeed? How dare you win? How dare you? Who do you think you are? Augh. It's awful.

Then there's the laziness, the excuses, the idleness. How can I respect it? I can't. That's why things have ended with the lazies. "The economy is so bad right now." Why aren't you pounding the pavement looking for work, man? "I need to be on call. My parents need my help right now running errands and helping out. A job would really clog up my schedule." Seriously? "I'm moving home to help out my parents." Yeah right. "I need to go back to school." Again? Dude, just make some money, already. This is ridiculous. "I'm almost finished with my book, invention, business proposal, hit song." Okay, how about you work a job while you develop that billion-dollar idea? WORK! Just do it! Sometimes it seems like this whole generation of guys is riding on the backs of its amazing, hard working, overly nurturing girls. It's downright outrageous. Previous generations are appalled and frankly, so am I.

Let's get to the part we always wish we could glaze over or all out ignore: sex. Some of these guys are so perverse in their concepts and expectations around sex it is literally sickening. Pornography's prevalence and accessibility has turned our guys into over stimulated nut cases. The insanity of what I've heard is available at the fingertips of our guys is appalling. The ease, privacy, and prevalence of the worst kinds of pornography available in every home in America has really introduced a serious illness into our society. Not to mention, this garbage is free. I've known seven women who have experienced divorce as a result of their husband's porn addiction, and that's just in my immediate circle of friends. I've heard this is quite a phenomenon. This may sound over the top but it actually makes a lot of sense. Think about it: porn can destroy a man's ideas around sex, making him less satisfied with normal sex. When he finds his mate is less than interested in wielding a whip, wearing a metal corset, or inviting the neighbors to join in he feels jilted. So he turns to his computer, chat rooms, prostitutes, or random lost souls he finds, flatters, and feasts upon. That's a recipe for dysfunction for any man. If he happens to be married he ruins someone else's life in the process. It's amazing but true; many of these men drag children into the chaos either of divorce, sexual abuse, or both. I've heard that this addiction, like many addictions, can cause lethargy, depression, and self-sabotage. The results are joblessness, debt, poverty, depression, divorce, criminality, and in some cases suicide. Some think pornography is just a healthy part of any normal man's life and that viewing it is harmless and even a practice that supports a robust male sexuality. I couldn't think of a more damaging lie to believe on either side of gender lines. The danger is clear from where I'm standing. It's clear.

Our world has changed significantly with the presence of on-line dating, facebook, texting, and chat rooms. Some of these things are harmless if used in a healthy way. Some of them are helpful and connective. But if used improperly, these technologies can promote seriously harmful dysfunctions such as sexual promiscuity, sexual predatoriness, and statutory rape. There is a new frontier for stalking, preying upon, and dominating women and girls and it is available in almost every home in America.

What are we to hope for? What is the dream? To end up with a guy who eats at your bank account, your nerves, your values, your soul? How much are we supposed to take? What's what anymore? Who's getting the check? Who's planning the dates? Who is reverencing womanhood? Is anything sacred anymore? Who remembers what a meaningful conversation looks, sounds and feels like? You know, the ones where you are sitting across from the person and they listen and talk and you listen and talk and no one is saying whatever he can think of to get the "in". Drop the games, guys! Please! Drop the façade, drop the cheesy money talk, the intellectual sparring, the ego massage, the manipulation, the sexy talk that's not so sexy, the pseudo-science analyses, the latest thing you read on How to Bag Chicks dot com and be a real human, man! Just a request. Just a suggestion from someone who has heard it all, all but the truth.

An Assignment from my Therapist

Dear Future Husband,

In an effort to be concise I am writing this letter in a HELP WANTED format. If it were a poem I'm afraid it would be epic. If it were a song I'm afraid it would be cheesy. There are certain things all husbands should be: kind, generous, hard working, sociable, affectionate; but my list contains those things that I, as an individual, require.

MUST BE:

1. Morally clean- this refers to clean language, high ethics, conservative sexual conduct

2. Honest- at work and in all business transactions, among friends, with family, with me

3. Fun- good sense of humor, high level of creativity, medium to high energy level, charismatic, adventurous

4. Spiritual- acknowledges the existence of God and seeks to understand His will

5. Family ready- likes kids, wants kids

6. Financially Savvy and Stable- lives within his means, saves for the future, works, earns enough to live and spend on fun, i.e. dates, trips, projects

7. Attractive and Active/Health conscious- exercises multiple times a week, eats nutritiously, takes care of hair, skin, nails, teeth, clothing, sees his doctor annually at least, sees dentist, clean home, car

8. Intelligent- educated, literate, life long learner, conversationalist

9. Good Leader- makes good decisions, sets goals and achieves them, practices what he preaches, helps others along the way

10. Good Partner- good self-esteem, kind, communicative, sharing, transparent, best friend, supportive, respectful

11. Icing on the cake: Adoring. Enough said.

Yours Longingly and with Faith,

Future Wife,

Kristin M. Ferrell

PS- looking something like Jeff Goldblum circa 1982 is a definite plus.

A Few of My Favorite Things

1. the color of the sky, opposite the sunset; that is, the sky in the east as the sun sets in the west
2. celadon pottery
3. pistachio ice cream
4. Arabian swords, the way they curve like that
5. unpolished porcelain music boxes
6. veiny leaves in the sun
   
7. Weimaraners coats and eyes
   
8. disco ball nail polish and advice from the manicurist
9. The Art Institute of Chicago's green lions
   
10. hot, hot Japanese clear soup
11. succulent plants
12. spicy chile rellenos
13. glitter with different shaped and sized pieces
    
14. chinchillas
    
15. freshly released pin curls
16. Shevari, the Goddess of Learning
17. red brick walls overtaken by ivy vines
18. second chances.....third, fourth, fifth
    
19. the smell of dark, wet dirt
20. Molly Maids
21. The Golden Girls
22. Coke Zero
    
23. beady moccasins with plenty of fringe
    
24. gold leaf anything
25. the jaunty sound of dimes in a pocket
    
26. White Sands, New Mexico
27. words
28. Ali G
29. the sound of fire, the way it pops
30. bathing at leisure, as opposed to showering in haste
31. the news
32. the liberation of Arab women, Citizenship for all!
    
33. Corinthian columns
    
34. the artichoke
35. the weight and smooth texture of a smallish river rock
36. acorns
37. crab legs in lemon butter sauce
    
38. Moonlight Sonata in C#
39. Macintosh
    
40. The Lyre
41. The Liar
42. Amelia Bedilia's outfits
43. Sirius Black
44. Radiohead
45. the ocean at night, full moon, fire, guitars, singing
46. The banjo played by Kermit the Frog
    
47. a Romanesque nose
48. a beluga whale's pure white skin
    
49. the number 5
50. lamb kabobs
    
51. the name Geneva
52. stained glass windows
    
53. fasting, and then breaking the fast
54. recurring dreams about flying over layered, multicolored sandy beaches covered in tiny lustrous shells
    
55. Burt's Bees chapstick
    
56. the novel
57. wingtip shoes
    
58. Pandora Radio
59. swimming in fresh water
    
60. longing for something
    
61. The Village of Wilmette
62. Grasshopper Pie from Baskin Robbins
63. books on CD
64. old movies
65. edible flowers in a salad
66. kissing babies
67. volcanoes, specifically the color of pahoehoe lava
    
68. forgiveness
69. snowflakes, a testament to the unique
    
70. lilies
71. the sea
72. Gothic cathedrals
73. knowing
74. baby talk
    
75. the word anadromous
    
76. my feet in cool mud
77. The works of Alphonse Mucha
78. deep sleep
79. quiet
80. geology, my favorite science
    
81. playing guessing games
82. Speed Scrabble
83. keeping secrets
84. crown molding
85. cracked paint the color of a robin's egg
86. crystal door knobs
87. the smell of new, clean leather
88. charm school boot camp
89. red pears
90. burning cinnamon sticks
    
91. Spanish
    
92. super minty body cream
93. reading old love letters
94. pumping iron
95. autumn
    
96. Karma
97. thick, fat, clean, soft, fragrant towels
98. the smell of desert rain
99. harmonies and melodies
    
100. harp choirs
101. the look and feel of a plush Persian rug

These are a few of my favorite things.

My Chi (Originally written on September 17, 2011)

I'm in love. With a city. I am in Chicago. I got here Friday morning. I'm here until Tuesday evening. Blissing out. My senses are feasting. I came here to celebrate my birthday with some wonderful people I've missed for more than five years. I lived here in 2005-06. I moved so that my husband could attend John Marshall Law School. I am so glad I was afforded the opportunity, even if the marriage ended a few months after the move had been made. I truly feel that I was meant to move here and experience all of the amazing things I did. I met some of the best people in the world. I worked with extraordinary teachers. I taught incredible kids. I worshiped with inspiring latter day saints. I bonded with a family that I still consider my own.
I arrived on Friday and Jessica picked me up from the air port. Jessica is my soul sister. She was my first teacher friend in Wilmette, the charming little village north of the city where I both lived and taught 05-06. She is hosting me and we are having a most wonderful time. We went straight to Greek Town to meet up with Mary Louise for lunch at Greek Island. In the old days the three of us did that and it seemed the perfect spot for our reunion. Mary Louise shared all her adventurous stories with us since her retirement four years ago. She's been on six international trips in that time! Mary Louise is one of my favorite humans of all time. She actually rode with me in my car when I made the long trek home from Chicago after my legal separation, summer '06. She figured out the whole journey for us, bought the maps, helped book hotels along the way. It was wonderful to have her with me for those four long days as I started my life over again as a single woman. We talked about so many things on our little journey years ago and it was so fun to see her again after five years and catch up on all her adventures and misadventures since. She went on an archaeological dig with the University of Chicago in Turkey. She's also been to Australia, Peru, China, Egypt, Israel and Jordan. From chilling with Aborigines to exploring the pyramids this lady has done just about everything. She is so National Geographic. It's inspiring. She finds time for the opera house in Chicago, Symphonies in Millennium Park, and frequent museum visits. I love her kind and soft face, all the enthusiasm, as she tells a tale. It's wonderful to see her waving her hands around as she describes the Egyptian desert or tells funny stories about her kookie neighbors or jogs our memories about eccentric former students we had. We ate liberal amounts of luscious Greek delicacies and talked and talked. My eyes were soaking up all the wonders around us, the mosaics in the walls, the faux grape vines adorning the moldings near the ceiling.
Ah, Chicago, Chicago. How I've missed thee. How I've missed the language of honking horns. How I've longed for nights on the beach of Lake Michigan, walks around the BaHa'i temple at dusk, ethnic food whenever you crave it, frank talks with virtual strangers, people feeling comfortable getting in your grill like it's to be expected just because of your forced proximity and lack of personal space. Chicago! I love your Art Institute! I love the fudge at Margie's Candies! I love Zach Dodson and his greyhound and beautiful girlfriend! I love Logan Square and the little Colombian restaurant where I used to get tamales wrapped in banana leaves. I miss Devon Street and all its wondrous Persian food and glittering Indian boutiques. I miss snow and black soil and down coats , blankets, and woolen socks, mittens, hats and even hat hair. I love my Chi. I miss tulip covered medians, clock towers, church bells, and baseball fans so loyal they'll root for their boys even after seven consecutive bad seasons. There is NO PLACE like Chicago. Sadly, it will likely never be home again. But I'm glad it was home and I'm glad it's home away from home.