The Sidewalks of Home

SPOUSE AND I HAD A QUICK TRIP TO CHICAGO.  BEFORE THE BUSYNESS of the weekend set in, we drove from the airport to the small town I grew up in (a quiet Chicago suburb perched on the commuter line.) The entire suburban area is coming out of the worst winter since we lived there when our firstborn was a baby. Even though it was bleak and cold with dirty snow piled up at the corners, warmth filled my heart as I entered the land of my childhood. Almost everything looked as I remembered--but––of course, smaller.

The memories spilled from my mind to my soul, but it was the familiarity that drew me in. As a child I was allowed to walk uptown to the dime store and hardware store, but not as far as the block the bank was on. As Spouse and I walked the streets, the sidewalks felt like home. Most of the shops were different, but I was amazed at the familiar feeling that came to me from the sidewalks. 

One thing has not changed an iota--Kirschbaum's Bakery. I think the fake wedding cakes displayed in the high glass case are the same ones as when I was a child. This is the bakery I think of every time I walk into and savor the delicious scents of any other bakery. To see this one unchanged by the passing of (40) years was incredible. Spouse bought the cookie I chose, just for "old-time's" sake. We found a little cafe across from the train station and ate our lunch by the window so I could revel in my memories, watching commuter trains fly by, and soaking up the past. A new memory formed among old ones.