The city seems a wreck.  Construction everywhere and now Devon is closed between Western and Ridge except for local traffic.  I am sure businesses feel the pinch.  At least the weather has been very nice and Chicago is enjoying a little of one of its best months.

Traveling the Drive today, I also saw the first tinges of yellow, a color that is more prevalent than any other during our autumns.  The weather though was the best of summer…upper eighties and rains that gave way to a sunny day that only occasionally saw a fluff of cloud in the air.  And these clouds were not the menacing kind, but the puffy white ones that children use to imagine to be all sorts of faces and beasts.  I am sure that children no longer do such a thing, but I like to imagine they do.   Sometimes I wish I were not born out of my time.

Then again is it so bad to be outside of one’s time.  It is again vogue, but in the nineties, there were few little girls who were given dolls dressed for tea parties and cotillions.   On this day in 1993, Marina was given her Madam Alexander dressed for balls and soirees.  It was her birthday and the day was warm and pleasant.  It always seemed to be that way.  I cannot remember one rainy or chilly September 5th.

She loved that doll and even had a special crib for her, though Marina only kept her there for daytime naps.  At night they slept together.

Marina loved many things.  I once said she was a creature of her birthday….summer with a little bit of autumn.  She was a person of Ferris wheels and cotton candy and lakes and gazebos.  She was so happy in the hot summer sun and during those early fall days marked with their decreasing light, but also promising apples and pumpkins and walks through country fields, no doubt the later influenced by how often her grandparents spoiled her with their rural gardens replete with flowers and the harvest, not to mention those lavish presents, which they gave her knowing her life would be too short.

She could be very coquettish, but she was rarely anything other than kind.  Very often I miss her and more now than in a very long time.  Last night I even tried to talk to her.  That she could hear me was more hope than faith, but my longing was intense.   What I would not give to have her back, but if she could hear me I could not wish her away from such a beautiful place, perhaps even more beautiful than what she made this place.