A city to remember

Full disclosure: I have a goldfish's memory.

Don't know what a goldfish's memory is? It goes a little something like this..."Ooohh, castle!!"
"Ooohh, castle!!"
"Ooohh, castle!!"
"Ooohh, castle!!"

So I'm constantly reminded by family and friends of long-ago memories. High school, for instance? I don't have many memories of my entire first year. My childhood is more about fleeting, slippery images rather than chunky, firmly-held recollections.

And another confession: I have zero sense of direction. None. Couldn't find my butt with both hands, a flashlight, and a map. I can get lost ANYWHERE, and I have: Rome, Mexico City, Perth, and the list goes on and on and on.

So it was utterly shocking that as soon as we entered Chicago I suddenly, inexplicably knew my way around from memory. The Banker was fumbling with his GPS system on his Crackberry, and the directions were all wrong. And he couldn't accept that I instinctively knew my way around downtown. And what frightened him even more was that I kept bringing up recollections of our time living in the Windy City that he'd forgotten about. It was like we'd switched bodies.

And the city did feel like home. The energy, the sites, the hustle and bustle, the endless culinary possibilities. Just amazing. But I missed Becca something terrible. When we visited The American Girl Store to watch little ones race about in consumptive delight, both The Banker and I wished we'd had Boo along, so she could share in the delights.

So we've decided we need to return to Chicago sometime next year, and this time, take Becca with us. She'll probably not understand what it is about the city that makes her mom re-centered and happy. She probably won't understand that this busy, busy place is where her mom and dad used to call home. But I've no doubt she'll entirely understand the premise of The American Girl Store.