Marina City, Wrigley Buiding and bridges over the Chicago river are not far from the "Bean" in Millennium Park. Even Northwestern University's famous arch is included!
What really fascinated me, however, was a series of Chicago style bungalows. They were included to illustrate Michelle Obama's childhood home, but I thought of my grandparents' home instead.
My grandparent's home at 79th and Kimbark on the south side was similar to the home shown on the right. Its "front" door was actually on the right side. One opened the door and faced a flight of stairs. Once on the main floor, a left turn took you into the living room. The front wall was a big bay window as you see on the right above. In front of the fire place to the right was my grandma's rocking chair. On the small table next to her chair there was always a crossword puzzle in progress along with a basket of her crocheting, also in progress. My grandpa's sturdy chair was next to the arched doorway. My images of my grandparents - especially of my grandfather - are of them sitting in those chairs. I know they got up and moved around, but in my head, they are always sitting.
Sometimes the entire left side of the living room was taken up by a huge quilting frame. Grandma's two out of the house activities were the Ladies Aide Society and her quilting society. When the individual quilt pieces had been constructed at church quilting meetings, it was time to quilt the entire bedspread. The huge pieces of cloth were attached to the wooden frame and the ladies would then sit around the frame in Grandma's living room and meticulously sew the batting between the top piece work and the bottom material as they gossiped. The frame would sometimes sit in her living room for weeks on end.
If you turned right at the top of the entry stairs you entered the dining room. My major childhood memory is that Grandma always had a filled candy dish on the server and we were always welcome to sample. I also remember that Grandma always slipped us a few coins in this room as we prepared to leave after a visit. My own mother continued this tradition, always giving our boys a few dollars after a visit or after she attended some performance or event with them. Wonder if I'll feel compelled to do the same thing when my grandchildren visit? Is that genetic?
If you turned left after walking through the dining room, you entered the bedroom area. Straight ahead was the kitchen.
My grandparents each occupied one of the two bedrooms. Grandpa's bedroom always felt strange to me and I really don't know why. I just have a memory of lots of paper back adventure type books on his bedside table which I found somewhat titillating. Today I'm sure the overwhelming smell of cigar smoke would gag me, but that was just a normal part of their house.
For a young girl living in a new 1950's built home, Grandma's kitchen was fascinating. The sink and side board was a separate white metal piece, not attached to any counter. Her cabinets had glass fronts and seeing Grandma's glasses and plates on display always surprised me. The real wonder, however, was the ice box. Yes, Grandma had an electric refrigerator, but in the wall between the kitchen and the back porch was an amazing compartment that opened with big handles on both sides. Before she got her electric refrigerator, the ice man would come every day and put a big block of ice in the icebox from the porch side. When we ate at Grandma's and Grandpa's, we ate "normal" food, but if we just "dropped in" we would see all sorts of strange things on the kitchen table. They ate quasi German food often and enjoyed all sorts of things I considered really weird - ham hocks and pigs feet among them!
The main floor was interesting, but the basement and the attic were irresistible to this young girl. A walk up the attic stairway next to the kitchen brought us to a world of musty boxes and fascinating things to explore. Dress up fun followed. A walk downstairs was even better. At the foot of the stairs were shelves just crammed with canned fruits and vegetables that Grandma had "put up". I don't actually remember eating any of this food and I remember vague feelings of fear of botulism or other such evils, but looking at the rows of canned foods was fascinating. The coolest thing ever, however, was the coal bin! This was a separate room in the basement filled with the coal they actually used in their furnace. Just walking in this room meant being covered with coal dust and, obviously, my parents didn't want us to do that---but sometimes we were just too tempted and went in anyway.
As I think about it, at the time of my memories of my grandparents bungalow in the 1950's, they were probably younger than I am now. Grandpa did go to work as an Illinois Central engineer and enjoyed walking down the street to the tavern most evenings when I was quite young. Grandma took the streetcar to her church events and to visit family. Sears was only a block away and was often visited. In my head, however, they were really old.
After Grandpa died in the early 60's, Grandma moved to the Lutheran Home in Arlington Heights. The "home" bought their house as part of the entrance fee. By then, to use 1960's terminology, the neighborhood had "changed". Today it is part of a solid middle class, primarily black community. I imagine the kitchen has been updated several times and the musty fun-filled attic has probably been made into bedrooms. I'm sure the coal bin is long gone, along with Grandma's canning and the ice box. I wonder if the family that lives there now has any idea of the history of this bungalow?
I do know that every time I travel the "skyway" on my way to Indiana or Michigan, I crane my neck as we drive past the Sears which is still across the street from the bungalow that was such a part of my childhood. I wonder why I feel such a sentimental tie to this bungalow when the homes I've actually lived in don't have that effect?
