I got back from my Connecticut trip and hit the ground running: we had a menu change on the day of my return, bringing local melon, sweet corn and heirloom tomatoes to the menu for August. Shane brought me a box of taffy from the Smoky Mountains. Roly Poly flattened himself on my legs and refused to budge. I felt needed and loved. A busy summer week at the restaurant followed, with Chicago’s annual air and water show that next weekend.
I was riding my bike home from work. It’s a short trip (15 minute ride) and I take caution, always using lights and a helmet. I was on Grand Ave. crossing over the Kennedy when a black SUV pulled up behind me. I heard two loud explosions and I roared in pain. The SUV shot forward, swerved around a turning car and sped off. I kept riding and didn’t notice my arm was dripping blood until a block from my house.
In the aftermath of getting shot twice by idiots with a bb gun, a stupid act of random violence, I have cried and I have taken time off from work. I have been to a farm and rehabilitated with corn on the cob and a hamburger. Mostly I have been emotionally overwhelmed by the people in my life, some of whom I haven’t seen or spoken to in many years, reaching out and wishing me well. Thank you for making me feel needed and loved.