spynotes ::
  November 25, 2006
There's a tree in the Grand Hotel, one in the park as well

Scene: Harriet�s family room. AJ is playing with The Girl Next Door (TGND), the Boy Across the Street (TBATS) and The Boy Across the Street�s Little Sister (TBATSLS). Harriet is sitting in the living room (Chicagoans prefer to call this room the �front room,� but Harriet dogmatically refers to the preferred term from her New England upbringing) out of sight lines.

The children are playing with some giant cardboard bricks that look like houses and some cardboard cars that are driven by raving lunatics and keep careening into buildings and knocking them down. One of the children has built an especially tall tower. One of the others knocks it over with glee. The sounds of squabbling rise toward a shriek and Harriet prepares to intervene.

TGND: Stop fighting! Santa�s watching!

TBATSLS: He is?

AJ: You know, �You�d better watch out, you�d better not cry?�

All children burst into song.

* * * * *

The above may sound like a saccharine Christmas special, but it is, in fact, what happened at my house yesterday when the neighborhood children ran wild in the freakishly warm weather (60!)while their parents nursed their Thanksgiving hangovers.

Yesterday evening I joined The Girl Next Door�s parents and some of their friends on their deck for a fire in their firepit, some wine and leftover pie while Mr. Spy worked. After I returned, smelling like a chimney, we snuggled on the sofa in front of Columbo and tried to stay awake until a respectable hour for a Friday night.

Although we had a lovely time with the neighbors, we kept today neighbor-free and drove to Evanston where Mr. Spy and AJ attended a basketball game with Mr. Spy�s brother and I did some Christmas shopping. I wandered all over downtown Evanston without buying anything, but I had a marvelous time. I don�t really like shopping anyway, but it was great for watching people and I treated myself to a rest in a dark corner of Bookman�s Alley, perhaps the greatest used bookstore in the world (and yes, I�ve been to both The Strand and Moe�s and I still like Bookman�s Alley better). When I arrived, a couple who appeared to be homeless were lingering outside the front door. The woman was looking worried. The man was holding a small broom. He had moved the doormat to one side and was sweeping in front of the door. I excused myself so I could get in and he held the door for me. I thanked him and disappeared into the building. After I had finished wandering around the rabbit warren of rooms, I returned to the first room by the entrance to look for obscure Victorian novels. I had just picked up one called �The Affair in Danbury,� when I heard the man come in and start talking to the owner, asking if there was any more he could do. I peered around a bookshelf. The owner told the man that was all for today, but he could come back again. He asked how much he needed. The homeless man asked to be paid what he deserved. The owner peeled off several twenties. The homeless man protested that it was too much, but the owner insisted. �consider it a bank for the future.� �Well,�� the homeless man considered, �I could always use some money in the bank. Thank you.� �No, thank you.� The homeless man left and the owner returned to his books. I was so impressed with his generosity, which was more human than just throwing money at the problem. He gave the man work, allowed him to keep his dignity, and he spent time talking to him and knew his name. I felt privileged to witness that moment and it made me feel good all day.

After I tired of shopping, I walked back to the basketball arena where I found AJ in a bright purple Northwestern Basketball shirt, a gift from his uncle. After we said goodbye to AJ�s uncle, we stopped in Wilmette so Mr. Spy could squeeze in a lakeside run while AJ and I visited a toy store and added about fifty things to his Christmas list, stopped in a chocolate shop for a treat for him and Starbucks for a treat for me. When we all reconvened, we headed towards the lake for a visit to the beautiful Gillson Park, where we played until dark, first on the playground, and later on the stage of the Wallace Bowl, where we took turns staging assorted absurdist theatrical events with titles such as �A Man and His Sandwich� and �Boy Playing Basketball� (the latter was largely mimed and included periodic scoreboard updates communicated via AJ�s fingers, pointed skyward). On the long ride home we admired the moon, faintly shining through the clouds and the Christmas lights, which had sprouted overnight from every eave and bush. �They�re so pretty!� AJ exclaimed with awe.

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