Family Vacay VIII: Day 10--Bob, Kristin, Celeste, Sonja, Elsa, Neo-Futurarium

On our last day in the Loop, I get up early and take the Brown Line El to the Fullerton stop near DePaul, where I am thrilled to find the van, unscathed and unticketed, where I parked it two days before, saving us $140.

When I get back to the hotel, we pack up and head out to a rendezvous with Bob and Kristin Sanders, their daughters--Celeste and Sonja--and Kristin's mom, at the Peggy Notebart Nature Museum.
Maria and Kristen met in a night class they took together at UIC. Kristin teaches in the same school Maria taught in when she came to Chicago--James G. Blaine Elementary. We attended Bob and Kirstin's wedding in May 2014, and Bob was one of 7 guests at my 40th birthday party in the backyard of our house on Carmen along with Jack, Julie, and Nathaniel (Kristin couldn't make it).  After spending some time in the Museum, we took a walk on the museum grounds. When we reached the stone circle above, Pablo supervised a game in which he played "Keeper of the Gap." To get permission to cross the gap, the girls had to answer his questions.
After we left The Notebart, we headed to the National Museum of Mexican Art in Pilsen to rendezvous with one of my former students at UIC: Elsa Muñoz--who, along with Alexander Hamilton, is one of the big reasons we decided to come to Chicago this summer.

Last October, Elsa sent me a message on Facebook.  It was the first time I had had any contact with her since her Freshman Composition class ended in December 2001. In that message, Elsa thanked me for having her read Hunger of Memory by Richard Rodríguez, a book that had a deep impact on her. In subsequent emails, I learned that Elsa was a fine artist now--an oil painter. (Click here to see her work and read her story.) One of her pieces is in the permanent collection of the National Museum of Mexican Art.  It's called "Drifting Sun," and you can see it in the "Figures" tab of her website: http://www.elsamunoz.com/figures/. She said she's be proud to show it to us if we were ever back in Chicago.

More messages ensued, and, well, friends, we made it to Chicago.

Before we went, I found the 3-ring binder I kept during the fall of 2001 in which I collected all of my students' writings. Everything Elsa wrote for that class was in that binder.  And I took it with me to give to her when we met at the Museum.

It was very difficult to find parking near the National Museum of Mexican Art, so I dropped off Mari and the kids at the front door. I parked a 10-15-minute walk from the Museum, and when I got to there, Elsa and her husband Liam were deep into a lively conversation with Ruiz Bentons. After exchanging a warm greeting, I gave Elsa all of those papers she had written in that freshman comp course 18 years before.  She confessed to being eager to read them, but she felt compelled to take us through the galleries. She made a gesture towards showing us the Museum--which was well-deserving of our time and attention, but I soon interrupted and asked that she take us to the painting we'd come to see--"Drifting Sun."  That's it, between me and Elsa, in the photo above.

Standing in from of "Drifting Sun," Elsa and I soon found ourselves submerged in a conversation about art and language, which, happily for me (perhaps not surprisingly to many who know and love me) had curious me asking a lot of questions. It was a conversation that I had difficulty summarizing later, as it was far-ranging and did not lend itself to paraphrase. Some of the things we talked about were: the power of language in the world of art, the relationship between creating art and selling art, the importance of having a recognizable style and the danger of developing one. I wish I had a recording of it, but at the same time, the experience impacted me as much as any of the particular concepts we explored.

And all the while, Liam (Elsa's husband) and Mari and the Ruiz Benton kids were happily engaged in their own merry conversation about (I am told) soccer and robots and various and sundry other matters, which Elsa, based on Liam's account, characterized as "hilarious."

In short, it went swimmingly: a memory for the lifetime scrapbook.

After Elsa and Liam left to attend a birthday party, we had too little time to explore the rest of the Museum before we had to head north to check in to the Air BnB we'd booked in Andersonville, the neighborhood we lived in for 8 of our 9 years in Chicago.


On the drive up, we swung by Wrigley Field (the Cubs had just lost a game to the Reds and the streets were packed with fans) and followed the 2.5 mile route that I used to walk to get home from Sluggers after Cowboy games if they were not televised on the local channels on Sundays (before fellow Cowboy fan Matt the Plumber started giving me a ride).

Once we checked in to our Air BnB--the basement floor of an apartment on Sheffield a few blocks from all our Andersonville haunts.

We unpacked our bags and headed straight to our favorite theatre: the Neo-Futurarium.
Fifty weeks a year for 28 years, the Neo-Futurarium featured 3 weekend performances of "Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind: 30 Plays in 60 Minutes," whose format was created by Neo-Futurist founder Greg Allen. We saw our first show there after we moved to Andersonville in 1999, and we returned many times after that. Maria took acting classes there. I took Greg Allen to lunch one day and recorded a long interview with him about the history of his Neo-Futurist creation. We later joined him and his girlfriend on a dinner date. Greg stopped performing with the NeoFuturists in 2003. When Maria and I visited Chicago in 2015, we saw Greg's adaptation of "Ibsen's Ghosts," and talked with him afterwards. After America's Favorite was elected in 2016, Greg moved to Norway. Before going, he revoked the Chicago Neo-Futurists' rights to perform "Too Much Light" (though it continues to be performed by other Neo-Futurist troupes in NYC, Houston, and San Francisco). We don't know why. Something went down.

Today, the Neo-Futurists perform "Infinite Wrench," which is, in every respect except the name, "Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind." The kids had not eaten dinner, but since we were in a rush, and since Mari is a sucker for Argentine gelato, we had a quick pre-show dessert at the new Argentine gelateria around the corner. Many of our favorite Chicago restaurants have closed, but no doubt many others, like this one, have risen to take their places.

The Neo-Futurarium itself remains largely unchanged, from the stairwell . . .
. . . to the Hall of Presidents . . .
. . . to the State Park.
Before the show started, we were warned that the Infinite Wrench contained some adult material. And it did. If I could have erased one sentence from the performance I would have, but I would hate for the Ruiz Benton kids to have missed the entire experience because of that one sentence. We rolled five die to determine how much our tickets would cost us.

Some of the night's plays included:
83. EXTREME! MULTI-PLANE! MINIMALIST HOP-SCOTCH!
18. MEN SCREAMING
22. I promise I will definitely catch your phone!
33. #bhandtogether2020
36. Sarah Lawrence Camp
37. Two Jews. One Light.
43. No fiddle, no problem OR Charlie Daniel's Band (A Tribute) OR HB 132
44. I am a manager at Wendy's
46. Game of Cones on H20
47. War with Iran: 2020-forever

The show was a sell-out, so the Neo-Futurists ordered pizza.

After the show, we headed to an old favorite--the Kopi Cafe. We used to buy gifts here. We bought "The Writers Game," this time, and played it several times before subsequent meals on the trip.

Day 8: Santa Monica and Hollywood

We had planned to visit the Museum of Tolerance, but it was closed on Saturday, so on our last day in California, we went to Santa Monica Pier.

Earlier this spring, I visited the start of Route 66 in Chicago with a student who was very enthusiastic about it. I sent her the photo below.

Morgan and Sam told us that some of the scenes from "The Sting" were filmed on the merry-go-round below.
After we visited Santa Monica, we headed to Hollywood.
Morgan and Sam had a Saturday night party to go to, so after we got back from Hollywood, we took showers, did laundry, and had a quiet night in.

Nina read a book in the company of Snaggle and Boris, Morgan and Sam's Korean Jindos.

Mari (Han Solo), Emi (Darth Vader), and Pablo (C3P0) played Star Wars Monopoly.


C3PO prevailed.

Grand Tour, Day 5: Madrid Friday

When planning this trip back in the States, we thought we might go to Toledo on Day 5. But our brief visit to El Prado on Day 4 left us wanting more, so we decided that our money would be better spent on full-price tickets to the Prado than on transportation for the five of us to Toledo.  We took our pre-purchased, line-skipping tickets with us and continued the itinerary that we had started the day before. After a couple of hours, we had a snack break in the cafeteria.

Mari and the twins were ready to go before Emilio and I were. But Emilio really wanted to check off all the masterpieces listed in the  guide they handed us at the museum entrance, so he and I stayed a while longer after Mari and the twins went home.

The Prado doesn't allow anyone to take photos inside, so I had to hit up my friend the Internet for the images below.

WARNING:  If you came here for photos of the stars of this blog--Nina, Pablo, Emilio--and their joyous evening visit with cousins Rita and Uxue, you should skip this next section and scroll down to the bottom of this post.  Between here and there you'll find 10 images I've downloaded from the Prado website PLUS a lot of commentary that is intended to connect these images to our previous days' visits to Madrid and Segovia.

"Wamba Renouncing the Crown" (ca. 1819) by Juan Ribera

Ribera's 19th century effort to enoble Spanish history depicts an admirably modest Visigoth King Wamba (643-687/88) demonstrating his reluctance to take power. This is the same Wamba whose statue we saw on our Grand Tour, Day One trip to the Plaza de Oriente in front of the Royal Palace. This painting was commissioned to match a painting of the ancient Roman Cincinnatus abandoning his plow to take power in Rome--implicitly linking the glories of Ancient Rome and the glories of Ancient Spain.  Wamba's days, you may remember, did not end happily (drugged, shaved, shipped off to a monastery). Perhaps he should have renounced the crown more forcefully.

"Queen Isabella the Catholic Dictating her Will" (1864) by Eduardo Rosales

Here's another 19th century effort to glorify Spanish history. Isabella (1451-1504) is the star of this one. She is on her deathbed in Medina del Campo, which is about 50 miles northwest of Segovia. Grieving beside the bed is her benumbed husband Fernando (in a red robe). Her daughter Juana is standing beside him. Her confessor Jimenez de Cisneros is the one with the blue cap.

Some knowledge about Cisneros: when he became Archbishop of Toledo, he demanded that all the clergy reject their female partners. Though clergy were not allowed to marry, having a "concubine" was a common practice at the time. Four-hundred monks from Andalucia chose  to abandon Christianity, emigrate to North Africa with their partners, and convert to Islam rather than adhere to Cisneros's demands that they abandon the women who were their life partners.

More on Cisneros: while the Archbishop of Granada believed it best to convert Moors to Christianity through the slow process of persuasion, Cisneros demanded that all Muslims immediately accept baptism or exile. He ordered the burning of thousands of Arab-language books and provoked a rebellion in 1499 by "converted" Moors who were Christian in name only. Cisneros also used church money to pay for Spanish military attacks on North Africa between 1505 and 1510. He was, however, unable to persuade Fernando of the need to continue the attacks until the entire region was under Spanish control.

"La Reina Juana la Loca" (1877) by Francisco Pradilla y Ortiz

When her mother Isabel died in 1504, twenty-three-year-old Juana was her parents' only living child (an elder brother and sister had died before her). When her own husband Felipe died suddenly on September 25, 1506, Juana reportedly refused to leave his dead body (see the image above). This and other odd behaviors were used to justify calling her "la Loca."

Beginning in 1509, Juana lived under guard in Tordesillas, 75 miles northwest of Segovia. When her father Fernando died in 1516, her son Carlos declared that his mother was unfit to rule and took the throne for himself.

"The Emperor Charles V with a Dog" (1533) by Titian

Carlos V (who reigned from 1516-1556) was born in Ghent in 1500. When he came to Spain in 1517, he barely spoke Spanish. The Comuneros who revolted in 1520 claimed they wanted Juana to rule instead of Carlos. We know from our visit to Segovia that he put down the Comunero revolt in 1521, destroying a Segovian cathedral in the process. (He subsequently ordered the construction of Segovia's Santa Maria Cathedral.)

But this event was of relatively minor importance in his biography.

In 1519, he gave Portuguese sea captain Fernão de Magalhães the ships that would be the first to circle the globe.

In 1521, when Martin Luther refused to take back the criticisms he'd made of the Catholic church, Carlos essentially declared war on Protestantism.

That same year Spanish soldiers began wiping out the Aztec civilization in Central America, and in 1533 they delivered a death blow to the Incan civilization in South America.

Throughout Carlos V's reign, he was continually fighting wars and executing rebels. In 1555, his mother Juana died. One year later, he himself retired and gave the crown to his son, Felipe II.

After seeing this flattering portrait of him painted by Titian (that's some codpiece), Carlos V announced that Titian would be the only artist allowed to depict him.

"Felipe II" (1551) by Titian

We know from our visit to Segovia that Felipe II (who reigned from 1556 to1598) commissioned the construction of the stone bridge at the entrance to the Alcázar and its many sharp slate spires. He also commissioned the throne room statuettes that commemorate the monarchs that preceded him. Although he moved the Spanish court from Segovia to Madrid in the 1560s,  he consecrated his fourth and final marriage --to Anna of Austria--in Segovia's Alcázar in 1570.

Like his father, Felipe II spent most of his reign fighting wars, suppressing rebellions, and persecuting Protestants. In 1588, he ordered the Spanish Armada to invade England. They failed.

Felipe II was Titian's most important patron. X-rays reveal that the painting on the left was painted over another painting that Titian had made of Philip's father, Carlos V. Like all of Titian's portraits, this one flattered its subject, according to the good people who run the El Prado website (it also features a remarkable codpiece).

"Las Meninas (The Maids of Honor)" (1556) by Diego Velázquez

As we learned on our first full day in Madrid, El Retiro was constructed in 1632 for the benefit of Felipe II's grandson, Felipe IV, who wore the crown from 1621 to 1665. There's an equestrian statue of Felipe IV in la Plaza Mayor that was sculpted in 1616--before Felipe IV had taken the throne.

Felipe IV inherited a war from his father, Felipe III. What eventually became known as The Thirty Years War began in 1618 and ended in 1648. It resulted in the deaths of 8 million people, making it one of Europe's grimmest exercises in mass murder.

In Spain, artists are often associated with the kings they painted. Felipe II inherited Titian from his father. Felipe II's grandson, Felipe IV, got Velázquez. In Las Meninas ("Maids of Honors"), one of Velázquez's largest and best known paintings, Felipe IV is little more than a blur in a mirror.

A 76-year-old Pablo Picasso created a series of 58 paintings based on Las Meninas in 1957. We ended up seeing many of them when we visited the Picasso Museum in Barcelona.

"Carlos III in Hunting Dress" (ca. 1786) by Francisco de Goya

Felipe IV ruled during the final years of Spain's so-called "Golden Age" (there was a lot of gold, but there was a lot of blood, too). Spain's days as a dominant world power were behind them, however, when Carlos III was on the throne (1759-1788).

As we learned earlier this week, Carlos III  moved the Royal Artillery School to Segovia in 1762.

In 1763, Carlos III surrendered Florida to the British.

In 1783, Spain regained control of Florida after joining with France to attack Great Britain's Caribbean colonies. At the time, Great Britain was exhausted by its struggle to put down a rebellion in its North American colonies.

In 1785, Carlos III commissioned construction of El Prado, three years before he died.

An equestrian statue of him was moved into la Puerta del Sol in 1994.

Depending on your perspective, Goya's painting of the smiling monarch either presents a friendly image of the "Mayor King" as a Spanish favorite or suggests that he was something of a dope. Or both.

"The Family of Carlos IV" (ca. 1800) by Francisco Goya

Carlos III's son, Carlos IV, claimed the throne when his father died in 1788.

In 1799, Carlos IV named Goya "first court painter," and Goya spent the next two years working on the large portrait of the King’s family above.  It is not considered flattering.

On March 19, 1808, a mutiny ousted Carlos IV from power, and his throne was taken by his son, Fernando VII (he's the one wearing blue on the left side of the painting above). Four days after this violent transfer of power, French troops took control of Madrid. On May 2, a revolt broke out in Madrid, but the French soldiers quashed it a day later. They subsequently executed hundreds of rebels and conspirators.

 A month later, Napoleon forced Fernando VII from power and made his own brother, Joseph, king of Spain.

When Spanish soldiers defeated the French forces in the Battle of Bailén in Andalucia in July, Joseph left Madrid. He returned to the capital in November after Napoleon led his French armies to victory in the Battle of Somosierra in the Sierra de Guadarrama, north of Madrid.

Napoleon held Fernando VII captive in France for six years before sending him back to his throne in Spain in March 1814.

"Fight to the Death with Clubs" (ca. 1820-1832) by Francisco de Goya

After Fernando VII's return to power, Goya lost favor at court. Between 1819 and 1823, Goya covered the walls of his Madrid home, la Quinta del Sordo, with Las Pinturas Negras. The unpolished style and dark subject matter of these private works contrasted radically with Goya’s public works for the court. My favorite room in el Prado is the one that displays these paintings, including especially The Drowning Dog and Saturn. Like the frescos from the Hermitage de Vera Cruz de Maderuelo (which was saw on Thursday), these works had to be removed from the walls in order to be transferred to canvas and moved to the museum. According to el Prado's website, they were damaged significantly in the process (I guess the people who handled that move didn't understand the way paint works very well).

"Isabel II, Veiled" (1855) by Camillo Torreggiani

Fernando VII's eldest daughter, Isabel, was three years old when her father died in 1833. Her mother, Maria Cristina, ruled as her regent until 1843, when Isabel turned 13.

In 1848, she ordered the statue of Felipe IV to be moved into la Plaza Mayor.

A revolution kicked Isabel II out of power in 1868. The new republican government subsequently declared el Retiro to be the property of the city of Madrid. When Isabella II's son Alfonso became king, he commissioned the construction of el Retiro's Palacio de Cristal, and a massive monument to him dominates the park today.

Our friend Sarah Peters encouraged us to check out Berthe Morisot's painting "The Cradle" (1872) when we visited the Musee D'Orsay in Paris. Viewers of that remarkable painting can see a baby through the veil covering a cradle. I was thinking of that painting when I saw the sculpture above, which seems to have achieved a similarly magical effect in the medium of marble.

Here endeth the lesson.

Emilio and I ended up seeing all 48 of the masterpieces listed in our guide that were on display in el Prado. When we were done, we met up with the rest of Team Ruiz Benton at la casa de los abuelos and headed out to Gimena's apartment, where we had been invited for a merienda.


I took this photo in the plaza near Gime's apartment. Spanish bread is very popular in my family.


After hanging out in Gime's apartment for a while, we took the kids to a nearby plaza, where Uxue roller-bladed, Rita (and Mari) scootered, Gime and the most of the kids futbol-ed, and all manner of interactive entertainments and activities were spontaneously devised.

We stayed until around 10 p.m. and then headed home for a late supper.

In every debriefing we had over the course of our trip, the kids always put playing with Rita and Uxue on their list of favorite activities.