This morning my Sunday looked quite promising. I was done with all the usual weekend stuff and was looking forward to go to lunch with my son. He is an intelligent young man and I enjoy my conversations with him. Even more so since last Fall when he took the course on Marx. And I like going to Hyde Park, the neighborhood, particularly the campus, has that smell of Ivory Towers so dear to me.
The minor nuisance was that I had to drop my daughter at her dance class; her studio is near Bucktown, some twenty minutes north of Hyde Park. I say minor because she is, since she started snowboarding this winter, almost bearable. You can even catch the glimpses of the sweet little girl, sweetest in the world, that she used to be only two years ago.
So we sat in the car and soon were on the highway. Cars around us are covered with that grayish salt dust, but the day is sunny, not too cold, around minus ten (degrees C, thanks God), not to much of a traffic. Even the music that she is playing is not so bad. I'
