Kitchen Window

I usually take Dave to work in the morning. Well, that's overstating things. I usually ride in the passenger seat of Dave's car on the way to the Loop while Dave listens to NPR and I wake up with coffee that Dave programmed to brew at o'dark thirty and lovingly poured into a to-go cup for me. He often makes the cup for me, puts it in my hand, and gently guides my arm to get the cup up close to my mouth so that I am able to drink the coffee. With a little coffee and a trip to the bathroom I am usually able to get at least one eye open after I've been standing for five minutes or so. I'm not exactly a morning person.

Riding in the passenger seat affords me time to wake up. Once we get to Dave's office, I climb over to the driver seat, pull the lever to raise it six inches, pull the other lever to bring it forward six inches, adjust the rear view mirrors and both side mirrors, and turn the heat back up to mammal-appropriate levels.

Riding in the passenger seat also allows me time to explore the city in ways that I do not get to when I am driving and have to pay attention to assertive Chicago drivers, crazy Indiana drivers, freaked out we're-in-the-big-city tourist drivers, and bus and cab drivers who just don't care. It's amazing how much you can miss when you are driving and have to pay attention to the road.

My favorite part of the trip is Lake Shore Drive. We actually spend most of the trip on the Drive. It's a great way to get downtown from where we live -- especially since Dave's office is pretty close to the lake. Lake Shore Drive is a long and varied strip. I particularly like looking at the buildings closer to downtown. This could be because the buildings get a little bigger and are a mix of old and new -- this could also be due to the fact that I am not fully conscious until we get that far south.

The closer you get to downtown on the Drive (coming from the north), the closer the Drive gets to the lake and the buildings get to the Drive. This is particularly true when you get to the S-curve at the top of Michigan Avenue when it looks like you are going to drive into the Drake Hotel.

I like looking at the residential buildings as we approach this part of the city -- and all the way to our exit at Randolph. Some of the buildings are gorgeous old buildings dotted with window air conditioners. Others are atrocious "modern" buildings probably built in the 50s and 60s with color-faded facades and balconies in disrepair. Many buildings stretch high into the air. Others are smaller one- or two-family mansions broken up by the occasional foreign consulate. I am fascinated by the diversity of these buildings -- and their inhabitants. Living by the lake is not reserved for the wealthy and trendy alone.

Naturally, whether the building is old or new, the architects who built them and the people who rent/own them planned to take full advantage of the view of the lake. People who live just a few floors up must have spectacular living room window waterscapes. It's obvious that the morning sun shining across the lake might be a nuisance -- some windows have black tarp-looking shades or shades made of reflective or thermal looking material. Nicer apartments have custom-made shutters -- and are probably much deeper allowing the dwellers within to hide from the sun in back rooms.

I first saw Hitchcock's Rear Window when I was in eighth grade. The story was okay -- it didn't scare me too much and I knew from the get-go who had dunnit and what he had done. No, the interesting part of that movie was the concept of gazing into people's private lives and personal moments through their windows. I have always been fascinated by that concept.

It's pretty easy here in the city to look into each other's windows. Our living room windows that face the street prove us some access into the front windows of the two-families across the street. The inhabitants of one house in particular do not have shades or blinds and always illuminate themselves at night with harsh overhead lights. There's also a guy across the street who lives upstairs and likes to step out on his porch and play guitar in the dark.

Our living room porch door allows us to see into the condo across the alley. If we stood on our porch and she opened her kitchen or living room window, we could have an easy conversation.

But we don't even know these people. There is some sort of unspoken rule about ignoring what we see inside each other's homes. You never ever make eye contact with the other person. You mind your own business and discuss only among your own people the fact that across-the-alley has had at least four different men making coffee in her kitchen in the last six months.

But I digress.

I think about this Rear Window idea of having a portal into a complete stranger's life. These portals can be particularly fascinating when there are many of them stacked on top of each other. Lake Shore Drive has a lot of windows to grant you access. Not many people have their shades drawn -- perhaps since there is no neighbor to see into their home, only the lake.

Most buildings offer views into people's homes, but no people -- like some kind of life-sized Barbie Dream House with no dolls. In the morning I can see all kinds of decorating schemes and crimes -- some looking like the first apartment of a new city-dweller and others the refined, professionally planned condo of a wealthy retiree.

I'm always surprised that I don't see more people in the morning. I imagine that if I had a window facing the lake, or even a small balcony, I would be enjoying it with one eye open and coffee in a to-go cup.

Lately, my favorite window has been a kitchen window just before our exit. It's in a building that has been turned into condos and most likely had a previous life in business or light industry. It's in an area that is not very residential -- though several new and super expensive buildings are growing up nearby.

I notice this window every morning as we zip past it. It is a very large kitchen window in the middle of a patchwork of other very large kitchen windows. The ceilings are high and it looks like the interior has exposed brick walls. The cabinetry and appliances look new and fancy. The owners have one of those metal contraptions that hangs from the ceiling as a trapeze for expensive pots and pans free from the stains of use. What's most noticeable about this particular window is the large wooden table that sits against it and the man in a light-blue robe in the same chair every morning with a cup of something and a newspaper. Every morning. The same man in the same robe in the same chair with a cup and a paper. I catch him for just a fleeting moment every weekday morning at about 8:20 am.

I find myself anticipating his window -- will he be there this morning? Will he be sitting on the other side of the table? Maybe he'll be dressed or wearing a different robe. I like that I can count on him being there. I like that he takes advantage of his window on the lake every morning. I like that he confirms for me that people actually live inside those many windows I peek into each morning.