Land of Lincoln

Five minutes East of my house lies the fairly wide-open prairie: the edge of the cornfield that separates us from Chicago, bisected by I-55. From that angle I seem to live in the country, but that's not my reality. I never think of it until I'm bracing myself to face the tedium and begin some long-ass drive. Life faces West around here, to the neighborhoods, to the downtown, to the maze of big box stores, to the river and city beyond. Still, this bank of the Mississippi does have its advantages, even if it is, techncially,the right. Among them I count the sight of seeming octogenarians, retired farmer-types in jeans and button-shirts, proudly wearing brand new Obama caps.