Yesterday: played hooky, Huck Finn in a Sonata. A perfect day.

Empty, relaxed. Blue sky, big golden sun. After a run on the lake front (water, perfect blue, glass-like) I took a long meandering road trip to the Old Homestead. Listened to Bruce Springsteen's masterpiece, 'The Rising,' at top volume; sun-roof open, windows rolled down, warm August day wrapped around me like a glove. Rock and roll!

Pulled up to the Big Red House. Maple trees, lush and green, like old friends. Said 'hello' to mother, father, sister, niece, the family dog, the little chirping birds, the fish in the pond, the little acrobatic squirrels.

Everyone seemed happy to be alive on an August day. We talked of world events, we talked of the ordinary day to day. Family bonds run deep. Blood of my blood.

I had a 'little plate' with the family: soup, salad, a bananna. Then said my 'goodbyes' -- back on the road.

Took North Avenue all the way to Wicker Park. A vibrant street scene. Visited my brother's new art studio in the Flat Iron Building in Wicker Park. He's got a great little place, in the heart of the Chicago Art Scene. Classic old building, wood floors, high ceilings, perfect. His paintings: beautiful, strange, brooding.

Chatted with two cool dudes: Walter Fydryck and Jeff Foley. Great artists, mentors, unique old hipsters.

Carla and I dined at the Silver Cloud Bar and Grill. Linguini marinara -- highly recommended. Wicker Park is the Soho of Chicago.

Cool ride home, dark shimmering Chicago streets, alive, dazzling. Arrived home -- no doubts, no regrets: a very good day indeed.