Mother _____.

A good day to arrive into Chicago, a city still cheering in delight, having won the World Series, after 108 years. The W sign was everywhere, flags flying the W, W car stickers, banners with W…. “What does the W stand for?” I asked. WIN, of course.

However it was a bad night to be checking into a hotel.
“We don’t seem to have a reservation for you, Ms. Hicks,” said the manager.
“I’m sorry?” I said.
“No reservation at all and we are completely full.”

Suddenly the W for Win turned quite upside down. M… for Mother-you-know-what.

After forty minutes of pleading a small corner cupboard-y room was found. The windows of the building opposite were lit up. W for Win.

In the morning I went for a quick run, under trees turning golden as the sun rose beside the lake. But one minute I was upright and jogging and the next I was crashing onto on the concrete with a spinning phone, bruised bum, bleeding ankles and elbows.

I was in Chicago to speak at The Antiques + Modernism Winnetka Show, to have coffee with our local IH leaders (badass hardworking chiquitas who are certainly making this business happen), and in the evening to chat to other chiquitas who might be interested in learning more about our company.

Before the Winnetka talk (slightly stiff and in pain from the fall), I was asked to tour the 46 antique booths of the show and put stickers on items I felt were interesting. Alexa Hampton had been the guest speaker the day before; she’s smart and serious with a deep knowledge of antiques and arts. She too had been asked to label objects that caught her eye. I noticed her stickers had a fairly earnest “Alexa Hampton’s Choice” printed on them and mine casually just said “India’s Faves.” They might have had a point, I was putting my stickers on rather a lot of fun sparkly vintage dresses.

In one booth there was a collection of elbow-length kidskin gloves. I was reminded of my mother’s collection, which we recently unearthed, hundreds of them in ever-so-slightly varying shades of color, from her days as Lady-in-Waiting, when you would change from your day gloves to teatime gloves to elbow-length white tie and tiara gloves.

“Mum,” I said, “I do think we can edit most of these out now.” “Oh no,” she replied, “One never knows when one might need them again.” My mother was 86-years-old when she said this, so we do have to admire her long-term vision.