Chicago is cool.
Well actually, it's cold.
Really really cold. And usually wet.
And though Chicago is a cool city, the weather here has been less than welcoming. In Chicago's defense, however, I will say that last Friday was gorgeously sunny and warm. It also happened to be the same day that I was cooped up indoors at the
Oprah Show show for which I signed a waiver stating that I would neither talk about, report on, or blog about, or else I would totally tell you.
But my point is I was inside on the only perfect day we've had here so far.
Wait, wait. Actually the following Saturday started out quite lovely, too, making my commute on the subway en route to the matinee nice. I was all set to enjoy the weather between shows, too, but wouldn't you know that when I walked back up to the street level from the subway it was quite literally pouring buckets and the climate had dropped a good 30 degrees, making me wish I was wearing a slanket.
A waterproof slanket.
My walk home consisted of carrying my little blue umbrella above my head more for show than anything else, really, since the slanting rain and biting wind was only too happy to go around it. And under it. And every once in a while even flip it inside out. By the time I walked into my apartment, water was squishing out of those little air holes in my sneakers and my jeans had gained about twenty pounds in water weight.
No, it was not lovely.
But almost nothing beats the feeling of stripping off your wet and cold clothes and snuggling into something warm and dry. So there's that.
I am ready for summer, friends. Ready for tank tops and flip flops and light and airy skirts. I like the idea of eating a sandwich outside, sipping on a cool drink in perfect contrast to the warmth in the air. And I have two words for you that might make you smile:
You know, porches and hammocks and stars that watch over it all. No, Orion will not be so visible since he tends to like the cold weather better, I think, but Cassiopeia might come out. Or if nothing else, there's always the Big Dipper, so obligingly recognizable. What is it about summer evenings that bring out the best in conversation? That cause all of us to forget about whatever demands the day has on us as we just linger over ideas, arranging them and exchanging them like some kind of rubik's cube of thought?
Even now I can almost hear the cicadas, feel the stir of the warm wind that brushes through the evergreens surrounding my parents' porch. I can close my eyes and see the great big Pennsylvania sky, all black and reaching and dotted with stars. I remember so clearly sitting on that porch, swapping scary stories with each other late into the night when all of the sudden there was a crack! and a boom! in the trees behind us that caused me and my brother to scream and my sister-in-law Darby to clutch my brother's leg so decidedly that even after we realized that there was no ghost, goblin, intruder, or demon about to get us, that the coast was very much clear, she was still clutching onto that leg giving us a good laugh and my brother a good bruise.
I am wholeheartedly looking forward to summer evenings. I hope they come sooner than later, I have to say.
And what do those two words conjure up for you?