Snow

 

Oh winter in Chicago. Living in the Midwest all my life, I've learned to fear the winter and its length, depth and icy patches. Anticipating how I start to feel around this time of year, like the cold might never end, can cause a thin shudder through my body any time of year. We know it’s coming, we hope it will be mild, we remember that it ends eventually.  

All the snow this year is actually making things better. Because it’s pretty. And, usually, cold isn’t a reason to cancel school. But snow is. It’s an outward sign that I should stay inside and sit on my couch and drink coffee all day, then go crunch around in it once the wind stops.

I lent out my copy of Joe Meno’s “Office Girl,” but it would be the perfect book to re-read right now. It’s about young people in Chicago who are stuck, in their office jobs and immature relationships, riding their bikes around in the snow in Ukrainian Village. There’s a defiance to riding your bike in the city and snow, and a distinct risk that you’ll end up tipping into a snow bank. I don’t really ride in the winter, I'm more of a fair-weather Divvy fan, but I like the idea of it.

Spent a lot of time in my teens and 20s bundling up to get into the city for fun. To slush down Lawrence Ave and see a show at the Aragon, the theater lobby wet with salt and snow. To wait outside in the line for Too Much Light. Schlepping to bars, snow boots dangling heavy against the barstools. It’s knowing what it feels like to sweat into your coat, for parts of your face to go numb, and to still enjoy the walk in the snow.

Or, to think about how we’re going to Hawaii in two weeks.