When I first moved to Chicago my old boss, a proud midwesterner, would reassure me that winter was the time when we all slowed down. My mind would drift to images of cocoa, days at work that were spent in cozy sweaters watching snow fall outside, and intimate conversations by fireplaces. These things are tenable, but but most of the winter consisted in taking frantic pictures of EVERY TIME it snowed, trying not slip on ice, and wondering why the heck did I move away from my home which was 80 degrees in January?
This winter is supposed to be worse. I don't know if I'm mentally prepared for it. Like a trauma victim I get flashbacks to when it was painful to be outside or what it felt like to take off a bajillion layers every time you went inside. I'm just whining. I'm not a midwester yet, prairie folks don't whine. I need to compose a Lutheran sensibility about that matter and buck up! After all, didn't I spend every winter of my childhood "snow hunting" only to come up empty handed each time? No need to hunt anymore. There's stilly something romantic in waking up and looking out your window and saying "first snow of the season". Of course followed by running throughout the house like a mad woman waking everyone up by screaming"SNOW, THERE'S SNOW!!!!"
Check back in with me in a month. Winter is coming. Prepare. I was born in the long summer.
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