I'm a windbag

The reason I decided to move here in early November with no job, as opposed to maybe the dead of winter with one, is because I wanted to get to know the city, the weather, the people before I began working full time in a city where the weather is more prominent than the people. People go into hiding, from what I'm told, as soon as it starts getting ridiculously, miserably, bitterly cold.

In my last entry, I patted myself on the back for enduring the cold with such little effort. It is now not such an effortless task. On Thursday, I left the house wearing two pairs of (long) thick socks, a tank top underneath a long-sleeved shirt underneath a UCLA zip-up underneath my new 3/4 length down jacket, some heavy gloves, ear warmers, and some jeans. The second I hit the pavement, a chill set in that went straight to my bones and stood there, perfectly content to find a new (unsuspecting) home. It was only 23 degrees out, a temperature I had been out in before. But now the days have with them the chill that will last until spring. Whenever it got windy in Los Angeles, I wanted to run outside with my arms open, hair flying, feet dancing because they were the hot winds that made me feel so alive (and crazy). They made my blood rush; they sizzled my skin. They made me "feel." These Chicago winds definitely remind me that I am a sentient being. Pain is a feeling that comes to mind. And nothing reminds us more effectively of the fact that we are alive than pain. Oh yes, I am alive. I am alive. And cold. And chapped. And red-cheeked. Especially after my first fall, straight on my ass, from the icy ground. But this is all par for the course. I did say I wanted something different, right? Well I got it.

Covering things up.....

I've been a bad writer. A neglectful one, a conflicted one, and also an anxious one.  I've also been sick and my computer took a crap on me, so there, for you, are just a few reasons (excuses for some) why I haven't written in a month. 

Sunday, the 7th, marked my one month anniversary with Chicago. We're still going strong. On Sunday, November 30th, we had our first snow. During the days leading up, there were flurries, quiet and modest storms in practice; but the flakes melted as soon as they touched a surface. So I wasn't expecting that Sunday to wake up to everything concealed under white white white. Sad to say it, but at my old age, this was my first snowfall. It's not like I haven't been in snow before. I've gone skiing, sliding, snowball fighting.  But this SoCal girl had never seen snow fall from the sky to have it melt on my tongue and scratch my eyeballs until that day. I even have video of it--me taking my first steps in wintry terrain with my very sexy snow boots that make me look like your average behemoth. That video, however, is stuck on the hard drive that went all wonky on me. Errrr. Also that morning, I added to my library of audibles. I heard a very strange scratchy, scraping noise all around. I didn't have to look far to see what it was that I had already expected: people at their cars and on the sidewalks with tools, vigorously clearing the snow out of the way so they could start their day. Oh so glad I don't have a car! 

Today, it's raining. The temperature is a lovely 39 degrees, and the snow is melting, leaving the ground in patches of snow, dirt, leaves, and whatever green that is still alive. I'm quite surprised and proud of myself for how quickly I've acclimated to the weather. I've thicker skin than I thought. Literally and figuratively. (More on that later....).