My friend Daina, the first day it snowed out, almost had an aneurysm. "It's snowing! It's snowing!" she exclaimed with the fevered glee of a 7-year-old opening a brightly-wrapped box on Christmas morning to find a Cocker-Spaniel puppy inside. My reaction to her happiness was to roll my eyes at her and walk away, leaving Daina to allude my behavior as being equal to the Grinch or Scrooge or some messed-up combination of both. It's not that I don't like snow or the Chicago winters, that's not true. Sometimes I like to walk up and down my street when it is covered in snow and take in the bright, almost totally-clean surrounding. But then, days later, after the euphoria wears off, you are left with black or brown sludge on the side of the road that looks like it was recently dropped of by a BP crony. Snow is fine when it doesn't exceed an inch. Just so much that it dusts the dead grass and hides any impurities. Maybe on Christmas is can snow a little more, but that's about it.
What I don't like is the blizzards (AKA excessive snowfall) and the shoveling and the constant threat of having your carefully-laid plans dashed by Mother Nature pointing her middle finger at you and saying "HA." Tomorrow, my friends Kris, Elisa and I were planning on going downtown to see Gilbert and Sullivan's Pirates of Penzance, but right now, I doubt we'll be able to because of this inclement weather. (I live in the suburbs, which would explain why the trek to Chicago tomorrow would be dangerous.) I was so looking forward to spending some time with friends and watching a nice show and having an overall wonderful sense of camaraderie and friendly holiday merriment. But no. Now we probably won't be able to go at all. Or maybe we will? That's the horrible thing about this weather. The uncertainty. I have NO idea what in God's name is going to happen tomorrow. Frogs could fly down from the clouds instead of snow and maybe I'll have to shovel piles of dead amphibians instead of dirty packed-down snow? I'm the sort of person that likes to plan. I absolutely hate having to leave anything, even minute details, to chance. I have everything planned well ahead of time, otherwise I tend not to even go! I hate the feeling of being rushed. Of losing sleep wondering what obstacles the next day will hold. At least during the summer we don't need to worry about this sort of crap happening. Maybe a couple of storms or some out-of-season hail, but that's about it! At least when I walk outside in the summer I don't have the feeling that I could fall down at any second cause God decided to pour the natural equivalent of liquid motor-oil down from the heavens. And that, my dear readers, is why I hate the Chicago winter weather, especially its elected figurehead: snow.
(Photo above, courtesy of http://wintercenter.homestead.com/. It is of the Midwest Blizzard of 1967, January 26th-27th.)