Snowy

We've had a winter storm this week. It's beautiful, the way the snow has blanketed everything in about 10 inches and brings purity to all the ugly winterness, but it's fairly miserable if you want to do anything other than cozying up at home.

It's been snowing a lot this year, which reminds me of being a kid. Is it just wistful memories of snow-filled Christmasses, or is global warming really putting a crimp in winter precipitation?

The sad reality of snow in Chicago is that it's pure white for about 30 minutes, and then it's grey slush as traffic plows through it. And the salt! While I appreciate its qualities for easing my morning commute, it's scary to see the big trucks out constantly, spraying chunks every time it snows. Even after the snow melts and the streets dry, a passing car will kick up dust that lands, salty, on my tongue. Or worse still, the air I breath is saturated with it. My chapped lips taste salty after I walk the few blocks to the train.

When I was a kid, after a big snowfall, I'd go outside with a big mixing bowl and fill it full. I'd pour orange juice or Coke over it, and enjoy my slush. I even remember once at Hannah's house, sweetening milk with sugar and frozen strawberries for our "ice cream." It was such a treat. I loved it so much. I think if I could, I would make my snow slushes still. Adulthood has not cooled my love of slushies.

It verges on tragic, then, what is happening to the environment. Tim reminded me that during wars, warriors would salt the earth to prevent any life taking root after.

Fall is here!

Yesterday when I got off work in the morning, I went to my grandmother's apartment for the few hours before my internship started. She wasn't home, so I made some green tea and curled up under a blanket on the couch, watching episodes from season one "The West Wing." It was grey and cool outside, and I felt toasty warm and cozy inside. I wished for a moment that I didn't have to work, or go to school, and I could spend my days relaxing like this. It was so wonderful and worry-free.

Chicago weather

I love Chicago more when it's beautiful outside. This weekend, it was shorts weather. We biked, took walks, spent time hauling out the big plants to the back porch, repotting, pruning the dead leaves, just enjoying being outside.

I never realize how much I need the outside until the warm spring winds come and blow the grey off of everything. Now I have a hard time staying in.

The end of this school year is so close I can taste it. Only one more session of two of my classes. My most hated class closed today after we convinced (with not too much work) our prof that we should do evals today and skip next week. One big paper to finesse, and two short ones to crank out. It's been remarkably stress-free.

Springtime

It's here, it's here, it's here!

For this weekend, anyway. Hannah and I biked to the Bongo Room for breakfast, and browsed a used record store. She got a Tori Amos album I had never heard of, so I loaded it onto my computer, and now I'm listening to it.

I'm ready for this season. It's windows flung open to a slight chill, green buds on the trees, candles flickering in a dark, clean apartment, Tori Amos singing on the stereo. Salads for dinner, and white wine. It's a season I like to spend alone. This evening Tim is with old friends, playing music at a bar, and I'm revelling in having the apartment to myself. The cats are still asleep in the window sill. It's not too chilly for them, though I'll need to close the windows soon.

I'll go to bed, a new crossword puzzle in my lap, and I'll fall asleep in the quiet dark, and tomorrow the spell will be ruined, for it will be schoolwork and stress, papers to write and the wait for internship offers. But for now it's perfectly still, perfectly cool, and perfectly spring.

Spring

Jennifer nailed it: Spring is here. It's been warm here since mid-January, but only in the past week or two has the air taken on the rich heft and scent of spring. Despite my allergies also coming back full-force, I'm in heaven. The scent settles in early evening, and pressing me down into my wooden picnic chair on the porch, so I can't leave and must only stay and relax in the quietly creeping dusk. We leave the porch door flung open so it can creep into the house and breathe new life into all the musty corners. Ah, heaven!