Waiting for Spring in the Windy City

Another beautiful spring day in the Windy City.  Blustery, gray and cold on this 17th day of May, but hope lures us onward with a promise of warmer temperatures by Saturday.  I realized yesterday that we are a city full of amateur meteorologists when, while waiting in line at Whole Foods, I found myself in earnest discussion about the weather with three or four strangers.  It began innocently enough with the usual, "How about the weather?" comment from the hip, young, bohemian thing weighing my overpriced organic avocados, but morphed quickly into a full-on discussion as the bagger joined in, and then the man behind me, and then someone from across the aisle.  I think some poor soul up on the balcony may have been desperately trying to shout down some statistics that he had quickly accessed from his Iphone, but we were too far away and too engrossed in our own conversation to hear, so he no doubt went back to his independent Reiki studies.  Meanwhile, following several minutes of intense discussion my new comrades and myself agreed that if we can just make it till Saturday we may be able to tuck away our parkas, boots, and mittens until at least September 1st when Old Man Winter will surely come galloping back into town, shattering our short-lived summer bliss.

Yes, weather is a frequent topic, ie, water-cooler talk, when living in Chicago, but I've no doubt it builds character.  The whole city swelled with pride when President Obama remarked that upon moving to balmy Washington D.C. his children were astounded that their classmates didn't want to go outside in 30-degree temperatures.  My three daughters (and basically, all the children I know) are sent packing into temperatures well below 0 on a routine basis.  We'd all go mad if they stayed indoors.  And besides, there is a (misguided) demented pride that goes along with surviving in this climate.  My friends in California routinely comment on the lovely "perfect" weather they are having in stealthy, "oh, did I say that?" ways, but I generally don't take the bait.

Recently my sister-in-law, who is fortunate enough to live in Malibu, remarked that she could see whales passing by from her living room window.  This information could have sent me into a funk as we struggle through yet another cold, unpredictable Chicago spring but, instead, as I looked out to my sad little patio with its wilted flowers (planted too soon, as I optimistically do every year), her comment reminded me that perhaps now is a good time to call Herb, the Rat Man, again.  The weather will be turning soon, most likely, and the little critters will be on the move.