It’s lovely. Just lovely.
And I would be happy to never set foot in it again.
There. I said it. I hate living in Chicago. Maybe hate is too strong of a word. I seriously dislike living in Chicago.
Now, I did not say I hated Chicago. I love Chicago. (Notice the emphasis with the bold and italics there.) It is one of the greatest cities besides the politics, racism, and ridiculous housing costs. There’s green space, there are lovely people (except for the drivers), it’s a progressive and a safe space for so many LGBTQ people, and there is nowhere on earth where you can get so many different kinds of amazing, authentic food in one city. You heard me New York city. You can’t hold a torch to the food in Chicago. Not even one as big as the Statue of Liberty is holding.
Loving Chicago and living here are not words that always pair together well. I love New York City, I love Ramallah, Palestine, I love California, but none of these are places I want to, or plan on, ever living in. Loving and being willing to live with are different things.
But you will never appreciate springtime like you do here…
They plant flowers everywhere. You name it, there are plants everywhere. And they are lovely because you know that in their place was once gross, dirty, grey, snow.
No, snow is not always pretty here.
Sure, after that first layer, it’s beautiful. pristine even. I love to stand outside and smell the air as the snow falls and covers the city in a gentle blanket of snow that sweetly says, “I’m here. Time for hot cocoa, the Kriskindle Market, sledding, and watching the waves crash and turn into ice sculptures along the shoreline. I’m here, time to slowdown a bit and hibernate.” And it comes in so gentle that you get excited. You get out your snow boots and your ice scrapers, and you realize that the cocoa gets old and you gain weight from drinking so much of it to stay warm; the Kriskindle Market is flooded with tourists who drop applesauce allover the ground and can’t seem to figure out what’s going on (but there is that delicious mulled cider); sledding is exciting for a while until the snow gets grey and gross and turns into piles of ice that take up that last precious parking spot on your street; watching the ice sculptures form only reminds you of the bitter cold that is going to be setting in for a good 7 months; and instead of hibernation, it’s the seasonal-depression disorder that settles in for so many of us that keeps us in bed and makes us yearn for sunlight that is so bright it could melt our skin right off.
Oh, Chicago. How lovely you are, but how desperate you make us for warmer weather. There are those of us who would give just about anything for warmer weather. For now, it’s a matter or praying that the cold days will cease to stop popping up by June and look towards the sweltering heat of July in the middle of the city.
thetravellingtheologian 