The dirt of winter

I don't much mind the dead of winter, it's the dirt of winter I take issue with. Snow, rock hard from days of varying temperature never getting quite warm enough to melt the lot but merely render it into a colder kind of concrete, is like a blank sheaf of paper. Each page dropped from the sky successively records the detritus of the day. A cross section, on view maybe against the glass wall of a bus stop, reveals the sedimentary layers of city in winter. Snow bergs rise from the dirt, the dusty chalk of Chicago air and snow frozen and refrozen into ice.

Its safe to go out with just shoes on for even though two feet of snow still lay upon the ground the works is packed down enough by feet that one can make a way down the street. It's not just the cold that restricts the motion, though. Jaywalking, straying and cutting corners are not options on sidewalks hemmed in by piles of snow yick. More and more the page is dotted with yellow-orange stains and dog poos left behind in favor of hurrying home out of the cold. Someday when the works melts it will liberate months worth of garbage, doggy do, and things long ago dropped and unable to locate in the snow. Someday the grit held in the snow will lie all over the grass, all over the sidewalk and street. It will be as if the sky had rained grit and poo. It will be worth it just to jay walk again.

It's supposed to snow in January

"This is one of the worst years ever, don't you think?" She asks me as we both peal off our winter wear and disrobe at the gym.

"Well, no, it's just winter." I return. Granted, a conversation about the weather is right up there with a discussion about eyeball injuries on my list of interesting topics. I can be accused of trying to head off a needless, dramatic discussion with someone I'd prefer not to interact with. I'm here to exercise, not get wrapped up in any of those insipid "woman conversations". These often plague my ears during that margin of locker room time bookending my workout. But, much to my chagrin, my response necessarily sets of what she calls a "debate" in which she must find ways of making herself right. I do wonder how long it takes her to realize that there is only one person talking during this 'debate'. I finally stop her with "I grew up in Buffalo, anything less than four feet falling in one day is chicken shit."

It happens every year, starting in about December. The temperature drops below freezing, making occasional further descents into the single or negative digits. These dips last for a week or so. To boot, snow falls. Sometimes it falls down, sometimes it comes with a wind that makes it blow sideways. This snow fall will happen two to three times per week.

I look outside, I listen to the weather report, and I go to my closet to make appropriate decisions. Below freezing? No skirts. Below 20? down jacket, hat, leather gloves, earmuffs for over hat. Below 10? Silk long johns under clothing, thick socks, stuff leather gloves into wool mittens and wear both together, consider putting head scarf around head and neck. Around zero? use scarf to protect face, consider switching to long coat to protect legs. If there's snow, put on boots. If this weather didn't happen every damned year, if this year is so much worse than previous years, they why oh why do I have the gear and the routine already in place to deal with it?

When I first moved to Chicago, it snowed in December and, as was not normal for Boston, snow remained on the ground until March. Yay! a real winter! But, everyone said "Oh! this is so much worse than last year! This is a bad year!" But, that same weather came back the next year, and the next and the next. With each return of snow the complaints choir voices their continual refrain of 'how terrible this winter is". They persistently react with astonishment at the plummeting temperature and the sky's temerity to drop this white stuff upon them. They're shocked that nature refuses to restrict herself to that role of a pleasant background for their busy lives.

To all those people I hear on the bus or at the gym reacting to this weather, I have news. Snow is not a plague. It is not a curse. It does not mean that the gods are angry with you and it does not mean anything is going terribly wrong with the planet. This is supposed to happen. So it gets in your way, slows you down. Forces you to take public transportation. So what. There's nothing to fear. So, zip up your coat, get some decent boots, watch your step and knock off the dramatics.

I head through the falling & blowing snow to work, picking through the "yick" on the sidewalk for good footing. The lady in the purple coat with her rolling back pack and flowery hat is there, just like every day. She looks like she's going to work. Each day she stands at the corner of Lake and Upper Columbus with an expectant gesture of waiting for a bus or for the light to change so she can be on her way. In an hour or so I'll look down at this corner from my cubicle with a view and she'll still be here, waiting. To my friend running the news stand in the pedway, today is just another windowless day. Only the mastheads differentiate January from July.

It's all just normal. If you don't like it then, next time July roles around, pop your busy head out of your ass long enough to enjoy the sunshine.