What you say when your lips are frozen to your scarf by your own spitty breath

In Chicago, when we say, "At least it's sunny!" as our voices are covered in a cloud of breath visible at our lips, it's just that we want to believe, need to believe spring really will come. We must believe that we will put the rock salt away and hang up our down coats and let the shovel gather a little dust for a season.
Clearly, there is a great benefit to all the clouds parting and the sunshine peeking down at us as we hack away at the inch of ice on our front steps or as we run from the car into Starbucks or when we flip through the kiddie section of On Demand (again. this afternoon.) because it is just too too too cold. It helps us look up rather than stay focused at our feet.
It gives us snapshots of vacations and walking along the lakefront and sending the kids out to the yard for hours on end. It reminds us that, under all those feet of snow plowed in enormous piles in the Trader Joe's parking lot, there are beds of earth and and seeds and bulbs that will awaken and one day surprise us as they pull up through it all.
For now, for the next few days when the temperature will dip and rise, when the snow will ease and then ice up again, when gray will move in and out around our skyline, we will just keep saying what we say to the other moms shivering at preschool pick-up, the teller at the bank and the nice dry cleaner lady in the old, pilly cardigan. We will be, even superficially, conversationally, grateful for whatever sun we can get around here.
Photo credit: Jessica Ashley
Reader Comments (1)
P.S. Preferably call to switch during the summer while I am being burnt to a crisp (because I am a very white grrrl) and am experiencing 112 degree weather. The heat here is ridiculous!