A Downside of Winter
The wind is howling here like you would not believe. It must be at least 30 miles an hour. Every fifteen seconds, a gust crashes into my building, making a horrendous noise. Tthe streets are almost completely empty. This has much to do with the wind, and also the Bears game. Granted, they are playing a second-division schedule, but I never thought they’d be 6-3. I don’t know how the kickers were able to work in this kind of wind.
I live in a high-rise, so what my neighbors decide to cook, I get to smell. This is especially true in the winter. Because the apartments in my building were arranged so that all of the apartments are situated far from the windows, cooking odors abound.
Today my apartment is full of the distinct reek of burnt toast. Because of the wind, the moron who failed at cooking toast refuses to open his windows. Unfortunately, I am also unable to open my windows, so I’m stuck wallowing in the reek. This odor is so terribly persistent that I’ve decided to brave the gales raging outside, knowing full well that they will likely blow me to the ground at least twice per block. It is, I suppose, a downside of winter.
I'm back from the walk.
It's getting really freakin' cold out! Luckily, I stole a knit Bears cap from my parents' house a coulpe of weeks ago. I admit it: I never really shop, but reather take things here and there from my family members. My brother and dad are bigger shoppers than most guys I know, and they don't mind if I grab things they don't or that look really good on me. All of my white undershirts, for example, are stolen from my dad's closet. My brother has a massive collection of shirts in his closet at home, more than could possibly fit into a rotation. From time to time he'll say, "That's a nice shirt. Where you get that?" And I'll say, "Your closet, about two months ago." Neither of them mind this thievery. They know how little patience I have for shopping, and they tend to enjoy it, so we all win.
To give you an idea of how strong the wind was this afternoon, a 40-foot maple tree was uprooted, lying across the walking path near North & Dearborn in southern Lincoln Park. I remember thinking yesterday that tree must be pretty strong, because it was one of the few in that part of the park with leaves still on it.
Yesterday, the park was covered in a three-inch deep layer of dead leaves. I love walking through leaves. I get a similar satisfaction from walking along the beach, but leaves are so much more colorful and diverse than boring sand, and you don't have to rinse off after kicking around in the leaves. Today, though, the strong wind blew pretty much all of the leaves into the lake, and most of what was left on the trees were stripped off the trees. It felt very cold and lifeless.
Seamus reminds me almost daily, "Winter pays for summer." Frankly, I think summer comes up a little short in that deal.
I live in a high-rise, so what my neighbors decide to cook, I get to smell. This is especially true in the winter. Because the apartments in my building were arranged so that all of the apartments are situated far from the windows, cooking odors abound.
Today my apartment is full of the distinct reek of burnt toast. Because of the wind, the moron who failed at cooking toast refuses to open his windows. Unfortunately, I am also unable to open my windows, so I’m stuck wallowing in the reek. This odor is so terribly persistent that I’ve decided to brave the gales raging outside, knowing full well that they will likely blow me to the ground at least twice per block. It is, I suppose, a downside of winter.
I'm back from the walk.
It's getting really freakin' cold out! Luckily, I stole a knit Bears cap from my parents' house a coulpe of weeks ago. I admit it: I never really shop, but reather take things here and there from my family members. My brother and dad are bigger shoppers than most guys I know, and they don't mind if I grab things they don't or that look really good on me. All of my white undershirts, for example, are stolen from my dad's closet. My brother has a massive collection of shirts in his closet at home, more than could possibly fit into a rotation. From time to time he'll say, "That's a nice shirt. Where you get that?" And I'll say, "Your closet, about two months ago." Neither of them mind this thievery. They know how little patience I have for shopping, and they tend to enjoy it, so we all win.
To give you an idea of how strong the wind was this afternoon, a 40-foot maple tree was uprooted, lying across the walking path near North & Dearborn in southern Lincoln Park. I remember thinking yesterday that tree must be pretty strong, because it was one of the few in that part of the park with leaves still on it.
Yesterday, the park was covered in a three-inch deep layer of dead leaves. I love walking through leaves. I get a similar satisfaction from walking along the beach, but leaves are so much more colorful and diverse than boring sand, and you don't have to rinse off after kicking around in the leaves. Today, though, the strong wind blew pretty much all of the leaves into the lake, and most of what was left on the trees were stripped off the trees. It felt very cold and lifeless.
Seamus reminds me almost daily, "Winter pays for summer." Frankly, I think summer comes up a little short in that deal.
posted by Pat at 3:09 PM
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