Bleak

Twilight comes later these days but is still gone before I arrive home from the office. The alley is the last stretch of road before I reach my garage. Some years ago the city installed new lights. They changed from the sickly warm salmon color of mercury vapor to the cool white of LEDs. So now when I turn into the alley it is brightly illuminated and I find I miss the warm — sickly or not — light of yesteryears. Even the illusion of warmth is welcomed in February.

Since mid November the alley has been paved with snow, snow that is slowly turning salt and pepper with pepper predominating. It presents a bleak landscape with weathered utility poles, disarrayed blue and black garbage receptacles and the vagaries of neglected structures.

2013 was my year — the year of the snake. I came full circle and so did many of my friends. One day we were gainfully employed and the next gainfully retired, that is except for me. They slowly wander south to Florida and west to Arizona, and I think of this each time I turn down my decrepit alley.

Chicago has many strong points but February is not one of them. In my teens and twenties I bitterly complained about Chicago’s weather to my mother. I dreamed of warmer, more exotic climes. In rebuttal she would cite a long list of calamities Chicago does not concern with: hurricanes, tornados, earthquakes, floods (for the most part), tsunamis, and her most dreaded nemesis, the ubiquitous crabgrass and alligators of Florida. I appreciate her point of view now that I am a property owner and a witness to many devastating natural disasters. But that said February is still a bit much.

Of course in a city chockfull of culture — if lethargy can be overcome — there are no end of distractions. Charlotte and I recently enjoyed the CSO with Maestro Muti and Yo-Yo Ma, celebrated Urasenke Chicago Association’s 54th tatezome, had a bowl of minestrone at Eataly, listened to an organ trio at The Green Mill, perused the Hiroshige Winter prints at the Art Institute and attended a friend’s cello recital followed up with a deep dish pizza.

I do not begrudge any of the above. I am privileged to live in a city that affords so many opportunities, but right about now I would trade any of them for green grass and an ice-free lakeshore.

In an odd dichotomy February’s harshness countermands the increasing light. I envy our Northern neighbors. As we (or at least me) sit here and snivel, they revel in the ice and snow. Friends in Door County bemoan the fact that in the recent past there was not enough snow, forcing them to curtail their winter pastimes. After all what would Wisconsin and Michigan be without cross-country and downhill skiing, snowmobiles, ice fishing and the artic like conditions at Lambeau Field.


Bleak could be a state of mind, an illusion. But try to tell yourself that when the cold seeps in despite thermal underwear, wool sweaters and down coats. I am a more introspective person because of February. Baking bread warms the house, books and magazines ignored all summer get read, the blues and classical music downloaded to the computer is listened to and I am writing this. So who’s to say that I will not emerge a better person for having lived through another 28.25 days of February.

Bleak February —
Lively sparrows and rabbits
Track in the snow.

February 2014

Isolated

Isolated by the extremes of snow and cold I adapted. The heavy coat saved for just such conditions gets dragged out of the front closet, as does my wool scarf and hat. The tall-insulated boots that spend most of their life in a basement corner are dusted off and treated with water proofing cream. Next I searched for my flannel lined blue jeans. And oh, did I forget to mention the new high tech Japanese heat retaining underwear.

The house also got the once over. Insulating shades were drawn. Clear plastic was taped around leaky windows and blow-dried taut. The snow blower’s fuel was topped off, and shovels strategically placed at the front, back and garage doors. The Subaru’s oil was checked and windshield washer fluid added. I made sure there were shovels and scrapers in each car.

The larder was inventoried. If deficient the staples were quickly acquired before the storms onset. After all this preparation my hands began to dry out, and fingertips and lips commenced to crack. Many different creams and emollients were used to prevent this painful consequence of a cold dry environment.

The onset of bitter cold began with snow as the high-pressure system from the north over powered the precipitating low. When two to three inches of snow accumulated, the snow blower catapulted it onto the frozen lawn or out into the street. This process was repeated eight to ten times before the storm ended. At first the snow was dry and crystalline. It offered no resistance to the puny machine. But the longer the snow fell the heavier it became until the snow blower’s few horsepower barely sufficed.

Then the sky cleared. Stars were visible for the first time in weeks. I sat in the kitchen and watched the external thermometer plummet degree by degree. It was a count down in reverse: 0, -1, -2, . . . -16 before stopping. The world was hushed. Everything outside, including the air, was on the verge of cracking.

I wondered about the creatures that inhabit the backyard. No birds’ chirped. No rabbits left their tracks in the snow. No skunks, possums or cats were seen. Everyone and everything hunkered down, and waited for the jet stream to push the artic vortex further east.

On the coldest morning the traffic was light. I drove to work thinking that smarter people than me had elected to stay home. Lake Michigan was phantasmagoric. Layers of steam and fog wafted unaffected by the near gale force winds. I wished for a camera. No matter, it would take more skill than I possessed to capture the lake’s image, but the image has stayed in my mind’s eye.

The clinic began slowly and gained momentum as the day drew on. At times like this the practice is transformed from primary to urgent care. It is a welcome change. Neuronal connections long unused get a workout. My brain struggles to perform. It can be exhilarating and tiring. My brain gobbled whatever glucose was available. I wished I had eaten a hardier breakfast.

This is happening in a cocoon. I was not alone, just isolated in full view of the world, or at least of Chicago. The first few days were acceptable. I worked, read, baked bread and made a dent in the pile of unpaid bills. But then cabin fever knocked on the door. “Come out and play.” it whispered, and I saw how our ancestors could have walked out of their cave and disappear into the snow.

I knew the worst of the weather would end soon. And sure enough, while still frigid, the next day was ten degrees warmer. A great weight was lifted from my shoulders even dressed in as many layers as the day before. Mother Earth had heard our pleas and relented. Isolated no more I rejoined the world but not without keeping one eye over my shoulder — watchfully waiting . . .

January 2014