I flew back on the 1st and had the boy meet me at the airport.

There was some small

discussion while I waited for my second part of the flight in Atlanta.
Boy: I might be a little late.
Me: Why?
Boy: We have had some weather. Its snowing a bit. Dont be too surprised if your
plane gets delayed.
Me: Okay, see you there.
I singed off of chat, had a martini, and then realized I had accidently screwed up my
boarding time so had the fun of dashing down the airport. At least I got a workout
in.
The flight was entirely uneventful (aside from the girl checking me in asking if I had
a coat, I was from Chicago after all) as was the landing, but, as had been indicated
by the boy, it was snowing pretty hard. It was snowing hard enough that by the time
the plane finally managed to get to the gate the wings were already sporting an
inch of snow. I was impressed.
The good news was the flight had not been canceled, as I was hearing during my
walk through the airport, that many flights were delayed if not outright canceled
due to the weather. This seemed like a bad time to be at Ohare. The boy found me
easily enough at the luggage retrieval. I grabbed my small suitcase, unpacked my
coat and returned to the land of need boats as opposed to the land of walking
around barefoot, or in sandals, and sipping wine on the porch in the middle of
December. Reality is cruel.
It was quite cold, but deal-able. We piled into the car and started the drive home.
Sweet merciful goddess, you werent kidding. The snow was coming down fast
and thick. So fast, so thick. It was the light powdery snow that just covers
everything it touches.
This really seems not good.
Its worse than it was when I was driving up here.
We went slowly, with the goal of just getting home, which seemed liked a fairly good
goal. There were not enough plows to keep up with the snow coming down, which
required patience and not driving like a maniac.
You want to get something to eat?
Not really in this weather. Im good if we just vroom vroom.

It was on the way home that I started paying real attention to the weather, but got
up on the 2nd, worked out and got ready for work. I was on the train, which was
covered in snow, as it was really coming down now, and apparently was going to
continue coming down for the rest of the day. This was roughly around when I
learned the words polar vortex, crushing weather, super cold, etc. All I could think
was that at least the trains were running on time.

The Bard called about a minute after I sat down.

Im on the train.
Good god, why?
To go to work?
No, no, no. Work from home today, there is no reason to try to get in to the city, its
going to be insane.
Okay.
I got off the train and called the boy to come get me.
The rest of the day, while I did do work, was broken up by hourly trips to the window
to exclaim loudly about the wrath of nature. The snow was coming down and
seemed to be very disinterested in stopping. It was January 2 nd and it was a little
nutty out there. Already we had accumulated about six inches, with snow piled in
the yard higher than a small shitzu who was boycotting leaving the house everyagain or until summer, whichever came first.
Friday I did manage to make it into the office, but it was cold, with the cold about to
get colder.
So this polar vortex thing, you know the weather on Monday is going to be 30
below.
I keep hearing that, I say as the Bard and I sit and discuss the ridiculousness that
was the snow yesterday.
I say dont come in, but we havent gotten the green light from the boss yet.
Well, keep me posted. The boss was in Florida. I sympathized. Apparently by the
end of the day enough people in the office had written to express -30 degrees
farenhight in such a way that the boss relented and reported that anyone who
wanted to could work from home on Monday.

The weather plan was that we would get absolutely walloped with snow on Sunday
which would then be followed by the kind of flash freeze that may stick a mastodon
in place for posterity. It would be turn off your fridge and just move the food outside
cold. The wind was howling, polar bears were pacing about outside the window, and
with the size and consistency of the drifts, I expected the glaciers to move in and
restructure the landscape any minute. Welcome to real winter, or, as the
Chicagoans and renamed it: Chiberia.

Before the insanity hit the boy and I put in provisions. This turned out to be a good
idea as we didnt leave the house for almost 72 hours stuck, as we were, in the
snow. The Artist got in touch with me to tell me her flight had been cancelled. Her
flight and every other flight out of Ohare, a huge 370 some odd flights grounded
because of the snow and cold. They couldnt get the planes de-iced fast enough to
move them. She stuck in Florida for an extended stay, I stuck at my house for an
extended stay, this was all rather unpleasant and dramatic weather and I was
already feeling done with it, and we hadnt even had the cold snap happen yet. On
Sunday night I watched as the snow continued to fall and wondered if we would
ever be able to get the car out.
Monday was freezing cold. I worked from home and then did some sewing. Nothing
else for it. Tuesday I almost missed the train as the boy tried desperately to get the
car up the little slope that is our driveway. I called the Bard to let her know.
If we can get out of the drive in the next three minutes, I will make the train.
We managed.
Chicago was icy frosty cold. The waters of the lake rolling like someone had kicked
up a bucket of greasy oil. The glass of window fronts coated in flashes of ice that
streaked across and feathered everywhere made the city look like an igloo. It was
blistering cold to walk for even the small half block of exposure that I had, but aside
from the weather there was limited excitement. The weather was all anyone talked
about.
I spent the day picking oranges out of the tree in the back, the Artist tells me.
How long are you going to be stuck?
It seems like forever. I may not be able to get out before Sunday. In the end she
had to change her flight to fly out through New York to get home. All other options
were quickly vanishing and with all flights in and out of Ohare cancelled for almost
three days, flying was seriously unpredictable at the moment. I was lucky I had
managed to get back to the city when I did.
Polar vortex sucks.

Yes, yes it does, we commiserated together with everyone else in the country, as
Chicago was not alone, but easily suffering with the entire continental US. The start
of the year was already providing some amusement.
Tuesday night, still bitter cold, the polar vortex now in full force, I traveled home and
did not see my ride. I waited inside the small house next to the train station for a
good ten minutes before finally realizing I was going to have to walk.
I really did not want to walk.
With the wind the current temperature was -25. I had dressed in layers but it was
still really cold. I waited a few minutes more but the overhead light heater in the
small hut was doing nothing with the wind blowing straight through. I bundled up til
I was little more than an eye slit poking out through coat and hood and ventured
out.
Its a three block walk to the house. Not so bad. On a good day I can do it in five
minutes and I actually dont mind the walk. However in the blistering cold, with
black ice everywhere, I minded a lot. My only goal was do not fall down.
There was so much snow at first I thought I might be able to get away at a good
clip, but crossing over the tracks to get to the side I needed to be on, I almost
slipped straight out on black ice. I caught myself and then slowed and steadied my
walk. This was not going to be fun.
The sidewalks were knee high with snow, so I hugged the wrong side of the road,
walking slowly on the little bit of room at the edge, when possible looking for snow
that would crunch under my feet so I would be sure not to be on ice. I did not slip
again, but it was slow, slow, going. My mind was racing with concern for the boy,
where was the boy. His phone had gotten wet a few nights ago so I couldnt call him
to find out. Only thing for it was to get home.
Altogether it took me a half hour to get home. It wasnt so bad in the areas where
the lights were working on the street, but in the dark street I was terrified I was
going to get hit by a car, being nothing but a shambling black-clad ghost in a dark
night with snow still falling. As I got close to the house, where I could see it in the
distance, I saw a car pull in and realized it was the boy. The wave of relief that
washed over me almost undid the rest of the walk, but I managed. After a minute of
scanning he saw me and came out to meet me.
I am soooooo sorry. The car got stuck in the snow and I could not get it out.
Its okay. Its really okay. Im just glad you are okay.
Do you still want to go out for dinner?
No, I want to drink a bottle of wine and try to warm up.

The polar vortex is cruel. I did make it home, I managed not to fall down, and in the
end, everything actually was okay.
Fortunately it started to warm-up on Wednesday and by Friday I wanted to stay in
the city a little late and have dinner and take some pictures to celebrate having not
fallen down, died, gotten frostbite or been eaten by an ice creature. In all it could
have been much worse.

Want to go to dinner?
Boys out of town, sure, why not, the Bard agrees. After the whole polar vortex
thing I wanted to go out, just to get out, even though I knew the chances were good
that I would spend the remainder of the weekend at the house.
Where?
No idea yet, but Ill work it out between now and then, sometimes even I like not
having a clear plan.
In the end I decided on the Purple Pig cause I keep hearing about it and it seemed
like it would be fun. With the right timing I could eat, take a few pictures of the
frozen city and get my train home.
The purple pig, do they have ANYTHING you can eat?
Yeah, they have a Medatrainian menu. I mean, yeah, they have a lot of pork, but
they have cheese and wine, and I saw some aps I can eat. It will be cool.
That decided we went to the Purple Pig. The food, well, the food speaks for itself. We
sat at a communal table, ordered cheeses and meats and olives and brussel sprouts
that tasted like popcorn with a very pleasant bottle of wine. It was all around lovely.
Aside from the fact that Chicago, being fickle, as always, in its weather choices,
was being coated in rain, a rain that did not ease up at all as we ate, and eventually
forced me to buy an umbrella or suffer the consequences of getting absolutely
soaked in the mid-winter. The rain, of course, totally put a kiabosh on my desire to
take pretty pictures of the city and in the end, after snapping only one nice shot of
the river, I was forced to head to my train while the Bard took the rather precarious
drive home.
The food made it worth it.

So what did you think of Hubbard Street? I asked the Bard. On my last outing to
the street I had invited the Bard to join me, which had required some changing

about of my season tickets. Hubbards ticket people worked very patiently with me
and were able to accommodate my request completely to allow us girls to sit in a
little triumvirate in a still good location on the stage, though not as nice as my
seats. Still good though.
Oh I enjoyed it.
Do you think the Electrician will want to come.
Oh yes. See, this is the thing. I tried to explain it to him, but this is the thing.
People think the ballet is stuffy, or that you cant enjoy it because you may not
understand it, but thats just the thing, its impossible not to understand it. Its so
primal. Pure expression, it universally accessible, not stuffy at all.
Almost archtypical, really, I chimed in.
But not just that, its the way they tell the stories with their bodies. Their bodies
speak all the words you need, the story is in the flow of their flesh on stage, you
dont need an interpreter, its impossible not to understand. Understanding is lost
when you try to assume you wont get it, or cant get it because its difficult. Its not
difficult. Its right there. Thats why I got so upset with the storytelling thing.
Oh that.
I admit, it was strange to be in the middle of the dance and have one of the dancer
suspended from the ceiling telling a love story that was not a story, that was not
purposeful, that conveyed no meaning, and did not enhance the show in any way. It
was out of place, strange, and almost diametrically opposed to the purpose of the
dance, to convey thought without words to communicate to the humanity that is so
rarely talked to, that id, living behind the veil, reading the words of expression, the
sound and flight of the story that is told through gesture, breath, inhale, exhale,
sweat on skin, the press of blood on the surface and the flutter of the heart and eye.
Thats why it made me so angry. It was unnecessary, the story is there, its not
complicated. Its there to see it. You dont have to say it, you just need to see it, to
let it be, to let it breathe, to let it be what it is supposed to be without forcing it.
Thats the point. Now, I can understand why people go to the ballet.
It is different, though, I responded, from just the ballet, I mean this is somewhat
less stuffy dance. The ballet can lend an air of pretention to the story that is being
told, where this is more animalistic, something different. Something real.
Yes, and no. Its just, I mean, like black swan manages to show how it is visceral.
How it communicates.
True.
No, I get it now. I think the Electrician will enjoy it to.

Good.
The next show will included Le Petite Morte. I am quite excited.