When it rains, it snows

I didn't believe it, even after the weather warnings and news blasts, long after the rumor of the first Chicago Public School closing in twelve years, not even after my dad called to tell me to hunker down. I thought this snowpocalypse, as it was being called, was simply hype. Or possibly, the meteorologists' big union play for more screen time. I peeked out my window periodically throughout the day and scoffed. We'll see, Chicago. We shall see.

And then, just moments before the time we kept hearing it would land, it really did come. The Blizzageddon. The snOMG. The Blizzard of Oz. The Snow Throwdown. A snowgasm.The Blizzaster. SNOWPRAH.

Twenty inches of snow fell on our city. And just as we always do, people found a way to cope just when the city seemed to be coming apart at the seeams. People who'd waited in a hellatious traffic jam on Lake Shore Drive for hours and hours -- some rotating time in strangers' vehicles to help each other conserve gas -- finally abandoned their cars and headed home, leaving a parking lot lining the lakeshore with its 18-foot icy waves and blowing snow.

Businesses closed. Trains slowed. Buses plodded along, packed full of people. Eventually, the busiest intersections from our neighborhood to the main arteries of downtown were abandoned. It was eery.

And then came the lightening and thunder and more wind that blew the tree branches so low that they scraped across our frosty windows. Blightening. Blizzfusion. Thundersnow.Visibility was nearly nothing. When I peekd out at the night, I could only see a dusting of snow in the street. But up against the cars were drifts climbing as high as Lil E.

It felt as if this city, the one we compare to big shoulders, was swept up by millions and millions of fragile snowflakes, countless breaths of wind off the lake, collisions of warm and cold air above us, misfires of electricity. All of it together was haunting.

 
This morning, our building looked wedged in among the snow drifts from the alley, through the gangway, all along the sidestreets, up on to our porch. We were held tight by snow and winter and forces much bigger than kindergarten schoolwork and little plastic shovels and media hype.

OK, I was wrong. It came. It came big and loud and dramatically. But what it became was quiet and beautiful and even serene. And I admit, I love it all.

Comments

[amy sue nathan]

As long as we have power, I don't mind it. But I'll get out later today just to see how the world is beyond my windows. Stay warm!

[Kris Peterson]

I loved being out yesterday trying to dig out and taking photos. Irving was somewhat clear but still very few cars were around. My block was filled with kids playing in the snowdrifts and people cross country skiing down Ravenswood. While I was taking my turn shoveling Tim's car out, 4 people (strangers) came by with shovels to ask if I needed help. It was all so heart-warming.