Things I've Seen at Starbucks: The Grabber

First, let me set the scene.

Me: Completely loaded down with a big old geeky laptop backpack and a look of irritation that could not be erased that thing was so freaking convenient and so did not match my boots. Also carrying a silver leather tassle bag, also loaded down with all the necessities shit I insist stashing in there even though I never, ever pull it out to use, but rather pull out and ask, "Why the hell is this in here?" and then promptly put it right back in the purse. Also toting a cute little empire trench coat to fuel my hot-cold-blazing hot-fuhhhreezing tendencies, especially when sitting in the window seat or directly under the fan (Hello! Air con in a retailer in February in Chicago? Who are you, you satanic hot drink pushers?). Teetering through the 'bucks with my maybe-too-full beverage of choice in one hand and everything else in the other hand.

The Grabber: Approaches. Dyed to the end-of-the-color-spectrum black hair, slicked back, surely with pomade he's had in some dented up tin in the medicine cabinet since 1977. Short, stocking, wearing an beige button-down shirt with brown pinstripes and a collar that gives itself away in its pointiness that stretches a little long on the shoulders. Brown polyester pants, snug. Black belt, cinched. Black shoes, shiny. Slung over his shoulder is a faded, rectangular cotton bag produced at some point by airlines, when they were generous and gave out things like pretzels and full cans of Pepsi.

Now, I'll spill the beans.

We meet: Not so much in spirit or even acknowledgment, not even in conversation or in a glance.

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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

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Sunday souping

For the first time in weeks, Lil E and I spent yesterday morning -- and a bit of the afternoon -- just lounging. I let him watch more shows than usual. At his request, we had a "snack breakfast" of golden raisins, mini bagels with strawberry cream cheese, apple slices and cereal bars. We were still in our pajamas as the clock clicked over noon and nearly every room in the house was overtaken by a sea of little plastic people, little metal cars and all they accessories they require.

It wasn't all Sassa-slackery. I cleaned my room, reorganized my papers, changed everyone's sheets, emptied the dishwasher -- all those little tasks that build up over the week, sitting at the back of my mind when I am trying my hardest to concentrate on writing or stain removal or which Cars character the minty green one with the saucy smile is (yeah, yeah, yeah...it is Flo).

And then, because the day was unfolding as it was rather than as it was dictated by lofty ambition or a weekend-imposed schedule, we canned our plans and decided to go to lunch.

Like a good Christian mama and her boy, we skipped church and went to The Bagel for matzo ball soup, big hunks of challah bread and a rhyme-off that made us both laugh so hard that the busser winked and rubbed Lil E's head as he passed us by.

Over a big bowl of shared soup and silliness, we had so much fun. It was the kind of no-tension family time that weekends should be full of, or at least Sundays, or at least for a few hours of the day spent out of pajamas and outside a clean bedroom and toy-littered living room.

I have a lot going on this week but somehow, the anticipation of Monday is eased a bit by the smile in the photos from Sunday and the real relaxing we did before a busy schedule of a week.

Photo credit: Jessica Ashley

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