So, Midwest: This snow thing. Come on. There’s been a slight disconnect lately between anticipated snow and the subsequently unwarranted freak-outs. Having been a resident of Chicago for over a decade now(!) and being in the [poorly plowed] trenches for the majority of those winters, I’d like to remind my neighbors of what snowfall is. And four inches of ground cover within the city proper wouldn’t even have been a blip three years ago.
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| You call this snow? |
For example, during the blizzard of February ’11, our fair city was downright pummeled with a whopping two feet of snow. Chicago Public Schools were closed for the first time in decades. And Nora sported her first wicked awful fever (upwards of 104 degrees) and it was so gross outside that we decided to take our chances at home instead of the ER. (And for all y’all first time parents, you KNOW that’s some serious weather outside.)
But this? This week’s pre-cancelled classes and fear-mongeration which caused hordes of people to hunker down and wait out the storm with walls of canned goods at the ready? Sure, last March’s temps that soared into the 90s may have caused temporary winter amnesia, but…FOUR. INCHES.
People.
Unrelated/semi-anticipatory-cabin-fever related: The girls were absolutely wild this morning. Like, they would’ve given the screaming banshees something to really scream about. So I opened Spotify on my computer. Culled every single Enya song ever penned. Caribbean Blue. Orinoco Flow. The whole shebang of The Celts album. And then I watched as the girls blinked at me, gathered their lovies close, and begin to gently spin around the kitchen- not entirely unlike a few parties I attended at good ol’ Hampshire College. And they [my kids, not the burnt-out hippies] looked at me, like- what IS this magic?
Enya, I benevolently informed them. It’s just Enya.
Second tangent: Peej and I chose the theme from Far and Away to be our wedding recessional, written by- you guessed it- Enya. (And played by a myopic organist.) It was, for our Catholic-wedding-attending guests, confusing and awesome. Confusome. But go download that track right now. Because it’ll change your day. It will change your day.
Our processional, for the record, was Boston’s More Than A Feeling, which surprised literally no one on my half of the guest list. And inspired the the rest.
Except for the myopic, rather sleepy, organist.
Whom P.J. feared had kicked the bucket during the ceremony.
And for which scenario he wanted to leave the altar to “go take care of it.”
But that’s more of another feeling.
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