I’ve been searching for the Christmas spirit in earnest this season, which is a 180 degree shift for me.
The quest for falling snow and single digit temperatures take me to the Windy City last weekend.
Here I find joy in the smile of the Pakistani man that brings me the best Mediterranean food I’ve ever had. The smile on my face from the baba ghanouj won’t leave.
I walk in the dark under the comfort of great skyscrapers that rise up into the night. Random lights sparkle, Christmas trees faintly glow down onto the icy river. I catch a snowflake on my tongue.
The theatre district is glowing in a twinkling frenzy. I find the Oriental theatre and hand the nice lady my ticket.
The play is everything I hoped it would be, and takes me back to the day the girl gave me the book to read.
A happy memory. I leave and walk under the elevated train, watching the snow drifts get pulverized and cascade down onto the street walkers below.
I come to a bridge that crosses the Chicago river. I remember the scene from my favorite Holiday movie, ‘It’s a wonderful life’, where George is contemplating suicide on a bridge by jumping into the icy water below.
He leaps, but is saved. I feel the same, saved that is, and revel in my White Christmas.