Should We Talk About the Weather?

Currently, Pinterest is of no use to me in the style department. They aren't offering enough examples of fashionable ways to cover every inch of my skin. I now live in a city where, on occasion, the weatherman will remind the troops that any exposed skin is subject to possible frostbite...and he's not kidding.

It seems since I've moved to Chicago, there isn't a single person that will allow me to escape the weather question. It was the only thing holding me back while I sat on the idea of moving here for years. Can I handle the weather? Can my southern disposition take the harshest of winds?

During the initial polar vortex onslaught, it was reported that Chicago was colder than the arctic. I saw a man walking backwards into the wind on the first day that wind chills were predicted to reach - 40. He was wearing a light jacket and a small scarf. I was sitting in a car with the heat blasting, wearing a semi-sleeping bag with thick mittens, wool socks, wool pants, and snow boots. My feet and nose were still cold. The man made eye contact with me. His face was red, and his eyelashes were white with frost.

Linus likes the ice...unless there's salt on it. Then it hurts. :(

When I walk from my house to the gym with a bottle of water, my water is deliciously ice cold when I get to my destination. Chocolate is rock hard after a walk from Walgreens to the train. If I happen to be running late for something (usually), and my hair is wet from a shower, my hair will freeze into stiff sections, but, sadly, it does not create an edgy style.

Those of us who choose to live in the windy city are, for all intents and purposes, living in a freezer; although, my freezer usually feels warm when I first get home.

BUT: It's not unbearable.

I KNOW. I sound insane. However, I'm speaking the truth. If it were unbearable, Chicago wouldn't be such a booming metropolis. It's a global city, a living city. It breathes, has a pulse.

A shaky view from the top of Willis Tower

I remember talking with some former Chicago residents at the winery at Montaluce in Dahlonega a few years ago. We were sitting on the patio that overlooked the breathtaking vineyards, sipping prosecco and eating cheese. It was early fall, and it was warm. If you've ever been in a situation like that, you might have found it hard to say anything negative about anything. My new friends were bubbling over about their time in Chicago, missing it whilst enjoying their current situation. The only thing I could think to say, you can probably guess, was, "but it gets so cold there." Their response was immediate and closed ended: You acclimate. They weren't trying to convince me to move here. They weren't trying to defend their love of a city that, frankly, needs no defense. It was a matter of fact response, and it was the truth.

If the only thing holding you back from living in a place like Chicago is the weather, let it go. The reality of...I don't know...EVERYTHING....is that weather is inconsequential. The real adversity we face is inside, and if we can't stand up to our own demons, even Hawaii wouldn't be enough to make us happy...although it would be freaking awesome.

From the winds, the arctic winds, and the blustery snow storms that I've now witnessed AND survived, I have gained much. For one, I have gained a little perspective. You have no idea how awesome 34 degrees feels after forty below. Everyone in this glorious city sees a weather forecast slightly above freezing with sunshine and starts planning a picnic.

The sun and the snow make a lovely combination.

And that's a life lesson, my friends. The harder it is and the lower you get, the better it feels on the other side. No one that lives here really talks much about the weather. We may laugh to each other when the cold gets ridiculous. We may part ways by exchanging the words, "stay warm." We may walk down the streets grimacing with our heads down, but we know that there's a bottle of wine at the other end of that walk and, hopefully, a warm body to greet us.

The adorable warm body that greets me. 

Talking about the weather, historically, has been a way to avoid talking about the things that really matter. When you talk to your friends about what's really going on in your life, you have to be vulnerable, and you have to open yourself up to the possibility that some people may be able to see you for what you really are: a human being. Here, the weather speaks for itself and allows the rest of us to focus on the things that really matter. What really matters?

I met a girl last weekend from Aruba...ARUBA. It's the first place the Beach Boys mention in the 80's hit "Kokomo." She loves living in Chicago. We briefly touched on the subject of the extreme cold, and her only words were, "I'm from Aruba, and I'm fine here."

I'm from the south, the deep south, and I'm fine. I'm better than fine. I also have a greater appreciation for wine...especially the warm, full-bodied redsmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Words Are Important (or Merry Christmas Mr. Semore, Sorry This is Late)

I was driving home Christmas night after an attempt at going out that was thwarted by a fevered frenzy. As much as we try to fake fevers as children, when the real thing hits, it brings even the most headstrong adults to our knees. I was breathing heavily, shivering, and talking myself through each red light so that I could make it home to shiver and whimper under a mountain of blankets until the fever broke. And I was nauseated.

Rewind a bit and join me on an OkCupid date that was doomed from the start. I had already decided that this handsome, older, lucrative man wasn't quite right after he fully described to me the time he spent deciding what shoes to wear, but the deal was sealed when he found himself struggling to find the noun to match his repeated usage of the word, "nauseous."

What is the noun that goes with nauseous?

Those of us who speak English as a first language have an innate understanding of the structure of how we speak, but we often struggle, and usually give up, when it comes to actually succeeding in the process of proper sentence construction.

The noun that belongs in the canon for all things nauseous, is NAUSEA. The gentleman buying my drinks that evening settled on nauseousness. He was trying to explain that he felt nauseous, and was tired of all the "nauseousness."

I will never forget the correct forms and usage of the word for the feeling you get right before you boot just as I will never forget the day Michael Semore proudly displayed the Queen Elizabeth I Barbie that he had found ON THE CLEARANCE TABLE at a toy store. There are teachers that you remember because they tried too hard, and there are teachers you remember because they simply were. They were knowledge, language, sharing, teaching, faith, and, most importantly, vulnerable (I realize that, in order to make this sentence stylistically more pleasant, the last word SHOULD be "vulnerability," but that doesn't further my point..OKAY).

"If you come to me to ask for a hall pass and tell me you feel nauseous, I will respond by telling you that, yes, you are making me want to throw up too, but I don't see why that qualifies you for a hall pass."

Why? It is something that is NAUSEOUS, like a big ol' pile a' crap, that induces NAUSEA. If you experience something NAUSEOUS, you may become NAUSEATED.

I know, I know. I'm a sad grammar nazi,

the type of person that has to silently correct your grammar to make myself feel better about the future of civilization, when it probably doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things and if I could just chill out about it I wouldn't be so frustrated/might not be single/(insert some form of existence that you find suitable because your ideas about living are just as valid as mine, if not totally different).

It's true. It doesn't REALLY matter. Saying, "I feel nauseous" is acceptable (according to the sacred Oxford English Dictionary that Mr. Semore introduced to us in it's original tangible form that required a magnifying glass just a few short months before the internet would transform absolutely everything). It's accepted. No one will be confused if you tell them you feel nauseous. The only person that might be confused is you, when you are trying to explain to someone that you felt nauseous to excess, and you stumble upon the word/notword "nauseousness," when you could have simply used the term "nausea" and been done with it.

The beauty of language is that it evolves. It exists for the people. It is the only way that we can truly tell the difference between ourselves and the world around us, the only way we can describe our experiences to each other, the only way we can communicate. Language is not merely words; it is symbols. It is a collection of signs to represent the signified, and that is everything that is not us. Even those who cannot speak find a way to communicate, to form symbols that add up to thoughts and feelings and experiences.

I suppose that is why I find it so sacred, so beautiful. I can take words, and what I know about words, and I can use them to tell someone what it feels like to fall in love, or what it feels like when one falls out of love. I can describe what it feels like on a day when I spring out of bed full of excitement about the day ahead and what it feels like when a sudden bout of nausea leaves me huddled in the fetal position and unable to go about my day.

The depth and breadth of language knows no bounds just as humans are capable of more than we can imagine. It's almost nauseating to think of the fact that there are words for feelings in other languages that don't even exist in English. In English we have to find another way to describe that feeling you get when you're standing alone against the wall at a high school social, and that cute boy you've always liked asks you if you want to dance. Usually we resort to using other words, or similes and metaphors to describe that particular brand of nausea, but I'll bet it stands alone just fine in one of the love languages (and by that I mean Latin based languages).

It takes a big person to tell a room full of 16-18 year olds that he loves words and wants them to respect his love by respecting the words. Perhaps that is why Mr. Semore has stayed with me all these years. True passion requires vulnerability, and true vulnerability is daunting, nauseating at times. The only way to affect change in our own lives as well as the lives of others is to be vulnerable. When we open ourselves up to love something or someone or many, the more capable we find ourselves of opening even further, of finding new ways to express ourselves and our feelings. Thus, language evolves further to accommodate our changing needs.  More importantly, we find we are more capable of loving, fully and unabashedly, not just words or shoes, but living and life, and eventually...hopefully...ourselves.