kiss me, I’m Irish AND it’s warm outside

Today is the second St. Patrick’s Day in 4 days. Perhaps worn out from the excesses of Saturday, tonight’s celebrations are much more subdued. It’s so warm – 70 degrees! – that after I went to yoga I sat in Wicker Park, at a stone table with a chessboard set in the center, for an hour, writing and writing and writing until there was no light at all. I wasn’t the only one there – people had poured out of all the surrounding apartment buildings and graystones to be outside and feel the air. People in green T-shirts sitting on the grass.

Leaving the park, a stranger said to me, “Enjoy it – it’s only going to last two more days.” Chicagoans are so aware of the forecast.

“Don’t say that,” I said. I still believe that if you ignore the weather, it doesn’t exist.

“You know it!” he said. “You’ve got your preparedness and everything,” referring to my jacket.

It’s true that I never leave my house here without some kind of jacket, but it has less to do with preparedness and more to do with laziness. I’ve never learned to check the weather, and if a winter in this town didn’t get me to start, I don’t know what will.