Mother Nature and the CTA Conspire against Commuters

Fully expecting a horrendous commute yesterday, after the CTA cut numerous buses and trains on busy routes, I trekked to my El stop with visions of sardine-can rides from now until, well, until some anonymous donor bails out the CTA (which is a lovely thought but will never happen). Yet, when I arrived on the platform and the first train came, I found, ironically, that I was able to get a seat—something that never happens for me in the morning. I stepped right on and sat right down, like nobody’s business. Okay, this must be a fluke, I thought.

So, today, with snow blustering and accumulating at an alarming rate outside, I thought, “Okay, Em, you got lucky yesterday, but today it’s going to be Stove Top stuffing in there” (I heard someone say that once, and liked the metaphor). As I slipped through the turnstile and headed down the steps to the open doors of an awaiting train, however, I found several open seats again. CTA cuts? Blizzard? You wouldn’t know it from this train.

The only explanation I could figure for this anomaly was that a whole lot of commuters, expecting the worst, arrived 30-60 minutes early as they were told to do on the news. And those of us who didn’t feel like rolling out of bed an extra half hour earlier were reaping the benefits. Of course, I do tend to catch the El a little earlier than most working people anyway, primarily because I like to avoid being crushed up against strangers, and getting my toes stepped on, or dodging gropers, which I have had to do on occasion.

So, the day proceeded and there I was thinking how lucky I am to be getting these great train rides this week, and then, well, I left work at 4:50 p.m. Um, yeah. A slightly different story. There was no "hopping" onto a train at five o'clock. It was pure pushing and shoving onto already packed train cars, in an attempt to escape a platform that was filling up fast. Yes, things are a bit different at rush hour. In a blizzard.

I'm wondering how much Chicagoans will put up with before we all start driving and both traffic and parking become an even greater nightmare than they already are. If we increase vehicular traffic, transportation in Chicago could fall into a vicious, frustrating, and environmentally-unfriendly cycle that, at best, would lead to the reincorporation of the buses and trains that have just been cut, or, at worst, would erode Chicago’s famed public transportation infrastructure. For good or bad, I imagine that we're all going to grin and bear it until it becomes literally unbearable.

But if it's this bad now, imagine what it's going to be like during baseball season. True, people won't be waiting outside in a blizzard to catch one in a handful of buses. But people will be waiting. Lots and lots of people. Now I’m really going to have to plan my entire life around the Cubs, and I don't even like baseball.

Snowflake-Spotting

We had flurries today! It’s so much easier to be excited about snow when it stalls until December to get here. At work, my desk doesn’t face the window, but one of my supervisor’s does, and I could hardly concentrate while she prepped me for our conference call, because I was so distracted by the snowflakes drifting about just beyond her desk. Granted, they were sparse, yet, I couldn’t help but stare out the window at each tiny little spec of white as it drifted down from the clouds not too far above us.

By the time I went outside, sadly, the flakes were gone. Sigh. I can’t wait for those wintry nights, when you’re walking home after a long day at work, and the snow just wafts down around you, landing in soft piles of white. If you read my posts from last winter, you know how snow inspires me. Yes, I absolutely despise digging my car out of the snow, and I am no fan of driving in it (especially in Kentucky—woooaaa, scary--thank goodness I'm not doing that one again anytime soon!). But, God, it’s beautiful. I’ve always been of the mind that if it’s going to be cold, it had better be snowing.

Part of me is also hoping for some sub-zero Thursdays, too. (You just read that and cursed me, I know.) But only so that I can trek over to the Art Institute on their free night and have the place practically all to myself again, like I did last winter. It was unforgettable to walk into a gallery and find the room filled with nothing but me and fifty masterpieces. Seriously.

There’s just no denying it—there’s something magical about winter. Well, there’s magic when you’re looking at it from December’s eyes, anyway. Oh, Chicago Winters. I’ve only seen one of you and we had a very heated (er, frigid) love-hate relationship. Let’s see if I can sustain my adoration for you beyond December, before the appeal of Spring sweeps me off my feet.

Early Winter Snow

It’s frustrating that I always feel at my most poetic on my walk home in the evenings (from the Wilson stop, no less). Strands of words fill my head, just right for describing the worlds around and within me, but I cannot get to a pen and paper (or computer) quickly enough to get them down. When I try to fit the pieces back together at home, they become all mismatched and stubborn.

It snowed two days ago. That crisp, white, fluffy kind that reminds you of your childhood: building snowmen in the yard, making snow angels, and sledding. When I was walking home with the snow falling all around me on Tuesday, I felt inspired, and the words were there. Since then, I’ve been trying to capture the mixture of giddiness and contentment I felt as I tromped through the snow that night, but the words that captured the moment so perfectly then have escaped me once again.

Odd, how something like snow can put all your pieces back together—even the ones you thought you’d forgotten. Maybe it’s not snow for some people. Maybe for normal people it’s a gorgeous, sunny-warm day. But for me it was snow this time. I knew I was on top of the world when I felt this inconsolable urge to do torjetes in the snow, because I associate very little unhappiness with ballet. I wish I had done them (though the combination of frozen muscles, lack of practice, and slick sidewalks may not have ended so gracefully.) So, there I was, smiling and stomping through the snow like a six-year-old, wanting to break out into dance, and thinking up these perfect strands of words in my head. My two greatest passions in this whole wide world had rushed into me at the sight and feel of snow.

And, yes, I know that many people hate snow. And it’s no fun when you have to drive in it (I am sorry for those of you who were stuck on the highways for six hours that night.) But I am relishing the first time in years that I don’t have to drive in it—all I have to do is play in it!

After two years in Knoxville, it sure feels good to be back in the Midwest where we get more than an inch of snowfall and most of us know how to drive in it. And, even better than being in the general Midwest, it’s amazing to be in Chicago at wintertime. Because when you’re downtown walking past the Macy’s window displays, or snaking through the Krist Kindl Markt, or rushing along beneath the strings of lights adorning Michigan Avenue, with snow falling on your head, it really feels like Christmas.

Before you get the idea that I’m a complete idealist, let me assure you that I don’t love the gray slush that follows the pristine snowfall. Today I sloshed to and from work looking at the gray mush piled up like dirty mashed potatoes along the sidewalk. It turns my stomach a little, and reveals the city’s pollutants in an unavoidable way. I realize that by February, the slush and ice and cold may be more than I can bear. But for now, I’m going to savor it just a little bit longer…