March in Chicago
is a quiet, agonizing torture. Like
waiting in line at the check-out and you are next in line, but no—the lady in
front of you grabbed something without a price tag and you are still waiting,
waiting, waiting. I admit that I
harbored some serious resentment towards the woman on the radio this morning
who was going on about the grey days,
slushy streets and pelting sleet being officially over today—yay!, the first
day of spring! Glancing down at the
temperature on the dash of my car registering 17 degrees, I smashed off the
radio with more vehemence than was necessary, stomping out into the bitter,
windy, winter day. This Florida girl is
running out of patience with this scene.
The Voice and I went
to see Hubbard Street Dance/Alonzo King downtown to belatedly celebrate
our anniversary. It was moving,
disturbing and beautiful. The oldest
dancer on stage probably wasn’t much past 30, which was a sobering thought for
us as 30-somethings. A career in
professional dance will only last about 20% of your life. Life is long (God willing), but the seasons
within that life are varied and will never repeat. Lord, help me to live fully in every season
you have me in. Let me not wish that I
were in spring when there is still so much sledding, cocoa drinking and fire
cuddling to do right now. Soon enough,
Spring will dash in with her own flaws for me to complain about.
Labels: Chicago, Spiritual Lessons
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