Halcyon Lawrence

I got up and put on two sweaters and a jacket and socks to come downstairs to write this blog. I'm in New Jersey until Saturday, then on to Illinois. I got in on Wednesday evening, through a connecting flight from Atlanta - My luggage did not. I deduced that tired from travel, my three bags decided to delay their journey until a more convenient time. Note to everyone, when the baggage claims personnel says to you " NONE of your bags made it?" it is a genuine cause for concern. In retrospect I now understand what happened: the three bags were huddled in the hole, refusing to come out because they had received the weather update. Had I received a head's up, I would still be in the hole with them.

My first grocery bill: $51.95

My first bank deposit: $700.00

My first train fare: $1.75

My first snow fall (right on my backside!) - Priceless

There are some things money can't buy, for everything else there's Mastercard!

After being here for a week, I have learnt that there are certain things you do not forget to do, like checking the weather stations before you leave home. Many people have shared this advice with me, and it is good advice. Do not let the sun streaming through the window fool you; it looks like sun, but it feels like a portal to Pluto, which is documented as our solar system's coldest planet. Chicago must be its capital city.

What is striking about the weather is that they give you two temperatures, for example: right now, as I am typing, I have my weather window in view, and it is 13° F, and in subscript, it says that it is feels like -3° F. What it should also say, is that if you've just moved from the WI, your body will react like it's -325° F. I am not kidding, it's been 7 days and counting and I have had all sorts of physical reactions to the cold. Not without mention, would be sleeping and eating like there is no tomorrow, and honestly, if you were here, you would think it was the end of days. But I have also developed a very special skin reaction to the cold. It gives ashy a whole new meaning. My extremities, sometimes get left behind, when I leave the bus stop. On one occasion, I got on the bus and realised that my left ear and little finger had fallen off. My nose runs constantly, but I have no cold, and what is most special is that I am as gassy as a walrus who has eaten bad shellfish for dinner, and much like the GRE exam, yet again, I am a sight to behold.

Ah...snow, that magical white precipitation which glides gently to the ground in the form of snowflakes , like a scene out of Miracle on 34th Street. Imagine if you will a remake of this movie, let's say mayhem on 48th Street - I'll act the lead of course. If the cameras kept rolling after the director yelled cut, what you would have seen is Maureen O'Hara holding on to a fence for dear life as this "gentle-gliding" snow turned into a full on blustering storm. Nobody told me it would storm too. And the miracle? Well I'm emailing you all, aren't I? So my latest discovery on Tuesday is that I need to keep taxi money on me at all times...it is just not safe in a snow storm - go figure. My favourite time of day is the evening commute home. It seems that everyone "special" catches the #47 bus.

There's the guy who boards the bus talking to himself, making jokes, laughing heartily if and when he catches them - he's the one-man-Bose-entertainment-centre-with-surround-sound, never needing to engage anyone but himself, but then there are others who want to draw you into their world. My most entertaining was one gentleman who asked me where I was from. "Trinidad and Tobago" I replied, "Jamaica - Wow, that's so cool" he said. (I am still amazed that an entire region of the world can be reduced to one country) He then proceeded to speak to me in a Jamaican accent for the rest of the journey. I shut up for the rest of the ride. Then of course there are the ones who clinically could be described as disturbed, and it seems that I am the only one disturbed by them. They are the unpredictable ones, moving quickly from the front to the back of the bus in no time - a task that takes me hours. No one bats an eye, or seems uneasy - except me. I am learning that the trick is not to make eye contact or they consider this an invitation to friendship. So in the past three weeks I have mastered the blank stare - the lights are on, but no one is at home.

You all must think I am the latest victim in an Anne Rice novel. Fear not, I am still alive. School ended quietly in mid-May with neither pomp nor circumstance, much to my disappointment. I thought surely the city would have released 1000 white doves to commemorate the end of my first winter, but no doves were found; I am told they had all extended their stay in the south. Smart birds.

I am officially on summer vacation, and I can hear you all asking, " How was spring??" It never came. It was cold and then hot, alerting me that words like lilting, crisp and airy are wasted adjectives in Chicago. But I will say this, the city comes alive! Biking along the lake is the past time of many; visits to the museums and parks are the norm; there are countless music festivals and this is the month of Taste of Chicago. I hope somebody out there knows how to make a decent macaroni pie. My latest obsession is stalking Barack Obama, he has been back home for the past week holding talks and getting some rest. As he lives in my neighborhood, I walk with his first book under my arm, and whip it out whenever I see a camera, thinking vainly that I might make it to the front page of the Chicago Sun Times, like we do back home with the Newsday. By the way, If you haven't read either of his two books - get to reading.

That's me in a nutshell. A roasted nutshell.