Happy Pi Day

As I left for work this morning, I took a look at my handy-dandy weather.com icon to see what the temperature was.

30.

Three-zero.

I thought fondly about why I moved to Chicago, and why I stay. Because you can never tell what's going to happen here. Saturday afternoon, I spent an hour or so biking on the lakefront, into a rather strong headwind, only to turn around and zip back north. All told, I got in about 18 miles and felt great, being outside in my shorts and a short-sleeve jersey.

Today, however, I was wearing a winter coat and a warm hat.

I'm not complaining- I love it here. I love the wind and getting a cold every spring as the weather fluctuates like some kind of insane yo-yo. I like that, the challenge of it. Besides, back in the day, when I lived in St. Paul, 30 degrees in March was a heat wave. Perhaps that's where my family went wrong- before that we had always lived in climates like Chicago, then we went there and froze our collective asses off.

I don't think anything really beat the "winter" I spent in Brooklyn. That was a cake walk. Then again, I never had a nor'easter come through and bury the city. I've heard of those, but never been through one. I would, of course, counter with the blizzard of 1982, when it snowed two feet on my father's birthday.

My father's birthday, friends and neighbors, is April 14th.

Sorry for the weather-inspired and boring post. A caller just asked me how the weather was, which annoyed me, so I wrote a post about the weather.

I'm quirky like that, ya know.