The older I get, the more the winter affects me—because I let it, on purpose. Over the first two weeks in February, our furnace went out on a frigid Friday night. I ran many miles in black slush. Work was especially hard. And there were other tests. And all the while we tried to teach our exchange student (aside from her two-week course, Dysfunctional American Family 101), that life in Chicago isn't bad, even in February.
Or that it is bad, but it's good enough, as this song goes …
… because it has to be.
(Thanks to Paul Engleman, deejay of my life.)