I grew up in Illinois, about 45 miles northwest of Chicago. It was a wonderful place to grow up: We had fields and forests to explore, ponds and rivers to throw rocks in, trees to climb, hills to roll down, and the weather was glorious. Fall was brisk, with the scent of burning leaves in the air. Spring was a time of hope, promise, and wonder, as kids would venture outside in shorts when the thermometer hit a balmy 50 degrees. Summer… Well, summer was an endless golden haze, a dreamland. Winter in Chicago, on the other hand, can fucking blow me. Continue reading