Winter Wonderland

Our first night at the Box House was quiet, the you-can-hear-a-pin-drop kind of quiet that stood in sharp contrast to our former Uptown Chicago neighborhood. There wasn't a single person drunkenly yelling outside the window, no cars honking as drivers made their way home from such places as the Aragon Ballroom and the Green Mill, and no gunshots.

We woke to a postcard-perfect winter landscape. It had been snowing all night, and while it was charming in a Norman Rockwell kind of way to walk home from the train station the night before, in the cold light of morning we remembered we would have to shovel all that lovely snow off the driveway and sidewalks. (Whose idea was it to get a house on a corner lot, anyway?)

I gave it a go, clearing the front steps and the sidewalk leading to the door. Unfortunately, my wrist gave out on me. It has been sore the last few weeks—too much computer work, I think, and aggravated by a post-Christmas bowling match with the kinfolk. So that left Ted to do the rest of the sidewalks by himself. What a trooper!