Baby, it’s cold back there

SHERWOOD KIRALY

Sunday I’m going to flip the Knox College calendar on my wall from

the January photo to the February photo. Knox is in Galesburg, Ill.,

and the January photo shows snow-covered patio furniture on an

otherwise-empty cafeteria terrace. If they’d had the nerve they could

have made the February photo exactly the same.

It may not be sunny on the day you read this -- it is the dead of

winter, after all -- but if it isn’t sunny today it soon will be,

because that’s the way we get it here. And as Frank Burns said on

“M*A*S*H,” we should get down on our knees and kiss our lucky stars

above.

Because, you know, this is why the rest of the world hates us. Not

because Californians are perceived as dumb, or because we prefer to

be governed by action heroes. That’s endearing; it lets people think

of us as the Comedy Coast.

The true resentment kicks in when they compare their winter with

ours.

I’m from Chicago, where, as we say, you get the seasons. And

winter in Chicago is more temperate than it is on Pluto, but once

you’ve said that, you’re done bragging. January is bearable because

you’re prepared for it to be unbearable, but February wears you down.

March is supposed to bring spring and it doesn’t. When the

temperature falls below zero, as it often does, it’s referred to as a

“cold snap.” During cold snaps, it actually hurts to wait for the

bus.

For exercise, you can either shovel the driveway or fall on the

ice. Every winter, most Chicagoans make sure to take at least one

spectacular Buster Keaton pratfall, usually while carrying something.

For best results: One foot slips, and then as you try to save

yourself, your other, fail-safe foot slips too. Up go your feet,

along with the groceries, as your arms flail and you crash on your

tailbone. Anyway that was my method, and I got laughs with it.

Back then we referred to California as La-La Land, an airhead

state of valley girls and surfer dudes. We wouldn’t live there if you

paid us. I later decided this attitude was bigoted and haughty.

I came out here in 1979, during one of the worst blizzards in

Chicago history, and I’ve stayed ever since, even without pay at

times. Last Sunday, I played tennis down on Park, at the high school.

Didn’t have to shovel the court, either.

A part of me will always miss Chicago. But this is the time of

year when other parts of me don’t. Coming out here was the best thing

I ever did for my fingers, my ears, my nose and my toes.