Choppy thoughts on the coming of summer. Unedited, sorry.

March 4th has brought hope to Chicagoland. We're all already dreaming of a sunny and warm summer, laying out on our crowded faux-beaches and elbowing our way through clusters of yuppies to get a seat at one of the popular patios and drain pitchers of mojitos. In a place that doesn't often seem to notice nature or enjoy it at all, it's surprising to me how many of us have simultaneously cliche and very genuine things to say about the gorgeousness of the sunshine today.

I realize this is all I talk about. That's how important it is, really.

We had such an easy winter. So far, as it's bound to cross us a few more times, but it has been easy--even I admit that. And such an early promise that it might turn around, blossom to spring, is the ultimate of refreshing. And, we all feel owed for last summer's cold and drear. These things have really brought a crescendo of optimism around here. It has also reminded me that even in a world of status and money and business, people still need sunshine, which is free (even if it is accompanied by front row Cubs tickets and followed with a five star meal and $20 martinis afterwards).

Waiting on the train platform this morning reminded me of waiting for my carpool in my middle school days, and how every morning in Tucson is quiet and sometimes cool and almost always bright and sunny and beautiful. Even if it's not, rain is a blessing. Sitting 46 floors up in the heart of the loop, I still wonder (as I did as a freshman in college), what on earth possessed the explorers to settle in wintry swamps which were noted to smell like bad onions and call it Checagou.

I vowed to consume many a margarita, grill whenever possible, and live it the heck UP around here in the summer of 2009. All the cloudy days and sweater-wearing of last summer put a damper on those hopes and dreams, but not this year. I've renewed my resolution. That crowded beach has my name on it. Mix up my pitcher, I'm headed to a patio.