Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
With all the end of the world talk around the incoming storm, I thought of the winter of '79.
A buddy was doing some studies at the Urban Life Center on Chicago's South Side. My college girlfriend and I came up to visit in the winter of '79.
Keep in mind, his apartment/dorm was around 63rd and Stony Island. That was a neighborhood that did not get plowed.
We pulled up and all the parking on the street had packed snow and ice high enough that it was eye level while I was driving my girlfriend's old Ford Falcon.
I asked my buddy where to park and he said to just find a slot, then pull in and park on top of the packed snow and ice.
I thought he was nuts, but found a slot and gunned the Falcon into a parking spot.
That's one of the two reasons I ended up living most of my adult life in Chicago and the Chicago area. It drew my interest.
Apparently, we had much more rain than I thought overnight. There were puddles everywhere, a very rare sight the past 10 months in the Drought of 2012.
I awoke to some thunder and lightening overnight, so apparently we had a brush with a thunderstorm.
I need to check the rain gauge, because we had enough rain to fill the ditch to the east of the town pond.
Not a bit of wildlife stirred.
Harry Caray was the other reason I thought Chicago had the tough stuff to pull me in.
I think it was the summer of '79 or maybe '80.
A couple of us came up from college in northern Indiana to mess around the city. Part of that was sitting in the bleachers at old Comiskey Park.
Well, there were these two broadcasters--Cara and Jimmy Piersall--sitting in the middle of the bleachers with a massive cooler of beer.
I thought, ``Well, that is a prop. They will have one beer for show and that will be it.''
Oh no, Harry was pounding them at nearly the same rate that a bunch of us college guys were.
For those young Cubs fans who only know Harry as the cuddly grandfatherly figure, he was something else as the Sox broadcaster. Then he was in the prime of life and a rip-roarin' treat to listen to.
Right kind of morning to remember.
On the edge of town, the railroad workers had stacked piles of switching rails. Those rails look much larger when stacked like that than when spiked in supporting rails. Rail ties were piled higher than me.
Darkness hung on the entire ramble on the shortest day of the year, under a steady rain before the big snow.