A homesick love letter.
Even though I’ve only been living in Chicago for about two and a half years now, I consider it home. My life is in the Windy City now, after all: my friends are here, my bike is here, my shoes are here. Clearly I’ve got priorities.
Late Sunday afternoon I got a phone call from my old home, a suburb of Philadelphia, and found out that my mom was in a motorcycle accident (yes, she’s a badass) and airlifted to a trauma unit. I 1) went into hysterics, 2) bought a ticket, and 3) flew home at the ass crack of dawn on Monday and went to see her. She’s got a broken pelvis, knee, and ankle, but is otherwise okay. No head injuries, road rash, or paralysis, although I am pretty sure she is contributing to my early demise–I even found a grey hair in my eyebrow the other day. Grey hairs?!?! This is about a decade too early, frankly.
At any rate, being here is more bitter than sweet. I was supposed to go to the Sox-Yankees game this evening, and watching it via ESPN without that delightful Chicago accent (times tens of thousands) being screamed all over the stadium just doesn’t cut it. Philadelphia is where I’m from, and has undeniably shaped who I am and I’ll always love it/defend it/insult it/etc., but Chicago, I miss you. Chicagoans, I miss you. Despite your ridiculous weather, horrible traffic, and awful cheesesteaks, you’ve got my heart. I can’t wait to see you again.
Best wishes for your mother.
And they’re not supposed to be cheese steaks, they’re “cheesy beef!”
Yeah the cheese steak thing. You see, we just have not been trying. We figure there are more important things like Pizza, Hot Dogs, big thick Steaks, and Sushi. Just you wait, we’ll get that cheese steak down. We’re just waiting for the right time, and that time has not come yet.
My first-ever grey hair was in my eyebrow, too. I even remember the night I got it. But, whatever, hope your mom’s OK.