Thoughts on Flying to Chicago

The high in Phoenix today predicted to be 70°. Perfectly beautiful sunny weather.

In a few days I’ll board a plane for Chicago where 6° the forecasted high. The lows are in the negative teens.

I’ve never been to Chicago in the winter, but I am packing layers and layers of warmth.

It still amazes me that I can hop on a plane and fly from Phoenix sunshine to Chicago ice. When I was a little girl, I read stories of such adventures, but I never dreamed I would one day live them. No one I knew flew in airplanes. We were not “those kind of people.”

I’ve lost count of how many flights I’ve taken. I’ve become one of “those kind of people.” You know, the kind who fork out all that money to an airline for a short visit with someone I love.

I won’t “experience” Chicago on this visit. I’ll stay in my son’s tiny 6th floor apartment. He’ll be recovering from ankle surgery made necessary by a nasty fall on ice.

I’ll sleep in a recliner so he can have the bed. Or I’ll sleep in his bed if the recliner is better for elevating his ankle. I’ll do laundry, clean, and cook some meals; some to eat together and some to freeze for later. For a few short days I’ll use my hands and feet and words to give him a small portion of the love his family carries in our hearts for him.

Maybe this mother’s love won’t thaw Chicago’s ice and snow, but it has lit a fire in my heart and I’m taking it with me.

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