Sweet Home Chicago

The fall came last night. Almost like the mystery brought by a new blanket of snow, this morning brought a breeze of golden glitter through the trees. The sky is grey and is hanging low in the sky and all the memories of pot roasts, pumpkin pies and football warm the spirit as much as the wind cools my cheeks. Fall is for family.

My aunt used to tell me that time would move more quickly with each passing year. I never understood how that could be so, but I believe it to be true. November is upon us.

This year I am spending all of the holidays with my family. My mother is especially excited about this and so am I. There is something special about spending the holidays with your mother, and while it may not be turnips at thanksgiving or the pez dispenser in your Santa stocking there is something about home. For me, it’s the sound of our space-heater igniting with a click click click and a whooosh. It's the sound of our creeky doors slamming and the thud thud thunk of someone running up or down the stairs. It's the creaking of the wooden floorboards, the ticking of the kitchen clock, the drip in the sink and the rattling of the windows. It's the feeling of safety that all of these elements together give you when you are home.

Perhaps by now you've realized that I've spent all of my years in one old turn-of-the-century flat in Chicago. I know it better than I know any other place in the world and though I have lived in New Orleans, Rome and North Carolina, Chicago has always been my home.

We have a reputation for being home bodies, we Midwesterners. I can't say it’s the weather; I've met a patch of ice with my rear-end a few too many times to appreciate the ice and snow. It's certainly not the smell, which is usually troublesome to identify and worse to inhale. I know it’s not the convenience, as inconvenient more aptly describes just about everything in Chicago. And it can't be the politics, humorous as they are. I think it’s more to do with the camaraderie and competition, the pristine gold coast and the poverty, and Chicago's unique ability to suspend its history and its future in the present.

A worry of mine is that my children may never know the sounds of safety and what it means to be home. To me, it’s a gift to travel the world and to find that there's no place like home.