It is that time of year again. Fall is here and my quest for comfortable leggings and tights is upon me. Not sure how I became the woman who wears dresses and skirts all winter long, but if last year is anything like this year, I am going to need some new leg adornments. In the past, I have been hopeful about plus size tights only to find that it seems they only considered the length of the tights. Hello people, I am short and fat…adding 3 inches to the length does nothing for me. I need ample hip coverage, thighs that don’t create a tourniquet, and the proper length. Any suggestions form the plus size ladies out there would be awesome. Oh, and I’ll tell you which don’t work as I go through my quest.
When my son was 6 months old I had to drop him at a near-stranger’s house to watch him while my husband and I went to work. His little man-faced self was already pushing to stretch is circle of influence. The daycare provider we chose was recommended to us by some of our closest friends. These many years later, our families have surpassed a professional relationship and developed a friendship. Her son and mine are soul swore cousins who can’t wait to be in Jr. High together next year. We revisited that professional relationship for a second last week when I took my nephew to her house, I handed him over to Christy, much like I had mine. His little 3 month old self was beginning a journey that my children laid the groundwork for over 10 years ago. My ever expanding community is amazing. My sister lives a short walk from me. There are days I believe my life is exactly how I hoped it would be.
As I walked the Chicago streets to work this morning, I remembered my official move to Chicago. A Hoosier transplant to Illinois, I found a downtown Chicago job and moved to the western suburbs to live with my grandparents. I knew nothing about the city except the Sears tower, Cubs baseball, Fields’ holiday windows and other black Friday tourist shops. To get to work, I would take the Metra train. It was an odd commute for me, sharing the double-decker car with briefcase carrying business people. If it rained, my grandfather would drop me off at the College Avenue station. Once in the city, I would join the fast walking mob carrying a grandma packed brown bag lunch of pretzels and fat free brownies.
There is something about this concrete shimmering late summer sun that takes me back to the days I lived with my grandparents. Little did I know the tendrils of my life had started to twist and anchor me to the city…much like my grandparents’, sister’s, and husband’s. A little over a year ago my grandfather passed away. I think about him every day. But for some reason, on days like today, I feel compelled to talk about him….. his smile, his laugh, his kindness and his strength. I miss him.