While hardly representative of my new neighborhood, this tree does stand at the end of the block. It towers above all else, but due to the heavily wooded area in which I live, its peak is only visible from a few strategic vantage points. It's particularly lovely at 5:00 PM in January--with temperatures hovering just around 70. Like today.

I find myself both amused and horrified to be writing to you now from Florida. My last days in Chicago were hectic and as a result undocumented (which ultimately is to your great benefit). I spent most of my time worrying, complaining, fretting, packing and saying goodbyes. During it all, I had a terrifically nasty flu that left me alternately feverish and succumbing convulsive coughing spells.

I was a delight to be around.

It wasn't until I boarded the plane for Florida that it dawned on me. Hula had gone ahead to find us a place to live while I stayed behind to finish up work and close up the apartment. That part seemed like a play. As though I was acting a role, but it wasn't really happening to me. Now, it occurred to me, I was really leaving. Leaving and not coming back. No more Music Box or Film Festivals or Old Town School of Folk Music. No more Els and Metras and crowded city streets. No more Resa's, Lawry's, or Greektown. Oh my god, what was I doing?

I hadn't shed a single tear during this ordeal. Not because I didn't want to, but because if I did, I feared I would set off an uncontrollable coughing spell. Even though the reality of my situation had slammed into me in Row 24 of an American Airlines flight to Atlanta, I was going to be damned if I started crying on the plane. I had gotten lucky with a low cloud cover--moments after we were air born, visibility was zero. The vista outside my window appeared much like I was willing my emotions to be. Flat and gray. I breathed a sigh of relief that I wouldn't have to witness the city grow smaller and untouchable. Out of reach.

A minute or two later I was startled by bright blinding sunlight. The clouds were low, but we had emerged from them quickly. I looked down outside the window at the expanse of white and noticed a flaw. 

Wouldn't you know it. The top of Sears Tower, the size of my pinky fingernail, was peeking out of the of the clouds. It was almost like it was trying to say goodbye. Well, more like it was shrieking, "DON'T LEAVE ME! DON'T LEAVE CHICAGO! YOU'LL HATE FLORIDA! I'M CERTAIN! COME BACK! COME BACK!" But I was probably running a fever again.

Aside from the trauma of uprooting one's self and moving a thousand miles away from all that is familiar and beloved, the upside of all of this was Hula's excellent decision regarding our living conditions. He did a fine job on his own and though I was mildly apprehensive about not being able to participate in the selection of our quarters, I had complete faith in him. Really. While he might suggest otherwise, I assure you he is only mocking me in a loving and affectionate fashion. 

I live in what could arguably be considered the cutest house in north central Florida.

I now spend my days unpacking, pretending to look for work, and taking Ouija to the dog park, conveniently located within a larger park right across the street. Sometimes I cook a meal for dinner, but generally try to get out of that by claiming I haven't had time to go to the store, or that I don't know now to work the new oven. I suspect that last one is only good for one or two more go-arounds, but we'll see. I'll let you know.