Not Tonight Honey, I Have A Hairache
When it comes to the powerful forces of nature, I favor the sea’s fury, for I can be reasonably assured of not encountering it if I stay far enough away. Volcanos also score high on my list of natural phenomena not to be feared, as they tend not to sprout up out of nowhere (though, if they exist nearby, better watch out).
Then there’s wind, that killer! Nearly did me in, I’ll tell you. I’ve enjoyed many a pleasant breeze in my more than 18,000 days of life, but winds that gust mightily set me on edge. Just look at my right leg and you’ll know why: that scar, an eight-inch long frown with Frankensteinesque X’s across it, tells the story of a gruesome injury I suffered from by a wind-driven chunk of broken window.
And then, last Thursday, my daughter had soccer practice in the most damnably high winds one can imagine. Like, absurdly high winds. I want to say 115 mph, but it was probably more like 140. Held at Millennium Park, a former landfill and now a treeless high plain, the soccer practice might as well have been held in a hurricane. Soccer balls were driven across the pitch, making drills for five year olds an exercise in futility. Within fifteen minutes, my ears were ringing from the din of air whipping across them. Before the hour was fully up, my hair actually hurt.
Next time there’s wind, we'll skip practice and go fly a kite.