Gone with the wind to The Windy City

By: LOUISE ESOLA - Staff Writer | Friday, June 9, 2006 7:19 PM PDT ∞

It's not you; it's me.

You'll find someone else.

It's not like I'm dying.

Much like ending a long-term relationship, writing today's column was not easy for me.

I just don't know how to tell you this. So I'm just gonna let it out, cool and calm.

IAMMOVINGTOCHICAGO!

("What?!")

So, here I am gently trying to tell you that, well, my husband and I are trading in our beachy flip-flops for snow shoes and moving to the Midwestern capital of holy cannoli it's cold. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Yes, we are going to the land of Oprah, the Sears Tower, deep-dish pizza and the first Oscar Meyer Weinermobile.

My husband has accepted a job in Chicago, and although I love my column and my job here, I love him more, so I'm off. By the end of the month, I'll be gone with the wind, like the breezes of Lake Michigan that mix in blissful merriment with that of the great plains and the Arctic Circle.

Just talking about it, quite frankly, makes me hungry for some hot chocolate and a sweater.

Forgive me, perhaps I need medication, but I am excited about our move to snowier pastures. We've been spoiled by Southern California's year-round summers and it's sad to say good-bye and all that jazz. But I live for new adventures, even one that requires me to extend my three-sweater wardrobe and buy a winter coat. (A marvelous excuse to go shopping, ladies!)

I'm looking forward to seeing skyscrapers and renowned architecture, riding the famous "El train" and seeing my breath vaporize as early as September.

Put it this way, at least it's not ... drumroll please ... Waco. Waco, Texas.

My husband has been looking for a new career for some time and broadened his scope to such exotic locales.

After explaining that this job prospect is way too close to wacko for me ---- no trendy Greek restaurants, no Trader Joes, no independent movie theaters ---- I begged for alternatives.

And they arrived, one after the other, like snowflakes on your windowsill on a winter day.

The job offers came down to Chicago or Manhattan and after our own miniature debate on these century-old rivalries, we chose The Windy City over The Big Apple. We had our reasons. (Translation: The apples were too expensive.)

As for getting used to the cold weather, by the year 2087 it shouldn't be a problem. I am originally from Philadelphia, another city not too far away from a polar ice cap, and know how to bundle up. When the morning television weather report includes words like "sleet" and "wind chill factor," I will be sure to simultaneously wear every article of clothing I own.

So, you might be asking, where does that leave you and me?

After next week ---- the finale ---- you won't see me anymore on the page of your Saturday paper. Perhaps we'll meet again. Perhaps not.

I know, I know.

(Sniff, sniff.)

Breakups really stink.

-- Contact staff writer Louise Esola at lesola@californian.com.