Make me forget about my sunburn

Let's go Flying
Take me anywhere the wind blows

Chasing fireworks flashing down the Carolina shore
Arms around me, you called me yours
That salty kiss made me forget about my sunburn

Sang with the birds
Every season has a turn turn turn
No use crying
We're not thinking about tomorrow

A chill in the air is just around the bend
You said, "we're never going to get this time back again."

- Lady Antebellum - credit

Tonight, in Chicago, it's going to be 20 below wind-chill. "Wind-chill" is winter weather-speak here; how people know what they'll find when they open the door and walk to the L stop.

With good reason. That chill wind sweeps across the slate-grey waves of Lake Michigan, gathers momentum and hurls itself against pedestrians, salt-covered cars, and dreary buildings. The frigid air creates floating planks of ice - and they are relentlessly added to the ever-growing glacier that stretches out across the lake.

This weather spares no one - even someone like me, who just moved from the tropical shores of the Gulf.

Understandably, I've had to undergo some winter survival training. "Put your scarf around your parka hood, like this," I was recently instructed by a pale and shivering expert. "And you have to wear layers, like two pairs of socks and at least two shirts."

I was mocked for my waist-high winter coat, which I reluctantly and naively bought upon my arrival. "Seriously, you need a much longer coat, one that goes to your knees. You're gonna freeze."

What a change a year makes. When I moved to St. Petersburg, I was warned to put sunscreen on every day, "no matter what you're doing." My dermatologist, wagging his finger at me, said, "With your complexion, you really need to wear long sleeves and pants on the beach."

Seriously?  Everyone else was wearing board shorts or bikinis.

Even though I lived 100 feet from a post card beach of white sand and turquoise waters, I was compliant - at least for a while. Which made me possibly the palest person ever to walk the beach every day.  Except for the white "V" on my feet, where my flip-flop straps crossed, I looked like I was already living in Chicago in February.

And what's so great about being pale? Nothing. At least with sunburn, it would eventually turn to tan - and happiness.

And so, I crossed the wooden sidewalk to the beach without my button-down oxford and jeans. As I did, the Florida sun must have been laughing at me. It wasn't even a fair fight - even with sunscreen. But it felt so good. The sun and my freckles and the smell of Coppertone. Freedom.

That night, no matter how much aloe I gingerly applied, it was disturbingly absorbed into my red skin and freckles. Yikes.

But I sense that was a kind of a turning point. I was ready for some risk. Some flying. Some happiness.

A few days later, I remember seeing my daughter in Sarasota.  When I met her at her door, she hugged me, stepped back and said, "Dad, you look so good."  She smiled and hugged me again. "Really, you look happy." I was.

Yes, I might regret it when I'm 75 and my dermatologist is shaking his finger at me again. But there's no use crying when you're not thinking about tomorrow. 

Long after arriving here in the frozen north, I still had tan lines, which made me smile. I'd look in the mirror and remember the Florida sun and sparkling turquoise water. The coconut smell of Coppertone on hot skin.

These days, in wind-chill land, I do wear my waist-high coat. I don't wear my hood - especially with my scarf wrapped around it. And while it's numbingly cold, it's worth it. There's an urban allure that's potent and overwhelming. I've met so many new, beautiful people. I see promise everywhere.

So like the poetic words above, I say, "Let's go flying." Life is short.

Make me forget about my sunburn.


Above - Long Teenage Goodbye - Lady Antebellum