On my wedding night in a beautiful mountain lodge that we had rented out for the occasion, my then 80-something Aunt Sophie called the front desk at midnight and asked if Frederic, the 26-year-old French chef who had just fed us a sublime meal and spent much of the evening dancing with her, could please come to her cabin to remove the spider she had just found.
Looking at the calendar, it's already spring. Yet the calendar is irrelevant here in Chicago, as it offers no help in predicting the arrival of warmer weather. In fact, I acknowledge the arrival of the season the same way every year. Like magic, a day comes when the streets and sidewalks seem to be overflowing with beautiful women wearing shorts, skirts or dresses.